Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On Zeta Halo, the crash site around the UNSC Infinity has been turned into Forward Operating Base Epsilon; after Escharum’s death and the Harbinger's defeat, most of the Banished were forced into a tactical retreat either off the ring or deeper into the facility's subsystems.

In the corner of a prefab tent command structure, illuminated only by a small torchlight on the ceiling, John sat outside of his armor for the first time in months, approaching a year. He wasn't even wearing the full tech-suit. Just its underlayer that included biomonitoring and homeostasis mechanisms. 

On his lap sat a small handheld computer he was using to monitor Banished patrols that their Clarion spy drones had picked up.

He saw the red dots of Banished Ghosts and Wraiths move in real time, he sent a message through his neural lace to Captain Lasky, Commander Palmer, and Blue Team through a private channel. “Banished forces regrouping at a Forerunner power silo three clicks west of here, advise meeting and arrangement of a plan for if their forces attack us; we should strike first.”

Commander Palmer replied: “Not a bad idea, but we have too many wounded to engage in a full frontal assault. We could assemble a few strike teams, engage in hit and run tactics. Pick off a few important people and supply lines that are still left.”

Captain Lasky: "Hit and run is a good idea, I'll talk to some of the Spartan fireteams, Chief gather Blue Team, Palmer meet me in the Command Center of the Infinity."

Chief, Palmer, and Blue Team all simultaneously returned: “Affirmative”

For John this situation reminded him of Alpha Halo, just with less bullshit and better odds. He saw potential in the Spartan IV's, especially with how long they had to survive on this ring without him, they could truly do the impossible, just like Blue Team or the Spartan II's, though John still had to admit the II's did it better. Out of everything though he was just glad he still had Blue Team.

Before leaving the building he checked the pistol on his hip, an M6D, chambered in 12.7x40mm mm, semi-armor-piercing, explosive rounds. A favorite. On the other hip, a serrated combat knife, fitted with a multitool and a small energy generator attached to it, reverse-engineered Covenant tech, a personal request. It turned his already big and deadly traditional Spartan blade into a small energy sword; and in his hands the size didn’t matter.

Standing straight, he put his datapad and M6D away and walked to the door. A metallic buzzing sound emanated from the doorway as he stepped outside of his tent; his eyes adjusted to the light coming from the massive energy shield surrounding the entire base, warm air touched his skin. He moved past the tent’s entrance to see marines gathered around in tight groups, sharing rations, alcohol, cigarettes, stories, things that would let the time pass without thought before the inevitable next engagement.

Not breaking pace, his step without wasted energy, mechanical, but surprisingly nimble, especially for someone his size. Even without intention he moved like a shadow with eyes aversive to his daunting figure and sleek form. Approaching the Infinity, John saw UNSC engineers working with the Huragok engineers that were on board - new permanent crew members in the UNSC Navy after the Great Schism. They were expediting the process and estimations for full or partial operation had moved from weeks to days after a Spartan IV fireteam led a Huragok into a nearby Forerunner alloy processing plant - they’ve been using the newly acquired data and materials to construct panels and parts made of Forerunner alloy to use on the Infinity. Besides for the fact that the Banished still have a presence on Zeta Halo and their munitions were dwindling, the morale in camp had been slightly up the past few days. Which was evident from loud chatter between Huragok and human engineers using translation devices.

As he stepped into the airlock he felt the cold, familiar feeling of antibacterial agents and the change in pressure; it sat in his stomach like the feeling at the start of an elevator ride.

His gaze was straight, focused on the door in front of him when a cloudy haze appeared in his vision, flying sparks, lights, waves of energy passed over his body, static washed over his face as it felt like his neural lace was being violated. He thought for a moment that some Forerunner entity was teleporting him using neural physics, but this was slightly different - foreign, other worldly. The yellow rings that he had familiarized with Forerunner translocation were not there, instead blue orbs violently flashed everywhere. His muscles tensed like steel cables, nerve endings burned like fire as he tried to break free but it was of no avail. 

And before he could think about sending a message to anyone, the initial feeling seized from existence as his molecular structure was rematerializing inside a different reality. 

Chapter Text

Reformed in midair, John’s feet bolted to the ground, but instead of landing, he bounced off his right foot, observed the room, and rolled into a defensive position. His vision was still cloudy, he took a quarter of a second to readjust, wipe his eyes, and get a better view; he spotted a floating robot, three monitors connected to multiple appendages that was connected to a brain suspended in fluid, capped in metal with a visual display of eyeballs and a mouth on the respective monitors.

Between him and the uncanny machination was a surgery room, tables, buzzsaws, scalpels, a massive chamber with a console on it that was almost the height of the ceiling.

Reaching down for his knife or pistol, he realized they weren’t there, instead they were across the room, scattered. His datapad was still attached to his waist though.

John was caught mid-thought as the robot across from him started to speak. UNKNOWN: “UNPRECEDENTED SUBJECT! YOU WERE… S…sOo so… S…s oo SO BLINDINGLY FAST MY OPTIC SENSORS COULDN’T BEGIN TO TRACK MOVEMENT BEFORE YOU STOPPED. MY… I…” sounding almost aroused the robot had begun to moan, much to John’s disgust and annoyance.

“Where am I?” he spoke in a low tone. This wasn't the first time he'd been translocated by an unknown artificial intelligence. 

UNKNOWN: “OH SORRY! I COULD NOT GIVE FORMAL INTRODUCTIONS UNTIL THE OPERATION WAS COMPLETE. But it seems you exceed my expectations, human. Come closer, I want to see your face, the FLAPPING of your beautiful delectable lips, and the gnawing of your teeth as you create words with your ORAL ORIFICE.”

“No. Location. Designation. Elaboration, immediately before your termination.” John demanded, bracing himself to catapult this machine through a wall.

Dr Dala, her voice projector screeched in static and anger: “Well pleasure to meet you, YOU UNGRATEFUL SACK OF SHIT, I am Doctor Dala, YOU are in BIG MOUNTAIN; and I’d expect a human of your caliber TO WANT TO SUBMIT TO OUR PROCEDURES, but instead you sit here and DEMAND ME QUESTIONS? WHAT IS IN THAT HEAD OF YOURS I NEED TO ASCERTAIN!”

“Try it, you’ll be ripped apart before you can start the surgery.” 

“RECALCULATING PARAMETERS, RUNNING DIAGNOSTIC SCAN ON INDIVIDUAL”

Five seconds of agonizing silence filled the room as John tensely waited for an opportunity to retrieve his weapons.

“DIAGNOSTIC CONFIRMS UNUSUAL SCIENTIFIC DATA - SUBJECT DISPLAYS ENHANCED REFLEXES, SPEED, STRENGTH BEYOND HUMAN LIMITS - SEVERELY BEYOND HUMAN LIMITS. NEURAL-LINK INTERFACE IN SUBJECTS CRANIAL CAVITY INTERFERED WITH THE PARALYSIS EFFECT AND TEMPORAL DESTABILIZATION. SCAN CONCLUDES; DANGER: EXTREME, PRECAUTION/SOLUTION: DIALOGUE. SUBJECT SEEMS TO UNDERSTAND BASIC ENGLISH.” She processed.

John stayed crouched there, unmoving, unflinching - silently observing the machine, even more tense after hearing its analysis of him, but since it knew his capabilities it also knew the leverage he had in a physical altercation.

“WE are the THINK TANK! A collection of pre-war scientists dedicated to observing over the Big MT, we conduct experiments for the BETTERMENT of HUMANITY! To make sure that nothing is left tainted in this post-post-nuclear apocalypse where NOTHING IS LEFT!” Dr Dala stated.

“You can't run an experiment without subjects?” inquired John.

“Questions like these are IRRELEVANT, we conduct experiments for the BETTERMENT OF Humanity against the Communist scourge and these abominations in the wastes - they’re not even human, though to call anyone “Human” anymore would be an overstatement of their capabilities as sapiens, the ones we find, keep, and lobotomize are ALWAYS sub-optimal TRASH. That’s why it’s so good to see a specimen like you; tell me, do you have a name creature, a formal title?” She barked at him like a dog.

John could barely piece any of this together, though this robot said he was in the Big MT and it’s name was Dr Dala; he had never heard of any facility named the Big MT, and he had never heard of any doctor named “Dala” in his forty three years of service to the UNSC. He was more than on edge, he was ready to break the seams in the pipes and pulp this robot where it stands for almost carrying out such invasive surgery without his consent - for supposedly treating humans like nothing more than play toys, and then glazing it in a film of “moral superiority.”

It insisted on continuing its nonsense ramblings. John knew this robot was a threat to him, but he also had no other way of understanding what was beyond the room he was in currently.

On top of that, the floating TV screens were coming up with more crazy questions for his brain than he could ever hope to get words out in time to inquire. Instead he tried to stay patient; slowly getting up from his crouched position and standing up fully, the robot again started making orgasmic noises of pleasure upon seeing John’s full height - something that discomforted him greatly, it felt like an upheaval of his dignity.

When at his full height, he shot a dead glare at the middle of the robot’s upper two monitors - both of which counted for eyes, as John coldly spoke, he started to walk over to his scattered weapons.

“John, Sierra-117 Master Chief Petty Officer UNSC Spartan Branch. My patience is running thin.” he stated.

Crouching down again to pick up his weapons, eyes never leaving the robot - Dr Dala thought to herself that he was just as uncanny as a traditional lobotomite, though in less of the “disgusting” sense and more of the “I need to cut you open and dissect you” sense, and John could tell this, he was wary, cautious, but not afraid. When he finished attaching his M6D to the maglock on his waist and put the knife in its holster, a calmer more womanly voice started to speak from the robot’s direction.

“Spartans? Like the old tales of Ancient Greece? Sparta? You obviously have a military background and knowledge of human history - very rare among the rubbish we receive today. But what is this UNSC you speak of? Never heard of such a thing.” She was more hesitant now, his biometrics played as a reminder in her robotic brain.

John once again thought to himself at an incredible pace, now he knew he was probably on Earth, somewhere. Remarking that he has a “military background” shows it understands structured military hierarchies, but doesn't know what the UNSC is? Panic started to set in his stomach for the first time in decades. How could this thing know about human history but not the UNSC? Was he sent back in time? Is this a different Universe? The smells were foreign, the architecture unusual, and he had never seen a machine like this one.

“What year is it and where is this facility located?” He said with authority.

“I think that we have just reached the 2280s? Being trapped in this brain cage of mine with little outside stimuli makes it hard to account for centuries of lost time, this is the BIG MOUNTAIN, located just outside of the Nevada border.” She replied with uncertainty.

“Have you ever looked to the sky, or tried to read the positions of the Sun and Moon, do you have astronavigation tools?” He inquired in an almost mocking tone.

Dr Dala seemed perplexed by this - they could analyze stellar coordinates to get an accurate date and yet they hadn’t, instead most of them had been counting tallies on an imaginary chalkboard in their brains and averaging the dates. This human was more intelligent than she initially gave it credit for, only seeing the physical traits. A gleam of light lit up her monitors as the displays that counted for artificial eyeballs moved their digital form to represent shock.

This stumped John as to the nature of this machine, why is it still active and conducting experiments if it said centuries of lost time. The 2280s, potentially unreliable, why does it not have knowledge of the outside world, why is it so contradictory in everything it says, it could flip a digit and be trying to kill him any second. He needed to be wary and he needed to be strategizing.

Is all of Earth in ruins and one of the last intelligent humans is sitting here debating cutting open wastelanders for fun as a means of “bettering” Humanity and keeping its geriatric self locked in a jar of fluid for all eternity? It reminded him of ONI yet much more evil, it was comically evil. At this point he accepted there was no way this was his reality anymore, maybe a VR trick pulled by a Banished AI manipulating his neural port, but if he didn’t have his suit on that was unlikely; he pondered if he was even in his universe anymore. Before he could question Dr Dala though, she gave him an order.

“Accompany me to the Think Tank immediately, my colleagues would love to speak to you, you’re unusual to say the least.” She requested

John paused for a couple of seconds, processing every possibility he could think of without wasting too much time.

“Affirmative.” He stated.

Walking with unease, tension step after step for the first time since beginning Spartan training - he didn’t recognize a single thing in the facility. There were no remarkable corporation branding besides for logos he had never seen, no official UNSC designations, no UEG designations, nothing he could possibly make out as being from his world besides for the fact the walls were probably made from steel, and while he hadn’t asked directly yet, the idea in his brain that he might’ve been teleported across universal barriers was gaining traction, following this robot was his only way of gathering information for now, but he was still ready to put up a fight.

And after all, if reality has layers, slipspace being another one, who’s to say anything is definitively the one true reality. He could’ve just slipped through a crack in spacetime itself. Ideas like this entered his mind as he tried to piece together how he could’ve gotten here while walking to the elevator.

Walking through uniform grey sheet-metal hallways, he ducked through doorways, and noted potential exit vectors, or at least doors leading to other areas he hadn’t seen yet.

Him and the robot-form Dr Dala entered the elevator together, dialogue was nonexistent on the way there, but after seeing the machine struggle with pressing the buttons on the control panel, John asked if he could help; pressing the button the machine came to a jolt - on the entire ride up the machination stared at John as if he were another data entry to catalogue, another thing to cut open. He was taller than it and peering over the top he saw its brain capped in a gel-like fluid, encased in a metal apparatus; it was disturbing to him, but he said nothing. Wondering if it was based on a real person at some point or if the brain was also artificial.

When the elevator stopped he felt an unusual wave of pacifism rush over him, another thing to confuse him, in front of his face lay a ramp up through a claustrophobic hallway and into a room that he could not yet see.

This wave of pacifism made it hard to reach his hands down and grab his weapons but he still could, it just took extreme effort, something that caused great discomfort. His neural lace slightly interfered with the signals projected by the Think Tank. He started walking up the ramp while thinking about how much this limited his combat effectiveness in an environment full of potential hostiles, he started to create contingency plans; number one was to fall back to the elevator if things got too complex, if his end of the bargain was looking lackluster he would try to force them to engage him; if not he would brute force his way out of the building.

But quickly his thoughts were interrupted when he heard voices in front of him, arguing, debating - it sounded more like children squabbling but instead of screaming over whose toy got played with they were rambling about nonsensical resource quarrels involving “Saturnine cybernetic canines” - all paused to see Dr Dala and John approaching the epicenter of the room.

“WELCOME TO BIG MT, LOBOTOMITE, WAIT… NO YOU’RE NO LOBOTOMITE. DR DALA WHERE ARE HIS TESLA COILS? WHERE'S THE BLANK STARE, WHY IS HE NOT IN HIS GOWN? THIS IS A SUBOPTIMAL PERFORMANCE FROM ANOTHER MEMBER OF THE THINK TANK? I GUESS WE REALLY ARE GOING DOWN HILL. EXPLAIN YOURSELF THIS INSTANT DOCTOR!” Barked another similar robot from his speakers.

“This one is VALUABLE Klein, when he was teleported he did not lose consciousness. See for yourself, six foot, ten inches tall, and nearly THREE HUNDRED FIFTY pounds - but with UNBELIEVABLE muscle density, EIGHT HUNDRED PERCENT more dense than even the most athletic lobotomite we’ve EVER encountered, his bones HAVE BEEN GRAFTED WITH BORON-COMPOSITE MATERIAL MIXED WITH CERAMICS! His reaction speeds ALONE and movements are FASTER THAN ANY NUMBER PRODUCED BY HUMAN OR LIVING MACHINE- as soon as he was fully integrated into this reality he sidestepped and did some unrecognizable maneuver I couldn’t track, I estimate speeds of FORTY MPH, and reaction times bordering TWENTY MILLISECONDS using mechanisms I can’t even begin to grasp, his nervous system must have been completely replaced! This is unprecedented data - no human or automaton pre or post war could match this! And don’t get me started on the neural interface housed in that cranium of his! It’s WHY WERE EVEN TALKING IN THE FIRST PLACE. He could be the key Klein, he could get us MOBIUS! That or he’ll TRY TO GET US! He said so himself, I’m not waiting around to see the results. THIS IS SCIENCE GIVING US A BLESSING!” Dr Dala retorted.

“SILENCE WOMAN I OBVIOUSLY SEE HE IS IN PEAK PHYSICAL SHAPE BLAH BLAH FUCKING BLAH, HE IS OUR PROPERTY, AND A TOOL, LIKE ALL LOBOTOMITES; THE FACT THAT HE HAS HIS BRAIN STILL INTACT IS A COMPUTATIONAL HAZARD. IF YOU THINK HE CAN GET US MOBIUS THAT’S GOOD BUT WE NEED CONTROL.” Dr Klein mocked in a short, uptight voice.

“I WOULD LIKE FOR YOU TO SHOW SOME RESPECT, IF THIS “COMPUTATIONAL HAZARD” IS THE KEY TO GETTING US MOBIUS THEN I’D EXPECT A RED CARPET ROLLED OUT FOR ME AS SOON AS IT DOES.” Dr Dala trying to keep her ground,

“AND WHAT IF HE’S A COMMIE SPY, THEY'RE STILL OUT THERE, SEARCHING, PLOTTING TO KILL US SO THAT AMERICA MAY FALL FOREVER - in a more vicious tone, HE NEED PROVE HIS ALLEGIANCE NOW.” Said one of the other floating robots as it tried to keep its suspicion under wraps, but failed.

The fourth sat there not saying anything, not yet at least.

And the fifth went on a seemingly hate-ridden speech, though no one truly knows what he’s said - it just comes across as sonic jumbles. @()!)$&&$)%_@(E)$))@_!_($*&%%. Something akin to this.

John sat there taking in this absurd conversation, as well as his environment, he was standing in a room at least thirty meters wide by twenty meters long, there were three staircases leading to an elevated level where a long walkway occupied the space, connecting multiple doors to itself - they looked like they could be each Robots' rooms. Computers, terminals, and monitors lined almost every single wall. Of the robots there were five of them, he only knew the names of two so far. He knew these robots might just try to kill him, they might try to incapacitate and experiment on him; but it also sounded like with their issues he could figure out a way to spin this in his favor; get this “Mobius” figure, and then maybe he could get the drop on them and leave this place.

“If you need assistance, someone to solve a problem requiring precision and brute force. I could help you.” Spoke John, trying to break through their struggle.

“SEE, IT'S EVEN WILLING TO HELP, TAKE THE CHANCE KLE-” but it was interrupted.

Interrupting, Klein shouted. “B E Q U I E T, IF THIS CREATURE WANTS TO TAKEUPON ITS OWN INITIATIVE TO ASSIST US, THEN BY ALL MEANS YOU HAVE MY STIPULATION, BUT SHUT THE FUCK UP, AND LET IT CLATTER TOGETHER ITS LAMENTABLE LUGUBRIOUS BRAIN FOLDS TO SPEAK TO US AND ELABORATE ON ITS PROPOSAL.”

“Fine,” said Dala, pacified.

“SO… HUMAN… DO YOU WANT TO HELP US?” Dr Klein said, turning his attention to John

John knew this wasn’t going to be a mutual exchange unless he forced it.

“First explain to me how I got here, and then I’ll do what you want.” ordered John.

Dr Klein paused his processing to start more processing… a demand? A human… making a… a mockery? Of the Think Tank? With its repugnant requests, its nauseating flesh, the putrid smell of pheromones invading the artificial sensors of his machine-form. This was an insult - Dala’s recklessness, an insult, the human’s ability to be intelligible, an insult, the fact he hadn’t been carted off with his organs and skeleton separated from his muscles and skin, an insult. He could not possibly understand why Dr Dala would let such a dominant and demanding human live with its cognitive functioning left intact - he would have to ascertain the meaning of this later.

But for now even he saw potential, Dr Mobius - their greatest foe, was moving his roboscorpions to pounce on the Think Tank at any moment! This human needed to be analyzed by him to see if Dala’s assessment was accurate and then he would utilize this specimen’s capabilities.

“INITIALIZING DIAGNOSTIC AND BIOMETRIC SCANS TO DETERMINE SUBJECT FUNCTIONALITY, SUBJECT DESIGNATION SPARTAN-II, JOHN SIERRA-117, UNSC SPARTAN BRANCH, A BRANCH OF MILITARY THAT HAS RECORDS OVER TWO-HUNDRED YEARS IN THE FUTURE BY ACTING GOVERNMENT WITH NO RELEVANT LOCAL RECORDS TO BE CROSS COMPARED. CANNOT COMPUTE. SUBJECT IS UNIQUELY LARGE, POSSESSES MULTIPLE INTERNAL AUGMENTATIONS TO NATURAL PHYSIOLOGY - BORON CARBIDE CERAMICS GRAFTED TO BONES, MAKING THEM VIRTUALLY INDESTRUCTIBLE, INCREDIBLE. “FIBRIFICATION” OF NEURAL DENDRITES - INTERESTING TERMINOLOGY, TRADITIONALLY WOULD ALLOW FOR A REACTION TIME REACHING THIRTY MILLISECONDS AND YET BRAIN SCANS SHOW SUBJECT ACTIVITY RESPONDING TO STIMULI SIGNIFICANTLY BELOW THAT RANGE, OCCIPITAL REVERSAL CAPILLARY - THE ABILITY TO SEE IN THE DARK NATURALLY? FASCINATING. MUSCLE ENHANCEMENT INJECTIONS AND A CATALYTIC THYROID AUGMENTATION - H.G.H TO SPEED UP THE PROCESS OF MAKING A SUPERSOLDIER, AND MAINTAINING HORMONAL BALANCE, LOGICAL. MUSCLE DENSITY SUGGESTS ELEVEN HUNDRED PERCENT OF HUMAN NORM, SUBJECT SHOULD BE CAPABLE OF FIVE PLUS TON LOADS! THIS IS UNPARALLELED, I… I.. HAVE NEVER SEEN SUCH MASTERY OF SCIENCE! THIS IS A MASTERWORK IN BIOENGINEERING, YOU MUST HAVE BEEN THE MOST WONDERFUL SPECIMEN FOR YOUR CREATOR.”

Dr Klein felt hesitation in his voice, a tinge of fear, as well as jealousy. His optic sensors looked at the human standing in front of him - if he could even call it that, a wave of transhuman dread befell him, his science was outpaced, his brains out… brawned? He knew if he were still in a human body his pants would've already been soiled when confronting, this... this abomination. He'd rather it be helping them then the other way around, so for now he stayed passive and tried to ground himself in the ultimate belief of science. Klein wanted to speak before another voice cut in.

“Could this possibly be the makings of Communist influence? AN INSANE CHINESE MACHINATION CHAINED TO TEST OUR SCIENCE? AMERICAN SCIENCE! THEY TESTED US WITH NUCLEAR FIRE AND FAILED, IT TOO SHALL FAIL.” One of the robots remarked with fervor in his voice.

“DR BOROUS YOUR THEORIES ARE WELL FOUNDED, BUT THIS CREATURE POSSESSES NOT ONLY UNNATURAL ABILITY, BUT THE DRIVE TO HELP US - DID YOU NOT HEAR IT SAY TO TELL IT WHAT TO DO? OH WAIT IT ALSO WANTED AN EXPLANATION. WELL IT’S HARD TO SAY, THE CHINESE OR SOVIETS WOULD NEVER COME UP WITH SUCH A PRISTINE CREATION, YOU SEEM OTHER-WORDLY AND THE DATA CONCURS WITH THIS “UNSC” DESIGNATION. DR DALA SAID YOU TELEPORTED HERE BUT DID NOT LOSE CONSCIOUSNESS, AN IMPLAUSIBILITY, THOUGH THE NEURAL PORT LODGED IN YOUR BRAIN MAY HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH IT? TECHNOLOGY MIGHT HAVE INTERFERED WITH THE SIGNALS PRODUCED BY OUR QUANTUM ENTANGLEMENT RAYS. A BRIEF FAILURE BUT EXTREMELY PROFOUND IN ITS CONSEQUENCES. WHILE SOME WASTELANDER MIGHT HAVE TRIED TO REACH THIS PLACE THROUGH A MYRIAD OF TRAPS WE HAVE SET IN THE MOJAVE TO CATCH HUMANS TO LOBOTOMIZE, THOUGH NOTHING EVER COMES THROUGH IT IS QUITE SHOCKING CONSIDERING WE STILL RECEIVE LOBOTOMITE CANDIDATES…”

(pausing for a moment to recalculate data, how do humans enter BIG MT if the outside world is completely annihilated, no logical sense, Lobotomization procedures carried out regularly, Lobotomite population ~seventy-five, with one new subject every two days, requires background logical check)

“BACK TO THE POINT! CATCHING SOMETHING FROM A DIFFERENT UNIVERSE IS UNPRECEDENTED. THE LAYERS IN REALITY MUST HAVE SHIFTED PERFECTLY TO ALLOW YOUR ARRIVAL, WITH UNQUANTIFIABLY DAUNTING ODDS AGAINST THE FAVOR OF YOU EVEN REFORMING INTO YOURSELF, LET ALONE THE WEAPONS AND THAT DATAPAD YOU HAVE COMING WITH YOU. TO SAY IT IS LUCKY WOULD BE SAYING LOBOTOMITES STILL HAVE THEIR BRAIN INTACT, IT IS IMPROBABLE, IMPOSSIBLE, NEVER A FEAT TO BE REPRODUCED BY PRACTICAL EFFORTS. SO YOU SHOULD TRY TO ENJOY YOUR STAY BECAUSE I DOUBT YOU WILL BE RETURNING HOME, EVER.” elaborated Klein.

John stared at the robot as it spoke this jargon from internal speakers, he was intrigued that the machine could read his brain, though the neural lace inside acted as a data-port, storing his memories as well as information on Humanity in his universe. John listened keenly though, trying to understand if there were any key points the brain-machines had to bring up, but after the biometric scan and Dr Borous’ ramblings, the tone in Klein’s voice took a more analytical, but seemingly conceited tone. And as he listened a chill ran down his spine whenever his fears of being transported to a separate universe were confirmed true. Some frustration leaked onto his face as Klein seemingly mocked him, telling him to enjoy his time here. But in a place like this, for a man who is only truly accustomed to carrying out death and ending war, it was a prison.

Hearing the thing speak of him as an “unparalleled” specimen was something he disagreed with, in his mind he wasn’t even the best Spartan, but to regular people and even other Spartans he knew his reputation precedes him back home as well. His augmentations being described in single sentence or even half-sentences annoyed him, he felt as though he was being studied and catalogued, just like with the other one, Dala. 

John took a step back in shock as Klein still examined him. “SHOCK… A RELIEF, AND HERE I THOUGHT A SUPERSOLDIER LIKE YOU WERE INCAPABLE OF HUMAN EMOTION, I CAN SEE YOUR INTERNAL READINGS, BRAIN ACTIVITY INCREASED IN AREA SURROUNDING AMYGDALA, FEAR. SCANNING YOUR MEMORIES I SEE THIS PHENOMENON IS… RARE, WHEN FELT, SUPPRESSED. BUT THIS SITUATION IS DIFFERENT, YOU KNOW THAT, I KNOW THAT, THE THINK TANK KNOWS THAT. YOU WILL HELP US OR BE DOOMED TO A FATE OF LOBOTOMIZATION, OR WORSE IF YOU TRY TO KILL US THERE IS NO ESCAPE FROM BIG MT, OUR PULSE FIELD GENERATORS MELT GREY MATTER AT THE ATOMIC LEVEL, YOUR BRAIN WILL BE COOKED FROM THE INSIDE. I AM INSTEAD REQUESTING YOU TO BRING MOBIUS TO US, THEN THE TERMS OF YOUR EXISTENCE WILL BE DEBATED. I HAVE UPLOADED A PROGRAM TO YOUR DATAPAD, IT WILL PROVIDE THE LOCATIONS OF FACILITIES REQUIRING TECHNOLOGICAL EXCAVATION IN ORDER TO NEUTRALIZE THE THREAT OF MOBIUS, YOU NEED TO SEARCH THESE FACILITIES IN ORDER TO ASCERTAIN THE TECHNOLOGY INSIDE, NOT ONLY DO WE NEED IT FOR OUR PURPOSES, BUT IT WILL ALSO AID YOU IN CAPTURING MOBIUS. AND YOU'LL NEED THIS, IT IS A SONIC EMITTER CAPABLE OF DISRUPTING MACHINES, IN THE X-8 FACILITY YOU WILL FIND AN UPGRADE TO DISABLE OUR SONIC SHIELD GENERATORS THAT ARE LOCATED INSIDE MULTIPLE FACILITIES, GOOD LUCK HUMAN, YOU’LL NEED IT.”

The initial emotional turmoil that John was experiencing subsided as a directive kicked in, he now had a mission, an objective; he wasn’t going to play exactly by the Think Tank’s rules - he knew there had to be a way out if there was a way in, he would find it. The sonic emitter Klein was talking about floated from a gravity well located in the ceiling, John approached it - noting the weird, retro-futuristic design akin to a comic-book alien blaster.

He held the weapon loose in his hand for fear of breaking it. A flimsy thing, it couldn’t weigh more than a pound.

“Affirmative” John stated.

He turned around and started walking to leave the room, his hand clutching the datapad on his left thigh as he brought it up. He noticed that the chronometer was malfunctioning. But just like Klein had said - a file downloaded to his device with a program including a map of the entire area. Opening the file he saw that it included objectives in each location that needed searching. To the west there was a facility titled the X-13 Research Facility, a brief description of the task given by Klein popped up next to the data display of the facility’s location.

PARAMETERS: FIND AND PUT TOGETHER STEALTH SUIT MK II. UTMOST PRIORITY. REQUIRES TESTING BEFORE PRACTICAL APPLICATION. 2 STANDARDIZED TESTS 2 VOLUNTARY TESTS.

He looked at his task with a gleam of hope - this “Stealth Suit” could be an unparalleled asset to have, almost sounding like S.P.I armor. On top of that he might even find weapons in the facility as well. Though looking further into it, the activation of the suit might be a problem, it requires two spec-ops “infiltration tests” and additional tests serving further optimization? He couldn’t know for sure what those tests entailed yet. Instead of waiting, and thinking about it too long - he continued his stride, reaching the elevator and entering it.

On the way down he pondered on what might await him, the robots mentioned Lobotomites but he wasn’t sure of what exactly that entails. And before he fully entered the room they were talking about “cyberdogs” Hopefully not hostile, they are dogs conditioned by humans after all. There were also the roboscorpions, those seemed, from description, to be the most dangerous. But he could never be sure; his plan was to stick to the shadows, not let anyone see him before he sees them, but if they did, he’d need to strategize accordingly. 

Chapter Text

When the elevator stopped and the door opened, light struck his eyes as the iris dilated in reaction. The pale-blue color combined with augmentation made the Sun even brighter for him than for other Spartans. In the vast distance in front of him he saw a mountain scape spanning the horizon, the floor ahead was cracked concrete slabs, broken and mangled, iron fences surrounded the perimeter.

Walking ahead and looking up, John realized the building he was in was actually a gigantic dome - its colossal size dwarfed the structures in the nearby area and as he made his advance through cracked roads and dirt, its size was so apparent it even made the mountain scape look smaller than it should.

John stuck to the high ground, and the mountainous terrain of the region made it extremely easy, there were deep ravines and random cliff faces everywhere, and adjacent terrain made it easy to maneuver quickly. He didn’t register to anyone in his black under suit against the grayish tones of soot, dirt, and rock. While moving he’d acquire targets, realize they couldn’t see him, and in less time than they could react he was already out of line of sight.

He noted multiple of these so-called “lobotomites” dressed in surgical gowns with tesla coils strapped to their heads. They walked aimlessly, and made groaning noises constantly, but they also carried weapons that appeared to use nuclear energy for their ammunition - he noted empty cartridges on weapons dropped by dead ones, labelled “microfusion cells.” This intrigued him greatly.

A few hundred meters out he started noticing pillars of material that shot out of the ground, it reminded him of Forerunner architecture; but in composition it was relatively primitive. He noticed a dirt path leading to a facility, its glowing blue lights labelled X-13 as well and the mark on his datapad were the telltale signs this was the right place.

As he approached it he took note of the architecture - rusted metal, a hydraulic steel door for the opening, and multiple metal boxes scattered across the concrete slab entrance. He took the time to loot them, see what type of things might be inside this place. Opening the boxes he discovered that inside there was mostly junk, he saw batteries and empty turpentine containers, he picked up a battery and read the label on it, he noted the word “fission.”

That’s two instances of wide spread nuclear energy, a good sign to him, it shows that this version of Humanity was able to harness relatively advanced technology for everyday use. He picked up a battery for study, but as he started to stand he heard a rattle.

Snakes? He thought, but these were no snakes; turning around he noticed a group of canine-like creatures. To him and his advanced senses they seemed suspended in motion, he had time to analyze - they appeared to have rattlesnake tails and mouths grafted onto them; another horrific experiment by the Think Tank? Most definitely.

The creatures somehow did not notice him as he tried to sneakily open a large hydraulic door. The wheel on the front creaked as pistons shifted open and the door gave way. Stepping inside he saw nothing unordinary but heard the same rattling he had heard from the creatures outside, distant though. On his right he noticed one of the force fields that Klein had mentioned, he had a theory about disabling them with brute force but he didn’t want to take the chance of setting off security systems and activating more force fields. 

He walked through the opening in the center of the room, in the hallway beyond a locked door was on his right. He could pick it with the multitool on the bottom of his blade but he didn’t feel like bothering.

The long hallway was interrupted by yet another room with its door wide open. Inside a pair of white gloves made from some rubber/latex material sat in the middle of a large table. The marker on his datapad pointed to these as being a part of the Stealth Suit, he grabbed them and put them on his hands, he thought they were pretty comfortable.

As he turned around he noted an unlocked computer terminal with multiple messages from hundreds of years ago. It shocked John that the computer was still fully operational after so long, but if everything was nuclear powered it makes some sense.

He then also kept in mind to be extremely aware of potential radiation sickness from faulty machinery.

The terminal was filled with messages about the Stealth Suit’s design and function - mentioning rubberized seals and materials which confirmed his initial assessment, there were also notes on his pulse gun that Klein had so kindly given him, the notes not only confirmed the location of the pulse gun’s upgrade to disable force fields being in the X-8 Facility, but also additional upgrades based on robotic units inside Big MT.

He left the room and carried on, the next room he encountered had the same layout, yet greaves and boots lay in the center instead, John noticed writings on the chalkboard ahead of him - the writings were smeared and mostly indistinguishable from gibberish but he made out the words “self forming” as well as “autonomous AI.” The final piece was found in yet another similar room, this time it was the chestplate of the suit.

Behind the table the chestplate lay on were multiple Chinese prototype helmets. The terminal in the room was what informed him it was of Chinese design, but its large rounded visor reminded him of the EVA Mjolnir units. It was most likely still functional since almost everything else in this facility was, so he took it with him.

There were more unlocked terminals that he checked but they mostly had similar data on the Stealth Suit’s design as well as experiments in other locations in Big MT, nothing specific about its capabilities - besides for “improved mobility, can limbo under barriers as fast as they can run." He started assembling the chestpiece, putting both it and the boots on he felt the plates move as rubber seals stretched from underneath them and combined all of the parts together. 

“Stealth Suit Mk II at your service, may I interest you in a bit of spec ops fun, handsome?” projected a young woman’s voice from the suit’s speakers.

John was slightly tired of AI at this point, The Weapon to him was a viable asset, much more stable than Cortana, but he had also forged too close of a personal connection with Cortana and that almost cost Humanity its existence, he’d have to be careful in his mannerisms when talking to this suit’s AI unless he want to be manipulated by it. And the scientists in the Think Tank were somewhat artificial in themselves though still possessing human brains - similar to fourth gen Smart AI but extremely crude, and after two hundred years it’s no wonder they’re compromised.

Putting the prototype Chinese helmet on it locked in place, forming a rubber seal to his neck - surprisingly comfortable, the heads up display lit up and mirrored the area in a reddish hue.

He noted how the stark black helmet contrasted the white-gray plates of the Stealth Suit, and he also noted a tarp in the corner of the hallway he was just in. It was relatively gray-shaded and dirty, good camouflage, he wrapped it around his body and tied it around his neck.

The Stealth Suit picked up his biosignatures through the under suit and detected an elevated heart rate of thirty-three bpm contrasted to his record's stated, usual twenty-five, and was pleased with this discovery. “I can see you like me already.”

John did not care for personal connection with an artificial intelligence instead pondering its uses. “What is your purpose, state designation and function, now.”

“I’m here to serve you babe, since you put on that helmet I’ve integrated my systems with the Chinese data so whenever you want I automatically turn on a stealth field that jams radar signals as well as technology, I’m surprised my creators never tried this; instead they tried to fashion their own stealth field. The stealth field will make you practically invisible to robots, but besides for that I can automatically inject you with stimpaks, med-x, radaway, or any other combat enhancing drug you put into my hormone tank! As soon as I see your biometrics drop I’ll inject you with a dose of the good stuff!” The suit replied in a cheerful voice.

John thought for a moment - he didn’t recognize any of the names of the medicine the suit had just listed off, but he could make reasonable inferences, stimpaks sounded like they were some sort of coagulant agent, something akin to biofoam, the suit will remove the need for self-use, similar to Mjolnir. Med-x was probably some healing-enhancement drug; and radaway, from the name, seems obvious in its use, an anti-radiation drug. John was sure to look out for these and different types of medicine as they progressed through the facility. And despite him being cautious of the design of the AI in the Stealth Suit, it felt comforting to have another voice, high-tech equipment, and additional tactical awareness.

He approached another door - this time the lock was broken and the computer terminal next to it was broken as well so there was no way to open the door traditionally, he read the label at the bottom.

"OVERPRESSURE 3300 LBS" “Can you handle multi-ton forces?” asked John.

“How do you intend to produce such a force?” The suit was perplexed by his question.

“My leg” was his retort.

“No, that amount of force would destroy my internal systems and crumple my frame, you’d need to take me off, but since you already put the pieces together you can disengage me from a seal in the back - it will shrink the suit and you can carry me.” the suit informed him.
John was satisfied with this answer, not practical and he shouldn’t engage in melee with this suit on, yet he destroys the thing before it’s fully operational.

“Affirmative.”

Taking the suit and tarp off was relatively simple, he untied the tarp and it fell to the ground, and just as the AI had said - a button was located on the upper back of the Stealth Suit’s frame, touching it would open the suit and allow for ease of access as well as ease of egress, the suit’s form opened up and John stepped out of it, before the suit deflated and fell to the ground, he picked it up and put it on the maglock on his back.

John then quickly braced himself; he activated his core, his target was the side of the reinforced metal door - connected to concrete by pistons, it should be less dense in material composition to the door itself which was three straight inches of steel. Instead of denting the door and taking a few kicks to break it, it would only take one kick to shatter the reinforcements and send the door flying backwards.

He pivoted, his body arcing sideways in a vast sweeping motion of brute force and blinding speed, his leg, like a hydraulic press struck at the seam in the concrete wall and created a sound so loud it popped his own eardrums, violently intense vibrations travelled through his leg as even his augmented bone structure felt shaken by the force  - the door’s frame shattered. Tiny fragments of rock exploded everywhere, the door itself bent and caved in while making a violent lurching of creaking metal. It flew backwards, not bound by the wall anymore. The concrete beside the door ceased to exist, instead replaced by a massive gaping hole that increased John’s view of the next room. Piles of rock scattered the floor in front of him.

The ringing in his ears subsided and quickly he withdrew the suit from his back maglock, pressed the button and watched it form standing straight up - he stepped inside and the suit formed and sealed to his body.

They were one again.

He picked the tarp up from the ground and wrapped it around his neck.

“Fascinating, now I know you could break me…” remarked the suit’s AI.

John did not care for the flirtatious commentary, his mind was focused on the mission and the thought barely registered in his head. In front of him was a vast room, he was standing on a metal platform suspended by concrete supports, below him lay an equally large room covered by energy fields. Yet another hydraulic door with a computer terminal again sat at the very other end, on his left side was an opening with a staircase down to the lower level, and on his right was another computer terminal and hydraulic door. He swept both sides, making sure the entire room was clear before he made any significant advance.

He approached the door on the right and used the terminal to unlock it. Inside he saw a room covered in blue and black sprawl and code; there were two pillars adjourned with the same decoration, but what caught his eye the most was a large, glowing, axe that sat on the right end of the room embedded in a skeleton. Its size was comparable to an energy sword yet it was fashioned like a traditional axe - the power generator sat near the top and the handle looked relatively ergonomic.

“That is a Protonic-Inversal Axe, it ignores the durability of any material it comes into contact with and cuts through the atoms instead. Very useful, you should take it.” the suit commented.

John agreed, it was akin to monomolecular blades but even better. He dislodged the axe from the skeleton, it felt like paper in his hand and the blade had no weight so it was mostly evenly distributed among the handle/staff. A definitive upgrade from his Spartan blade, no matter how much he liked the knife. There was no more room on his maglocks besides for the one on his back but he chose to carry the axe in his hand - wary of any threats that might attack as well as knowledgeable of how its energy field could disrupt the maglock.

He moved to the other door, its terminal slightly different. Red and white, adorned with a light-blue keyboard. Accessing it he realized he needed to travel to the X-8 Research Center to actually get clearance for the Stealth Suit, which would allow him to advance to the next room. He didn’t want to risk the suit’s data and functions being unrecoverable because the tests were unable to be performed so brute force wasn't an option.

This was a slight annoyance but John was determined, he wanted to leave this place, he needed to see the outside world - everything the scientists have said about what’s outside Big MT has been contradictory, he doesn’t trust their assessment. Maybe the Think Tank is lying about Mobius, once he's there he'll see if there’s any better assessment of the outside world.

On his right he noted a staircase down, maybe he could find supplies there - as he walked down the rattles he heard from earlier started again, and they were close this time. He thought he could take on a few abominations like them with ease, but he wasn’t trying to waste resources.

At the bottom of the staircase was a hallway which led to another opening, right beside said opening was the skeleton of a long dead scientist, a broken cattle-prod next to him as even his clothes were starting to fade from existence. The dread this place inspired was palpable, the long dead ghosts of hundreds haunted every step he took and even John felt the chillness of spirits. 

He cleared the room in front of him, large metal cages and rubbish covered the walls and glowing blue terminals sat across the room. He moved forward and saw a large pipe leading deeper into unknown areas, the rattles grew increasingly louder.

His vision adjusted to the level of light as he moved through the pipes - they were surprisingly big enough to fit his large frame, by this point he had drawn his pistol in his right hand, the axe in his left. He moved deftly and quickly through the pipes, coming across a room with refrigerators, a large still, and scattered items everywhere. He sat in this room for a moment - food was going to be vital in this presumed post nuclear apocalypse.

He noticed multiple leather straps, rolls of duct tape, and small pieces of sheet metal. He planned to fashion these into a rucksack to carry items with him, but before he could do so the rattling sounded like it was right behind him. His AR display and motion sensors made him too accustomed to having eyes in the back of his head, he was caught off guard for a moment, but it didn’t matter.

The first creature came, it flew at John, but before it could strike with its fangs its head was on the floor.

Three more advanced from deeper in the pipes, they were slight shimmers in the darkened pipes as their augmentation allowed them to turn invisible, even John’s enhanced vision struggled to perfectly picture them. But it was enough for target acquisition, before the creatures could react, he fired six shots, two for each. The bullets zipped through their altered physiology like a hot knife through butter. Blood splattered on the pipes as their fur, flesh, and bone was revealed in glimmery, acrid detail.

These creatures had no natural protection from 12.7 mm explosive rounds. John didn’t hear the rattling anymore, but one of the creatures was still twitching. In a single quick motion the axe was brought down upon the creature’s neck - ending its life instantly.

John retreated back into the room and gathered nearby materials, he sat down and started to construct a rucksack from hand, it was mostly made from leather and duct tape, with metal reinforcement and a crude drawstring opening made from a pair of shoes he found with their laces intact.

He opened the refrigerator. There was nothing but beverages, water and some labeled Nuka Cola. A few other bottles were labeled Sunset Sarsaparilla. 

"Soda?" He thought to himself.

It looked like the cola he remembered seeing in vending machines on UNSC ships. Dark, fizzy, somewhat unappetizing as he much preferred water, and there was some of that too. He took both the cola and the water, and he put the water in the sack.

But for once he was actually somewhat curious about what this might taste like, he had never had a soda in his life. Human curiosity took the better of him as he slid off the Chinese prototype helmet, and flicked the metal cap off with his finger. He took a sip - it was foreign, weird, but good. Sugary, tasty, pausing for a second he wondered how this drink is even still good, but he kept drinking until a burning sensation took over his mouth and the bottle was empty.

Tossing it to the ground, the bottle clinked and shattered.

He put his helmet back on, no attention was spared, stepping over the creatures’ bodies he moved back through the pipes and out the way he came. There was nothing notable on the way out, he walked the hallways and made his way back to the entrance. He estimated he had only been in the facility for around 30 minutes, and upon leaving this assumption was confirmed, the bright light of the Sun once again illuminated his eyes; he looked away for a quarter of a second and then kept moving. The X-8 Facility was on the other side of Big MT, there might be even more dangerous creatures lurking around any corner so he had to stay sharp.

Keeping a steady pace, mostly retracing his steps from the dome to the facility until he got back. In the distance he saw a large metal facility - surrounded by more chain link fences and what looked to be a radar tower on the northern side of the building. Making his advance he had to pass through somewhat treacherous terrain, fault lines, broken pipes, shattered concrete, and collapsed rocks were just one part of it. There was also a large town ahead of him - destroyed buildings littered the area. Getting closer he received a transmission from Klein, it read,

“DO NOT APPROACH BOOM TOWN, NUCLEAR ORDINANCE UTILIZED, EXTREME RADIATION LEVELS, DOWNLOADING GEIGER COUNTER SOFTWARE TO YOUR DATAPAD, BE WARY OF THE INVISIBLE THREAT THAT IS RADIATION, JOHN.”

A dozen or so meters away John could see green pools that looked like geysers. Depressions and cracks in the ground opened up to show advanced radiation poisoning of the terrain. Tributaries flowed along the breaks in the cement like lightning cuts through the atmosphere - their glow filling up the area. John started to leave as the software downloaded.

He saw the software boot up on his datapad, he noted that the Think Tank was tracking him somehow, yet he was decently pleased that Klein was trying to help him. 

The clicks were strong and fast; numbers started to appear in John's H.U.D displaying millisievert equivalents to the amount of ionizing radiation in the area; he was achieving a steady rate of one-hundred-fifty millisievert every second; enough to cause symptoms of acute radiation sickness if he stayed there for a minute. The CPM died down as he walked away.

“No radaway available to relieve the operator of radiation affliction, may I suggest going to the Y-17 Medical Facility? There should be abundant supplies there.” the suit chimed in.

“Good idea” he stated bluntly.

While walking he observed his datapad, connected to his neural lace he just had to send the signal to download the information directly to his brain. He got a brief description of the facility in its pre-war state, but who knew what it was like now.

He could see what he thought the facility was from his position, a crumpled mess of a concrete building, rubble everywhere, the only intact thing being the part of the building that housed an elevator down to the lower levels and the lower levels themselves. On the front of the elevator door John noted a red symbol resembling the old American flag, not the traditional one from the 20th and 21st centuries, but more akin to the ancient Betsy Ross Flag of the American Revolutionary War, the history of this Earth must be drastically different, he thought.

Pressing the button next to the elevator door it slid open, he walked through. And on the way down it played an old tune, the lyrics going on about “spurs that jingle jangle” John didn’t really like the music, he preferred silence. Once the elevator door opened again he saw there was a short hallway connecting to a greater room. He could see that in the center of the room large cables hung from the ceiling, connecting to a central cylinder. The room was seemingly created around the object and that became clear as he drew closer to the room. The Stealth Suit alerted him to nearby hostiles,

“Three hostile Mr. Handy Doctor Orderly models in the next room, equipped for medical procedures, they have plasma weaponry, advise non-engagement protocols, plasma does not play.” It concluded.

“I know.” was all John returned with.

The Stealth Suit and prototype Chinese helmet’s stealth field possessed a function that the AI had failed to mention or perform earlier; whenever he activated the stealth field, markers popped up on the helmet’s HUD displaying enemy locations and forms even through walls. These appeared to be floating robots, with multiple appendages possessing dangerous equipment such as flamethrowers, buzzsaws, and as the AI mentioned, built-in plasma weaponry.

He didn’t know how exactly it was possible for tech hundreds of years less advanced than the UNSC’s full-light spectrum visors and AR models to be able to picture this in a similar fashion, but he didn’t mind the extra help.

"Activating integrated sensor array." the Suit chimed.

He moved his axe to his left hand, and again drew the pistol from his hip. One Mr Handy was stationed on the first floor to his left - it didn’t seem to be moving, two more sat on the upper platforms that John inferred were there from the robots’ ability to move in a concordant pattern with the architecture, they were patrolling around the area, moving from lower platform to upper platform in a circular route.

John hatched a plan; before he’d fully enter the room he would take out the Mr Handy to his left with a few well placed shots from his pistol, then he'd utilize the angles of the platforms in the room to coerce fire into specific areas - and use the tarp on his back to paint a bigger picture of himself and confuse the robots’ sensors. It would allow him to pick them off one by one. He checked his magazine - six bullets left. He put that magazine away and loaded a new one into the gun. He kept his axe down near his side while approaching the door, mindful of its energy field.

The augmented vision still displayed the three Mr Handy, Doctor Orderlies, and as soon as the two above him moved out of sight of the stationary one, he rounded the corner and fired three shots; in extremely quick succession.

The Doctor Orderly’s frame crumpled as one bullet tore through an eye socket and lodged itself directly in the CPU inside its bulbous head - a lucky shot, the other two hit its floater unit and caused the lower half of its body to erupt in a small explosion as the explosive ordinance in the second bullet breached its armor and detonated inside of its body. The shiny glowing sphere that accounted for its head now a flying smoldering wreck crashing against the wall behind it.

John then turned his attention towards the other two. One was already moving down a staircase connecting the lower and upper platforms. It started to turn, but before it could spew plasma four bullets were lodged into its frame, the machine spun in a whine of smoke and high pitched metallic creaking, it fell off the safety railings and landed on the ground next to him, he then turned and saw the last Dr Orderly aiming its weapons, it had been in a good position to flank him.

He opened the tarp on his back, and in two powerful steps that shattered the concrete he had reached his full speed and leapt over the depression in the middle of the room; running for cover behind the silhouette of another platform.

Plasma spewed from the machine’s body and melted part of his tarp as he ran.

He ducked behind the other platform just in time, its metal frame blocking plasma bolts that slowly melted the structure away.

Green flames washed over his surroundings, but he thought quickly and pulled out the two half-empty magazines, put the rest of the bullets from both into one mag, and attached the empty one to his waist.

He bolted from his position, plasma struck the ground just behind him but his reflexes were fast enough, the bolts only hit his tarp and the concrete.

Five shots rang out from the M6D, the thudding sound bounced off the walls and created permanent silence. The first bullet struck the left side of the robot, sending it backwards a bit, the second and third hit practically the same area right in between the gap in its metal plating; the machine shuddered. A fourth hit one of its eyeballs as it started to tumble to the ground and the fifth struck it dead center on the top of its head as it was falling.

The machine, crumpled, and on fire, was destroyed.

“All targ…” the AI started

“All targets neutralized, moving to assess the area.” finished John.

He pivoted around the room, the first place to catch his eye was down the staircase next to the large metal pod/cylinder,he saw an outfit and a technological device - its purpose unknown.

“That’s a stealth-boy on the ground there, it’ll turn you completely invisible!” informed the suit.

“Noted”

He picked it up and put it in the sack.

Then he turned to the outfit, it was covered in weird metallic protrusions, a metal collar surrounded the neck and waist sections, they were easily malleable despite being made of steel. The outfit was mostly made of leather though and it had a hood connecting to the collar. Considering the tarp he was wearing was practically melted by these robots he opted to salvage it and combine the two things together instead. He noticed how much lighter this armor was compared to the large tarp, and also its size. It was tight fitting and way too small for him, it looked to belong to a woman; not that a regular man’s clothes would fit him any better. He planned to cut open the leather aspects, and use the plasma generator on his knife to carve away at the metal, he’d shape it with the plasma’s edge, and repurpose it for something. Looking around and assessing the situation, he knew he had time.

Walking up the staircase, he grabbed the tarp and cut them both up. He used the knife as a needle, it had the same utilities as a Victorinox model Swiss-Army knife. At the bottom of the handle it had a traditional multitool.

There was an awl with a sewing eye as one of the tools - he used it to poke holes and thread string for minutes on end, being meticulous in all of his movements. He cleverly integrated the metal collar component as a base for the robes, it worked as the foundation for the robes to sit on. He screwed screws into the metal plate using his knife, and tied the fabric around them. He then kept sewing additional fabric until it was thick enough for his liking. Although the collar had a hood attached to it, it was tight fitting and did not fit over his head or helmet. He chose to put seams in the fabric around the robe’s neckline and began creating a hood from whatever he had left. He then sewed the hood onto the robes. Inside of the robes he had fashioned a multitude of pockets for items he’d need immediately in the heat of combat. The robes had an opening in the front so he could use his arms while wearing it. To put the robes on he grabbed the metal collar from the front and bottom, he lifted the entire outfit up into the air and turned it around with his fingers - he let the collar fall onto his shoulders, he felt metal pang his back and he knew the fit was decent. A small sense of pride seized his emotions, he thought it took him around an hour to make this thing; but just then, as he was getting adjusted to the feel of his new attire, he got a new message from Klein on his datapad.

“YOU ARE BEING DEMONSTRABLY SLOW, AND YOU’RE NOT EVEN IN THE RIGHT PLACE. THE X-8 FACILITY IS NORTHEAST OF YOU. BUT WHILE YOU’RE IN Y-17 MEDICAL FACILITY YOU COULD FIND THE HOLOTAPE FOR THE AUTODOC WE HAVE, IT IS SIMILAR TO THE DEVICE YOU SEE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROOM YOU ARE IN NOW, CAPABLE OF PERFORMING SURGERIES, IMPLANTS, RADIATION TREATMENT, BOTOX, YOU NAME IT. IF YOU FIND THE AUTODOC’S HOLOTAPE YOU CAN USE THE MACHINE FOR YOUR OWN DEVICES, AND JOHN, WE HAVE MATTERS TO DISCUSS ABOUT THE SINK’S CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE UNIT WHEN YOU RETURN, MAKE HASTE HUMAN.”

A ping popped up on his datapad, looking at a scan of the building he was in he saw that the “holotape” was directly above him, thinking to himself that automated medical services including surgery would be extremely useful, he moved up the staircases and came across a locker with a square white-cased tape - the holotape. He picked it up and put it in the sack. On his left he noticed more lockers and a med-kit, and thought to himself.

The Red Cross existed at some point in this universe, considering the aesthetic of the medkit.

He walked up to it, opened it, and saw what he thought was probably those stimpaks that the Stealth Suit had informed him about earlier. They were short plastic syringes connected to an apparatus at the top that would have to be pressed down in order for it to work. He also saw a putrid-brownish substance inside of a blood bag, on it was written “Radaway” in crude red scribble.

“You can take those stimpaks and that radaway and put it in my hormone tank, anything in there gets used when your vitals drop to extreme suboptimal levels.” said the suit.

John did exactly what the suit said, once the medicine was in the hormone tank the suit began to stir.

“Detecting elevated radiation levels, higher than normal background radiation would allow, injecting radaway.” it projected.

John felt a large IV pierce his skin around his upper-right pectoral - connecting to his Thoracoacromial artery, the tech-suit port?

The Stealth Suit started to use the systems and built in hard points of John's under suit at the same time as its own in order to boost effectiveness. It released hypertonic fluid into his system to drain any toxins picked up from radiation exposure. John was used to medical assistance mid-combat from Mjolnir’s internal systems, pain from the IV was negligible, and the discomfort from his body’s shifting homeostasis left a palpable taste in his mouth but nothing to concern himself with.

Chapter Text

John made his way back to the elevator, down staircases and over broken robots. Once he got inside and pressed the button the speakers played a different song this time - something about a man named Johnny and his guitar. He found this song to be even more insufferable than the last.

The elevator doors opened, he stepped out.

Sunlight branched out through honeycomb holes in the walls. John could hear barking in the distance, close, less than three hundred meters. Those cyberdogs the Think Tank had spoke of were finally coming out to play. 

“Activate stealth field,” he stated.

“Affirmative, jamming sensors now, they’ll never know what hit them.” replied the suit.

Speakers that were all around the mountain rang out as John heard a crazed voice shouting ramblings to the Think Tank, “MY ROBOSCOPRIONS SHALL TEAR YOU ASUNDER, YOUR FEEBLE THINK TANK IS NOTHING AGAINST THE MIGHT OF MY INTELLECT. YOU SHALL KNOW THE WRATH OF TECHNOLOGY.”

John assumed the loud booming voice was Mobius. His personality aligned with what the Think Tank had described. The doctor sounded mad and deluded, a safety hazard, no doubt. 

Ignoring the voice, he asked "Activate augmented visual display." 

Red highlights popped up in John's vision, suspiciously canine-shaped. Five targets. 

Darting around debris, between rock, and keeping away from radiation and Boom Town; John crept precariously and made sure he wasn't detectable. He started to close in on them now, fifty meters. The pooches appeared to be kitted out with metal limbs, and floating brains. 

Behind a rock he pulled out his pistol. One of them heard the sound and alerted; the others followed suit. The five cyberdogs slowly smelled and patrolled the area, getting closer to John's position every moment. The Stealth Suit forced them to use their natural senses. 

He waited for the perfect moment. Two of the cyberdogs had separated themselves from the larger group, cut off completely.

One of them rounded the boulder John was behind. Its nose stuck out past the edge of the rock, sniffing the air. He took his chance and grabbed the nape of its neck; the creature started to howl in surprise before a round from the M6D blew its snout off.

Twenty meters away and behind some cover one of the other dogs started to turn to see what had happened. A chance for a kill and tactical repositioning. Its head was exposed, he threw the axe and started to run after it. Before the hound could get the chance to react it was decapitated by the perfect throw.

John pulled the axe out of the ground, glass shards piled in the hole it made, and ash fumed from its energy field. Both of these kills gained the attention of the other three, John never kept his eyes off of them. 

A shimmering formed from the mouth of the largest cyberdog, its armor a dull yellow contrasted to the others' reds, and as it opened wide the air around it dispersed, the pressure changing in an instant. Every fiber in John's body told him to move.

THWOOOOOOOOM 

Concrete and metal flew upwards, violently shredded by the shockwave just produced. His reaction time was barely enough in order to throw himself back to the cover and avoid the sonic boom.

The sound and overpressure alone rattled his head, clattered his teeth, and made his vision blurry. But training took over and his aim was true, the pistol too familiar. His instinct refined over decades of moments exactly like this. Firing four more times bullets ripped through and exploded inside of the other dogs, killing them instantly.

Without his armor dodging any projectile faster than the speed of sound was very unlikely, a major tactical disadvantage he'd need to work around. He got lucky with the Dr Orderlies in Y-17. He'll have to be even more careful against humans armed with ballistics and god forbid laser weapons. 

He analyzed his surroundings. The X-8 Facility was right in front of him, his HUD displayed that there were two more groups of enemies, four humans one click to his west, and two wide-shaped machinations - with large domed heads, and tank tread feet to his southeast. He hadn't encountered the latter before and assumed it was another type of robot. 

Moving to X-8 Facility nothing opposed him besides for the now rotting carcasses of dead cyberdogs on the ground. 

Chapter Text

John sat with the Transportalponder gun. Mobius - the crazed, yet tragic, and poignant scientist had gifted it to him and informed him it would teleport him to and from here and the Southern border of the old state of Nevada if he held the trigger. He would land right around an ancient drive-in movie theater.

Mobius had also told him about what was outside of the Big MT; it was clever of him to mess with the Think Tanks’ brains and make sure they didn’t know what was outside of Big MT but John wouldn’t have any of it. The NCR and Caesar’s Legion were the two biggest players.

The NCR presented itself as a democratic republic, basing itself on the values of the old country of America. It was not dissimilar to how the UEG runs after the end of the Human-Covenant War, but he was sure there’d be differences. Probably his best bet for human interaction.

Yet the Legion sounded like a lot of trouble. Crazed lunatics believing they’re God’s divine wrath in a new era of autocratic slavery and genocide, while championing the aesthetics of pre-medieval and renaissance era cultures combined with fascist totalitarianism?

“A disgrace to Humankind.” Was the only tangible opinion he could have of the Legion.

Besides these two factions Mobius had also informed him of the Brotherhood of Steel, and how two of their operatives had infiltrated the Big MT in recent years. He didn’t know as much about them as the NCR and the Legion but he informed John that they were tech-hoarders, bent on isolationism in the past century, and that he would probably never even run into them.

Before leaving the Big MT John thought hard about what he was going to do in the Mojave. Would he help people? Join the NCR? Take out the Legion? Would he just wander? What were people from a different universe like? How much more different is the history of this world compared to his? What would he say to people? Even for someone as genetically modified and augmented as himself, John could not help but feel anxiety for one of the first times in his life. He did not know what he should do in this new world, one devoid of life as he knew it.

He tried to ground himself to his true philosophy: Complete the mission.

But right now there was no mission; he wouldn’t have an official order from the UNSC for the rest of his life. He wouldn’t see his Spartan brothers and sisters ever again.

Even a mountain of a man such as himself could not hold back emotion through pure stoicism. A few tears ran down his face.

He couldn’t think about any of these types of things while dealing with the Think Tank and Mobius; but now that he was alone the thoughts in his head had nothing to bounce off of.
John had never experienced “depression” before, but his emotions as a human were not entirely hindered from augmentation and conditioning. He obviously knew of depression, he knew that people could develop depression from traumatic events and he has more of those in his life than he, or anybody else, could ever possibly register.

But it wasn’t the combat, it wasn’t the explosions, the plasma whizzing by that was causing him sadness. It was the people who had shaped him throughout his entire career. Those people he would never get to say goodbye to. Knowing Blue Team is still waiting for his action-plan on the Infinity. His IFF tag would forever be marked “Missing in Action.” And they’d never know what happened to him. Maybe Halsey could pull some crazy bullshit but that felt more than impossible. Maybe just this once John's luck played against him. 

His head in his hands, he tried to calm himself. It didn’t work; all he felt was anger, and pain, and hatred. But there was no place to direct it.

“I’m detecting an elevated heart rate of sixty bpm, unusual for you, are you ok? You seem distressed. Did you know the AutoDoc you reactivated is fitted for psychological treatment? It might help.” Said the suit, trying to comfort him.

John pause for a moment, contemplating. “That’s probably… a good idea.”  

He stood up and walked to the AutoDoc on the other side of the facility from the room he had inherited.

When getting closer it chimed in the cheesy British voice its creator had programmed.

“What assistance do you require today?” asked the AutoDoc.

“Psychological.” replied John.

“Of course sire, whatever you need. Step into the chamber; my mechanisms will run a brain scan and determine your diagnosis.” the machine stated.

John stepped in, he turned around and pressed a button inside the machine. The doors sealed.

While he was inside he felt a probe breach the outer layer of his skin on his head. He stayed calm, he was sure this machine knew what it was doing.
The probe had a macromolecular needle edge that expanded upon contact with the axon terminal of a nerve cell. It sends its own machine-programmed cells to form a connection with the neuron, and collect data to then return to the needle upon completion; a process that ultimately overrides lengthy therapy and gives an objective analysis of the subject’s cognitive performance.

“Well, considering the neural port at the back of your skull; the process has taken a significantly shorter amount of time. I could’ve done this procedure using only the neural port, but that would be a completely new procedure, and I didn’t want to damage such valuable technology in a critical area. So I opted for the traditional approach, but it looks like the neural port helped out without me asking. How about that? Forming a diagnostic now. Are you pleased with your service?” Said the AutoDoc as it dislodged the probe and finished with its duties.

“What’s the diagnosis?” replied John.

“Well you have a relatively mild case of depression; no suicidal thoughts or tendencies detected but your mind is focused on the past. There are also trace signs of anxiety. Understandable given your current situation. The most telling part and what makes the most sense; is that you should have one of the most complex and serious cases of CPTSD ever documented by human doctors, and this experience has been yet another traumatic event. Obviously psychological conditioning has allowed you to keep a state of relative calm throughout most of your life, but if too many memories from your childhood were to resurface it might cause confusion, on top of distress. Though it seems like you’ve been told about and have accepted those conditions? Fascinating. If this were any other person I would prescribe therapy on top of medication, but whenever I see data that states you should be psychologically tormented, I also see data that suggests you simply do not care. And that this recent emotional outburst is an exception, not the rule for emotional disturbances - which suggests healthy cognitive functioning. If you do have CPTSD it is kept securely contained and will not hinder combat effectiveness - it seems your brain translates trauma into combat data. Though depression is something new and you will still have to deal with it. There are no facilities left on my datascapes for you to intern yourself in for assistance, so I suggest carrying on in the absence of your peers. If your mindset is the mission, let whatever’s next become your mission instead of sitting in the past. It does not suit you as a soldier.” The doc’s diagnosis was better than John expected.

“Thanks doc, I got it from here.” his gratitude was apparent.

“Good luck, John.” it replied.

John didn’t need therapy, he just needed reality, an explanation, and the AutoDoc sufficed his needs.

He went back to his room and put on the robe he had made, he also wondered if the armor he made it out of belonged to one of those Brotherhood of Steel members, it had a distinctive logo on the shoulder bearing a laurel, sword, and three gears - definitely a good match.

Though that thought was stowed away as he turned to look at his Silenced Sniper Rifle in the corner, it also had the same logo as the armor. They probably belonged to the same person. The scope had a twenty-five times magnification lens. A undeniably valuable asset, he knew that the Mojave had vast mountain ranges.

On top of this, while observing the X-42 Robo-warfare facility from on top of a building, he had found the stash of a man who had done just the same.

Probably from sheer luck that he found such a powerful weapon; the LAER, a "laser" rifle; with plenty of ammunition. Beside everything was a nonsense-ridden note from a man named Elijah. Mobius knew this man as the one who had breached the Think Tank in minutes and never allowed himself to be lobotomized; and he was briefly mentioned to John during their conversation.

He appreciated the Brotherhood members’ candor in leaving their weapons for him to use. John thought about how lucky he’d been. Supplies, weapons, ammunition, money, intelligence, technology. That’s probably why those Brotherhood types came to Big MT, to hoard the vast array of knowledge held within.

John’s arsenal had expanded greatly and he was going to use them to their full effect. In the scientist named Dr Borous’ room he had found even more micro-fusion cells, but more importantly, a large black-brown bookbag with a pinup logo of a blond man in a blue and yellow jumpsuit on the back, his finger sticking out in the “Thumbs-up” position, there was a yellow gear that surrounded his figure, and underneath the pinup boy read the words “Vault-Tec.” This was from the time Borous had been a student in High-School; he was so fond of those days he kept it tucked underneath his bed as memorabilia.

He took it because it was better than his makeshift rucksack, and bigger too. Borous must’ve been a massive nerd cause this thing could fit a hundred pounds worth of books. Enough room to pack for a small vacation basically, and John appreciated this.

As he gathered his stuff he grabbed the Transportalponder gun and got ready to leave the Big MT for the first time.

He could come back whenever he wanted, but this was a new journey and environment he needed to study and be prepared for. He didn’t have a mission from the UNSC, so he made his own. “Eliminate potential hostiles, establish contact with government presence, assist in rebuilding of Humanity.”

He put the Transportalponder to his waist as he opened the hydraulic door to the outside.

The AutoDoc and Sink Central Intelligence Unit both said their goodbyes, muffled by the all encompassing emptiness created by the hydraulic door sealing.

Grabbing the Transportalponder again, he looked at it, it was honestly stupid looking for something that was so technologically advanced, it was like if a covenant plasma pistol had a baby with the switch of a centuries-old C4 detonator. It was too small and flimsy in his full grip so he held it with two fingers and pressed the switch.

The same fuzzy, weird, dissociative feeling came rushing back as the visuals in his line of sight became distorted and almost immediately completely white. He hoped, even prayed he would be back on Zeta Halo.

But alas, just as Mobius had said he wound up by the old Mojave Drive-in, just South of Nipton near the Nevada border.

When the hot air and necrotic smell hit his nasal glands he knew he wasn’t back on Zeta Halo and probably never would be.

“FUCK THIS.” John yelled in a short burst.

He put the Transportalponder into his backpack in an aggressive set of motions, that clearly displayed his frustration. He knew that this was more than likely going to be his reality from now on, getting back to Zeta Halo was truly a pipe-dream.

After slinging the bag back over his shoulders, he noted multiple things; one was the burning buildings and the smell that came from directly in front of him. There were large mountain ranges to his left and right, nothing he could see from his position but the program Mobius installed to his map said the territory was NCR, with an outpost labeled Mojave Outpost.

“Guess that’s my first stop.” He thought.

But before he could get there, he had to go through the town in front of him. It was fairly small, maybe about fifty buildings, but all of them were either completely toppled, broken into, or on fire. He smelt dead bodies, burning bodies, and burnt rubber.

None of these were good signs.

He crouched down and thought about which weapon to pull out. The Silenced Sniper Rifle was on his back maglock, the Protonic-Inversal Axe in his hand. His M6D sat on the maglock on his right thigh; it was low on ammo though, while the LAER and knife were holstered to his left thigh. He had put the datapad in his backpack for more weapon space. Using it out only in safe situations now.

Deciding the LAER was his best pick, he opened up his robes and pulled it out, he had two hundred spare microfusion cells tucked in a pouch that he could reload with, if any engagement used more than that he’d have to take off his backpack and grab more ammo.

One well placed shot from this rifle anywhere to the body could kill a person, John had tested it out on lobotomites in Big MT, he knew from first hand experience. Standing up he moved quickly and quietly through houses’ backyards and over peoples' fences. The stench grew worse as he approached main-street. There were red-gold banners everywhere, they had the mark of the “Bull” that Mobius had mentioned.

“Caesar’s Legion.” John thought to himself.

Looking around he noticed a few mutilated people in an alleyway, those that had tried to resist - they were riddled with bullet holes on every part of their body. Each limb cut off and put around the corpses in a circle as a mass-display of violence.

But that wasn’t all, no. The Legion’s brutality saw no end. As he approached main-street he saw light posts turned into poles for crucifixion, crude monuments to agonizing death. None of the people on them were still living by the time he got there. It seemed either someone put them out of their misery. Surrounding these light posts were decapitated bodies. Their heads put on pikes in trios. Their shapes bent over and kneeling indefinitely. He saw the town-hall in front of  him, an old wooden building with a few holes and rough spots in it. But directly in front of his door he saw more crucifixions.

But an act of retributive justice lay in the middle of the street.

There were five men that lay dead on the ground outside of the town hall. They weren’t brutalized like the others, just killed in a violent fashion. More than likely in a quick and efficient manner as there was no dead “opposing side.” But there were footprints, no blood trail connecting them though.

Their bodies were marked with the red stain of Legion colors, the mark of the Bull, crude leather armor mixed with metal materials and old-world football pads, adorned with coyote heads as hats. Whoever killed these Legion seemed serious, devoted, maybe a little bit angry and it’s clear some explosives got mixed into the play. Next to them were six dead dogs, bullets hole sewn through each, their hides tainted and their flesh scarred, more than likely from mistreatment than radiation sickness, or mutation.

He walked to a quiet corner, sat down, and noted the medical supplies in his bag: Seven radaway, six stimpaks, four med-x, one “turbo,” and two doctor’s bags. Enough to keep him going until he found a major civilization; and he probably wouldn’t have to worry about radiation sickness soon, as his geiger counter program detected relatively low background radiation levels.

This made sense to him as it had been “hundreds of years” since the bombs dropped, actually he expected other parts of the world to be even more filled with life, as the elimination of a human society built on exploitation and not cohabitation with the environment would lead to expressive growth. And the effects on the atmosphere of slowing down Humanity’s assumed impending environmental catastrophe due to resource wars. After two hundred years you’d expect nature to rerun its course. It’s just that he was currently in the Mojave desert and this place acted as the playground for two post-apocalyptic military powers. Not a good place for life to be in general right now.

After that little bit of thinking time and resource management John stood back up. Mobius had sent a map of the entirety of Nevada to his datapad, but he only needed to focus on a small portion near Las Vegas, the Hoover Dam, and Lake Mead for now. He wasn’t going to go super far anytime soon.

Though he knew making his way to Vegas would be his best shot.

He headed back down the main-street, and turned right. He stopped by the only intact building, the “Nipton General Store” he saw from a mural painted on the brick outside.

Stopping by the door he heard a radio playing similar music to the elevator in Big MT, a sign of life? He drew his LAER rifle and opened the door slightly. The rifle poked slightly through the door’s silhouette, the sunlight gleamed into the room as John peeked the door almost instantly, he dropped to one knee in a stable stance, and held the LAER in his right hand, his other hand on the door frame to assist in a quick withdrawal.

What he saw in the room though was not what he was expecting. A young, mixed-race man sat on a chair on the other end of the room - seemingly passed out. John looked at him, he wore an “NCR-Correctional Officer” uniform. But really John didn’t think it belonged to him when he saw the decent amount of chems on the ground.

The man’s arm laid out in a giving position, while an empty syringe taped and tied to two canisters connected by tubes was on the ground. Mobius mentioned Psycho and John got to see one of them on Mobius’ desk. A vile combat drug that made the user aggressive, but next to that he also noticed a repurposed inhaler. He didn’t know the name of that one; but apparently the combination was so potent it made the man pass out on the spot.

John thought he OD’d but his skin was still warm, he heard breathing, and saw the man’s stomach lift with each breath. Obviously he was still alive. He shook the man slightly.

“Wake up” John said in a calm, low voice.

The man slowly opened his eyes, jostled around, and then turned and stared at the colossal person in front of his eyes, and fell out of his chair; scrambling on the ground. “HOLY SHIT MAN I WAS SLEEPING. WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?”

John did not expect this reaction, but honestly it wasn’t unwarranted. His presence was intimidating to say the least.

“My name is John, what happened here? Legion?” he inquired.

“Yeah it was the fucking Legion. You’re… not… one of them right?” His voice filled with terror.

“Negative, I’m no…” before John was interrupted.

“THANK FUCKING GOD, wait… you’re not gonna kill me though… right?” his joy countered by the still real possibility of death.

“Also no, unless you give me a good reason.” John stated bluntly.

Boxcar thought that was nice, different from a lot of folks in the wasteland, but he still didn’t know the intention of this stranger.

“I... I'm Boxcar. This town got hit by the Legion hard. Me and my Powder Ganger boys set up a deal with the Mayor to ambush some NCR troops and steal their shit, but apparently the Mayor also made a deal with Legion or some bullshit. They came riding in and fucked everybody up, started a lottery.” Boxcar went on.

“Sounds rough.” John replied.

“Yeah you’re fuckin right about that one big man. Say, I got lucky obviously since I’m still alive, but they still broke my legs. Do you got just some whiskey? Another Jet?” asked Boxcar.

“You should stop indulging in substances, I have a doctor’s bag. Take it, you need it more than me.”

John gave the medical supplies to the man who expressed his gratitude. He didn’t say anything after that, there wasn't really anything but spare junk in the General Store. His analysis of the town was over, and so he left in silence as Boxcar started patching himself up.

Heading to his right, down the road to the location marked on his data pad; on his way there were a few brick buildings, dilapidated and crumbling. The place looked like an old pit-stop that had been long unused, his datapad confirmed.

He saw the bodies of raiders shot and killed. Two of them lay dead next to each other on the wall of the nearest building. Their torsos filled with holes. Another one had his body strewn out in the street - his torso had been separated from his legs by a frag grenade, the small crater and shattered concrete next to his corpse an indication of the origin of his death.

Looking around for any loot he found a couple of frag grenades in an ammo box and stuffed them in his robes.

Past the ruined buildings was more empty desert, covered with multitudes of extremely large scorpions, some bigger than himself. He stuck to the middle of the road - away from each large opening that was filled with the monstrous beasts.

Happening upon an interchange that connected to the I-15, on the other side was a service station. And underneath him in the pit of the freeway were a bunch of massive, but dead ants. Two of them were the size of John. This weirded him out, radiation should not be producing evolutionary mutations like this. Unless the bombs that fell didn’t carry only radiation.

The thought was put away, to his left was more highway, a large traffic jam backed up kilometers of road leading to the outpost, forever still. John moved through the destroyed vehicles, noting any loot or notable things along the way. He rounded the corner of the mountain, still more destroyed cars lined the area, he estimated it was just a straight nine kilometer stretch of destroyed cars.

As he got closer to the land’s widening, he saw a massive statue depicting two men in uniform shaking hands, its construction was shoddy, made from sheet metal with a patchwork frame that stuck out from presumed decades of wear and tear.

He saw the outpost closing in, the sounds of people talking, radio chatter, the clink of wind hitting chain link fences.

People clad in leather armor patrolled the side of the road, beside them a massive, tanned, two-headed cow carried a large pack on its back.

Past the statue a man in a brown uniform awaited, he sat behind sandbags smoking a cigarette while listening to the radio.

He looked up at John in shock as the very large man dressed in conspicuous garbs approached.

John read the nametag on his uniform, Sgt Kilborn.

“How can I help you, son?” asked the Sergeant.

“I noticed the statue, this is an NCR base, correct?” John replied with a question. The Sergeant, confused, asked. “What’s your purpose here?”

“Information, I just travelled east of here, came across a town called ‘Nipton.’ It was ransacked to hell by the Legion. I was also wondering if there were supplies I could buy.” stated John.

“Well shit, you’re the second person to say Nipton’s been breached. Major Knight sent a Courier out there a day or so ago, did you see him?”

“Negative, I think I saw the aftermath though, five dead legionnaires, one of them looked important, their gear appeared suboptimal so I didn’t bother to check the bodies.”

“Well that’s some affirming news, Legion being out here means their Frumentarii are out scouting, those are probably who the Courier killed.” remarked the Sergeant. “If you want you can go to speak to Major Knight, he might be able to fix up some of your equipment. And if you have any questions about joining the NCR, we could use a recruit like you.”

“Noted” was all John said before continuing to walk.

Two sentries lined the chain link gate of the outpost’s main building, the sound of a gas-powered generator guzzling its fuel perforated the air. It smelt pungent, something John wasn’t used to as the UNSC had normalized small-scale nuclear reactors and geothermal technology over this archaic nonsense.

Beyond the sentries and their sandbags were hazard signs, a few more broken cars. As well as a gas station connection to a toll booth, both were non-functional.

This place didn’t inspire hope for the Republic in his eyes.

As John walked by, the soldiers looked up in shock, having never seen a man close to the size of a super mutant.

He approached the closest building, shifted slightly to move away from the sandbags. He had to duck his head underneath the door frame as he walked in.

The seemingly stressed out, middle aged man at the front desk, his name tag reading Major Knight, looked at John with wide eyes. His gaze was not leaving him as he noticed he couldn’t see anything he was carrying besides the big gun on his back. And he couldn’t see his face neither.

The Major asked John in a somewhat timid voice. “C…can I help you?” pausing for a moment and continuing on, “Not many people stop by this outpost anymore unless they’re looking to stay and drink themselves to death.” said the Major.

John took in his environment, a small office, it didn’t seem like there was much to do here, no hostiles. He took off his helmet. The Major stared into his cold eyes and tried to understand his character. 

The Sink Central Intelligence Unit had gotten John used to bartering with the currency provided based on data collected by Mobius. The Wasteland used soda bottle caps as currency, with NCR and Legion each having their own respected forms of currency but also accepting bottle caps, as somehow it was the most stable currency.

During his stay in the Big MT, after killing the members of the Think Tank, John recovered a bunch of lost technology for Mobius to study. This was so he could have an upper hand once he got to the Mojave, because in exchange; before his demise Mobius let him use the Sink Central Intelligence Unit to acquire currency for the tech, and he had already accrued a large stockpile of these bottle caps.

John reached his hand into his robe and pulled out a large sack. The metallic chips inside jingled with excitement as he set it down. The Major looked away from his eyes to his hand.

“Are you open to trade?” asked John.

“Negative, sadly we only sell equipment to NCR personnel. Though, you can head to the other building and buy some booze at the bar if you want.”

John asked again. “I don’t drink, do you have work?”

“Also negative, haven’t had new orders in ages and some Courier just solved most of our problems a couple days ago, unless you want to shovel brahmin shit.” remarked the Major.

John stared at the man with an unremarkable expression on his face.

“I’m just kidding ya, you could join the NCR as a private, this is a recruitment center, you’ll just need to do a shit ton of paper work and then you’ll be out on the road.”

John weighed this option, yes, he had plenty of military experience, but should he join a bloated organization where falling in line with the military structure might limit his mobility in the Mojave? He needed information though, if he joined the NCR it would allow him to have insight on their command structure, their logistics, their politics, their ethics, and he could help them in an official capacity.

Better than being some wasteland vigilante.

“Affirmative, I have an extensive military background.”

John and Mobius had a lengthy discussion about John’s origins from the separate Universe, but he didn’t know how to translate that to someone who didn’t have direct involvement in the teleportation of him to this place.

The Major was a little bit skeptical but didn’t discredit him. “And what branch did you serve in, what did your service entail exactly?”

“My rank is Master Chief Petty Officer Sierra-117. My forty-three year long service record includes service in NAVSPECWEPS and Spartan Branch of the UNSC armed forces, you wouldn’t know of their existence.”

The Major looked stunned, those designations were not official ranks in the NCR military structure.

John noticed his bewilderment.

“Do you want to hear a long story, Major?” asked John.

In his couple of years of being stationed at the Mojave Outpost he had seen almost nothing, he had heard even less. The place was effectively a ghost town after the destruction of the Divide and Legion raiding parties amped up on the I-15.

“Hit me.” The Major remarked as he ducked down to pull out a bottle of whiskey.

John felt more at ease around other military personnel, even though he didn’t share their struggles, their battles. He understood what service meant, it meant your life. And that was something they could bond over.

The Major offered him a drink. “You want some?”

Again, John refused. “Negative.”

“Pfff. Stubborn bull.” The Major laughed to himself quietly.

John then went on to explain his extensive forty-three year long military service, what it meant to be a Spartan, and how he got here. He focused on his brothers and sister in his stories, Blue Team. He also told the Major about some of his major exploits, the horror of the Flood, though he didn’t stick on that topic very long, much to the Major’s relief.

Then the topic of how he got to the Mojave came up, John explained the Big MT, he even showed the Major the transportalponder gun.

When he saw the thing, his reaction was “Wow, that’s some crazy ass shit right there.” But went on to explain the NCR’s own troubles with the place.

“You know the Big MT has been a pain in the ass for a while now. I don’t know much, but some upper brass back in California have been monitoring the abominations that come out of that place.”

The Major paused considering that this man might really be a walking one-man army. But he looked at him differently now, there was a hint of suspicion and disbelief, part of him didn’t believe a single word he said.

“Guess we don’t have to worry about that now.” He said sarcastically, somewhat not believing any of it.

“Affirmative” replied Chief.

The Major was slightly worried this man’s paperwork would take forever, because by this point he was sure that he wasn’t an NCR citizen. He could still enlist, but he’d be limited to the rank of private until he actually could become a standing citizen.

Moving his cigarette to one finger so as to not spill ash on the papers He moved down and picked up a bunch of documents before setting it all on the desk and taking another drag.

"You’ll need to fill out this citizenship approval form, this document on medical history, including a psychiatric evaluation, as well as a physical evaluation with these parameters, approved by a licensed physician. You can consult Dr Usanagi at the New Vegas Medical Clinic for those or if you somehow had one in mind you can go to them. You’ll also need to fill out a form of your proficiencies, the NCR does need more specialized units and from everything you’ve told me, it seems you can handle just about any weapon. And then another document regarding your registration into the service. Really the paperwork you can do here shouldn’t take you more than thirty minutes, here’s a pen.”

John took the ballpoint pen, it was somewhat familiar. He scratched the first paper until the ink started showing. He walked to the other end of the room and asked two chatting soldiers if he could borrow an empty chair, they happily obliged.

The paperwork did not take John long, he was used to filing post-mission reports in minutes.

“Well, I didn’t expect you to finish all of that in a fifth of the time. Now you just need the medical evaluation.” remarked the Major.

“I’ll be right back.” a half truth/half lie.

“Oh really?”

John stepped outside the building and held the transportalponder, he pulled the trigger and was teleported back to the Sink where he then used the AutoDoc to perform a physical, after the machine was done it filled out both the physical and psychological medical sheets, as well as printed off multiple other forms detailing John’s augmentations so the NCR would best know how to utilize him.

The machine even signed off as the old name its personality was structured from.

The only problem was that John would have to make his way back to the Mojave Outpost from Nipton again after using the device.

Which is exactly what he did, stepping outside he once again pulled the trigger on the Transportalponder.

But instead of walking this time, he’d run it, because why not? It’d save time and it didn’t matter to him.

In a full sprint he reached a top speed of sixty kilometers per hour outside of his armor. He wasn’t planning on going full speed though, more like eighty-percent speed.

He made sure his bag was tight on his shoulders, and the gear in his robe was secured, he put the grenades he had found into his backpack for safe keeping. As he planted his right foot, he noted the terrain in front of him, leaping over rocks and debris was probably required to maintain speed.

The distance from here to the outpost was around seventeen kilometers and at a reasonable speed of forty-eight kilometers or thirty miles per hour, it’d take him just around twenty minutes of consistent running.

His left foot bolted in front of him, his arms racing out to match the pace his legs were setting. In front of him the radscorpions from before seemed to move like bricks in a well made wall, the dust raised slowly around his form, leaving a misty trail behind his steps. He reached his wanted speed in two strides, sand kicked up violently. The radscorpions in front of him turned to move, but they were vastly too slow. John leaped over their massive frames and kept running, not breaking his stride. His legs wisped through the dunes like a hummingbird's wings, seven, eight, nine, large strides every second.

The corner of the mountain was rounded a second time, still hopping car over car, it took him less than a minute to do so, the long part was past the corner, a straight two minutes of non stop parkour.

John was having some "fun" for once, he didn’t usually get to act like a frog, his jumps distant and powerful. His feet clanged on the metal.

Eventually he got closer and closer to the statue, its frame taking up more of his view with every jump.

Once he got to the edge of the statue he hopped off the cars and started walking. The Sergeant had been watching his shenanigans for a while. When John passed the Sergeant spoke, “What was that ninja voodoo nonsense? Are you even human?”

“I think therefore I am.” replied John.
baffling the Sergeant, he paused. “Ooo.. kaay?”

Walking to the main building to return his papers he saw a few more eyes on him than before. Approaching the door he stepped inside, much to the Major’s surprise.

“I guess you really did mean you’ll be right back.” With disbelief in his voice. “Is your medical checkup done?”

“Affirmative.” John slid over the documents.

The Major looked at them in disbelief, he had received more than just the medical documents he gave John. More papers were stapled to the back. They listed the names of augmentations, parameters, “subject potential,” among a myriad of other things.

John stood there, studying the Major’s reaction.

“You know, a big part of me thought you were just some crazy roided up weirdo pulling a bunch of random stories out of your ass. But no, no, you’re legit. These medical files are unprecedented.”

The Major paused for a second.

“I know.” replied John.

“Ok, ok, Mr Badass Mcgee, how about we test out some of these augmentations then?” scoffed the Major.

The Major looked around, a lot of eyes were already on him and John. 

The Major raised his voice in anticipation, John looked at him funny. “HEY EVERYBODY, GATHER AROUND. WE GOT A NEW RECRUIT.”

Around fifteen or so soldiers, some dressed in their official uniforms, others just wearing a tank-top and fatigue trousers got up from their resting spots drinking beer or coffee, and gathered into the room.

Some others just looked up from their office desks, too busy with managerial work.

The soldiers looked at John with awe, one was laughing to himself in drunken fervor. “GUESS WE GOT OUR OWN LEGATE LANIUS NOW BOYS!”

Five drunk soldiers raised their beers and let them clink in the air as they shouted patriotic nonsense.

It felt like nobody in here had seen action for months. John could tell these soldiers weren’t ready for shit.

“Yknow, I want some proof this is real. Your medical charts say you did a test lift of five-hundred kilograms as a teenager, how about clearing some debris for us?” remarked the Major, almost not believing what he had just read.

John honestly didn’t know how to feel about these soldiers' reactions. To him it wasn’t really that different from Marines seeing a Spartan work in the field, but he could tell these men needed something to rouse their spirits, probably much more training then they've already received as well.

“Follow me.” remarked John in a gravelly, deep voice.

Stepping outside the command building it looked like a goddamned Kindergarten field trip, and John was the teacher. The Major was next to his side as the rest of the soldiers came up behind them. Sgt Kilborn heard the commotion and looked behind him to see the entourage of NCR troops following the big man. He didn’t join them, just watched from his post, confused. A platinum blonde woman on top of the other building watched from her post as well, her eyes darting back and forth between the group and the road in front of her every now and then.

John pointed to the wreckage of a large car, “I’ll lift this.”

One of the troopers, obviously intoxicated, pointed at it and said. “NO youuuu… fuckin won’t look how biig that shit iiszuh.”

The Major was also skeptical, the car was long rusted but it still had the frame and engine, it had to weigh at least a couple of tons, that was way more than the test lift he saw listed.

John didn’t say anything in return. Instead he took off the stealth suit that was underneath his robes and set it aside.

He turned back around to the backside of the car and began to lift.

His veins were the first thing to pop out, their vascularity was incredible and created riveting snakes that traveled across his skin underneath his robes and under suit. His muscles bulged like boulders as he began to stand up with the weight nestled in his elbows, the mass of his arms were indescribable, striations created such deep cuts he looked like he was crafted from stone, even underneath the robes and undersuit everything was visible.

The full weight of the vehicle resting in his forearms, he hefted and it moved to his clavicle and put his entire body underneath the vehicle's chassis. He began a pressing motion once the vehicle was forty degrees in the air. After that he pushed it until it was a straight ninety degrees standing up.

The soldiers noted he wasn’t even breaking a sweat, though one of their thermometers read ninety-five degrees.

Murmurs began among the crowd, their general consensus was that this man was not human.

John crouched. He wrapped his seven plus foot wingspan around the sides of the car. He thought to himself about how top heavy it would be, and he stood up to readjust his position, snuggling as closely as he could to the middle of the frame.

His feet were planted firm on the ground.

Then they lifted, everything lifted.

In one fast violent explosive movement John had hoisted the car off the ground and held it in his arms like a Húsafell Stone, except it was so wide he could never possibly hope to wrap his hands around.

The car lifted a meter off the ground before John slammed it back down the opposite way. He removed his hands and leapt back before it hit the ground. A massive crash sounded in the area as sand kicked up around everyone.

One soldier made a snarky remark while clearing his throat and nose from the particulates. “You know… mutants are allowed… to join the NCR militar… ry too right?”
John ignored their opinions of him and went to retrieve his Stealth Suit, he pressed the button and stepped into it. He then turned back around to speak with the Major.

“First orders, Sir.” stated John.

“Well I’ll need proof of your military service in order to make an official override so you don’t have to go through basics again. When you get that I’ll make the override, just need to print out the paperwork and sign it. You’ll head out with the next available caravan to Camp McCarran, it’s just South of the New Vegas Strip. A man like yourself probably won’t care for the Strip but you should go there if you got the caps. Beats being here ten-fold.”

“There’s a neural lace on the back of my head, it can display my IFF tag, as well as my documented military service with a catalogue of my service records. One of the scientists in the Big MT updated my datapad to interface with the U.O.S system on RobCo terminals. I can connect it and stream the data to one of your terminals if you’ve set up local connections in the region.” John elaborated.

“Wow, your technicians thought about everything huh? Walk with me, we’ll get that sorted out.” Replied the Major.
They both walked back inside the command building. The Major walked to his desk, sat down, and began typing on his terminal’s keyboard.

Chapter Text

John took off his helmet and touched the back of his head, he pulled out a string of cable from his Neural Lace and connected it to his datapad, from the tablet to the computer he set up a data stream using the local NCR net.

“This computer is archaic. The continued operation of these devices is peculiar.” said John.

“Well it’s RobCo tech like you said, Mr House is still kicking it in the Lucky 38 so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s keeping the systems runni…” The Major paused mid-sentence as he saw the record start to display on his terminal.

He stared at the screen in awe, digits and letters would not stop forming. The man’s stories didn’t do justice to how lengthy his record was.

Reading off the designation John, including the same ones he had told him directly. No lies. There were thousands of pages detailing combat operations, other operatives, engaging forces, enemy descriptions, entire pages blacked out that John had deliberately not let him see.

The list of variable data went on and the Major could comb through everything for weeks.

He must’ve told him only a fraction in those tales.

“Undeniably impressive service, sir.” remarked the Major. “You’re not just cleared for active duty past training, I think you’ll be our most valuable asset.” Said the Major looking up at John.

He closed the program, having seen enough, and opened another one. After a minute of typing he pressed a button on the keyboard in a very intentional manner, and then swivelled around in his office chair to the printer behind him. It gave off the nostalgic whirring that all printers do, and beeped when it was finally done.

The Major took the papers, set them on the desk and turned them to John.

He pointed at multiple places on the page, “Sign here, sign here, sign here.” Before moving to the next page and repeating the process. After an excruciatingly long ten minutes of the Major rechecking everything to make sure it was orderly, they were done with the paperwork.

The Major continued what he was saying from earlier. “Like I said before, you’ll head out to Camp McCarran, the next Caravan leaves at seven A.M tomorrow so be ready to leave early. You’ll act as part of their guard duty until you get to the Crimson Caravan, our Camp is not much farther from there. Once you’re at Camp McCarran you’ll report to Colonel Hsu, give your documents to him, I’ll also send the data you gave me to his terminal so he can review your exploits before your arrival. He oversees a lot of the operations near Camp McCarran and in the greater Mojave region, along with Colonel Moore - but you’re not going to Hoover Dam just yet. Orders clear?”

“Affirmative, Sir.” John replied

“Welcome to the NCR, we hope you’ll like it here. Report to my office at 0500 Hours tomorrow, I’ll have your fatigues ready and you’ll be doing perimeter sweeps until you leave for Camp McCarran. In the meantime I’ll have my men authorize you a temporary sleeping quarters.” said the Major in a warm voice.

“Thank you, Sir.” John said while giving the firmest salute the Major had ever seen.

John eyed the clock on the wall, it was currently 2000 Hours. He had time to rest after the arduous adventure in Big MT.

Two young soldiers approached him, John recognized them as some of the men that were in the crowd watching him outside.

“Sir! Your bunk is ready on the other side of the room. Let me walk you to it.” the soldier said, stiffening up.

“Save the honorifics soldier, I’m not an officer.” replied John.

“A… affirmative. Follow us!”

The two men led John to his bunk, it was an average sized bed; honestly way too small for him but John didn’t mind.

The hospitality was nice.

“I know you probably can’t fit on the thing, but it’s the last bed we have so it’ll have to do, sorry for the tight squeeze.” the other soldier remarked.
John darted his eyes at him, and then looked back to the bed, thinking about something someone else had said once.

He remembered the old pre-war bunker on Earth, the Comm Commander’s voice as his Pelican touched down. Just memories.

“It’ll do.” John said.

He began to set his stuff as the two soldiers gave their goodbyes, he returned their formality with a brief hand gesture. Putting most of his equipment underneath the bed, besides for the backpack which he left sitting by the wall. As well as his pistol and knife he kept on him.

The lights went off at 2200 Hours, guards patrolled the perimeter and his shift was at 0500 Hours. He was going to do some of his own reconnaissance before then, around 0300 he’d pack his things.

There were still two hours before everybody went to sleep. John didn’t even know if he could go to sleep. It had only been a day since he rested in the Big MT. He had a nightmare there. Uncommon.

He had no idea how he’d react to things in his sleep. He was honestly slightly paranoid of his dreams. Instead he’d stay awake the entire night. He wasn’t tired anyways. He was used to being up for a week straight at times. He sat down on his bed and began tinkering with his weapons.

The Protonic-Inversal Axe was useful but it had no way of being turned off. His robes dampened the electromagnetic field but he knew it was wasting energy and could potentially disrupt his electronics.

He looked at the device machined onto the top of the handle.

Four tiny metal screws lined a box that he assumed housed the electronics. He grabbed his knife and unscrewed the lid. Inside were all bits of wires, metal, databoards, and flashing lights enveloping the box. Though he saw what looked to be a metal switch connecting to multiple wires.

He grabbed his bag and took out multiple pieces of scrap he had found in the Big MT as well as a wire cutter he found near the chain link fences. Three wires connected to the switch, he was assuming they controlled the mechanism, he cut the middle one and the energy edge of the axe turned off completely - a good sign.

He then took his own intact switch mechanism he had found in the wreckage of a robo scorpion and opened up the back of it with his knife, a rustic old thing with the most protruding of dongles he had ever seen. Cutting the control wire that gave function to the switch, he turned on the energy conductor on his own knife and soldered the mechanisms together.

The two wires met as flashes of sparkling light danced around them.

After John was done joining the two, he pulled duct tape out from his bag. Closing the lid on the power supply for the axe, the wire to the switch was caught perfectly between the seam. He taped around the switch and power supply, combining both into one.

Now the test.

He flipped the switch and the axe turned on, he flipped it again and it turned off. Success!

It had been a while since John did some technical work in the field to anything that wasn’t Mjolnir, and considering he wasn’t all too familiar with this place’s technology, he was sort of proud of himself.

This only took him around three minutes, there was still over an hour to spare till lights out. So he went into his bag and grabbed his ammunition and magazines and began reorganizing all of them. He took apart his M6D and put it back together a few times. There were a few magazines and comics of various things and media that he had found in Big MT so he took the time to read those, thinking it’d give him a better understanding of the culture surrounding this place.

It was finally 2200 Hours, John saw twenty men all walk to their beds from the main building. They were full and drunk with food and booze from a night of partying - the only fun they had around here.

The last man turned off the light switch.

Some stayed up and had conversations, some fell asleep as soon as they touched their beds. John thought about those luxuries. His training didn’t exactly entail social interaction mastery. No, instead he was a blur in the dark, still sitting on his bed, still tinkering with things.

The soldier above him didn’t say anything to him, just got in his bunk and went straight to sleep, probably too drunk to care. That was something John appreciated. Talking wasted his… patience?

Maybe that was the best way to describe it.

After ten minutes of silence John got up and went outside, the Major was asleep at his desk, cigarette still in hand, it had been out for a while, there were a pair of binoculars on his desk, he grabbed them, useful for his recon.

John stepped outside and saw multiple soldiers still patrolling the area. Someone else had taken Sgt Kilborn’s place, but the platinum blonde lady was still at her post, eyes ever vigilant on the road ahead.

He turned and walked to the rear of the building. Past the fences was a vast span of desert, past that was a good vantage point on some high up mountains. He saw the massive rock wall as his target after a few minutes of walking and began climbing it.

He didn’t care if any NCR saw him because to him what he was doing wasn’t suspicious, he wanted his own tactical analysis of the Mojave, that’s all. Halfway up the mountainside, moving through brush, trails, and rock. He began to hear voices, whispers - extremely quiet, in Latin, they came from the top of one of the cliff faces.

They weren't quiet enough for a Spartan, and now he knew who they were. He continued climbing, even more vigilant now, the voices grew slightly louder as he approached the top. He planted his foot on a nearby rock, his fingers reached for openings. Every movement, grab, step, shift, was calculated, so quiet, and deliberate that none of them could hear him coming up the rear. If even one heard something off it could blow the whole thing. At the top of the edge he peaked his head over and saw three men.

They were all dressed in similar garb that the slain men in Nipton had been wearing. It looked like they were giving a report on the situation from this ridge, as well as spying on the NCR at the Mojave Outpost.

That had to end. John held onto the ledge with one arm and pulled out his knife.

In a ridiculous display of strength he pulled himself up carefully and meticulously with his left arm. At the top of his chin-up he began to do a muscle up, other hand still clutching the knife. He then twisted his wrist fifty degrees the opposite way, and shifted his body over to the side, minimizing his profile as he lay flat on the ground.

The three men didn’t see him, didn’t even hear a sound. Good. John noticed an array of rocks between him and the men. Perfect cover.

He kept to the ground as one of the men turned around to take a piss away from his buddies.

The man's luck had run out.

The Frumentarii was thirty meters away, in twelve quick steps John closed the distance.

There was no chance for the man, he had never even seen it coming. There was no time to react as he felt a hand grab his face as a cold rush of blood ran down his neck. No feeling, no pain. Numbness and a laceration so large he bled out in seconds.

John led his body to the ground silently.

He then turned his attention to the other two men. He had an idea.

Next to him lay a good stone, around fortyish pounds. He could throw it hard enough and fast enough to kill one of them and then take the other with his knife. That was the plan.

John grabbed the rock, it felt light in his hands, like a baseball to a normal person. Standing up and planting his feet, he took a pitcher’s stance.

The rock went flying as it impacted the back of the Frumentarii’s head, the impact sounding like a bullet crack as the rock shattered across his head - his skull imploded and sent debris and blood everywhere. The man went face first off the cliff edge, tumbling down the mountainside to his ultimate demise.

The second man could barely react before John had closed the distance, his knife went straight through the Frumentarii’s jugular, the force strong enough to break his skull, and the knife long enough to pierce his brain. The man was lifted off the ground completely, his feet squirmed momentarily. His gaze met John’s cold faceplate as life drained from his eyes.

John then looked down the mountain and confirmed the other man’s death.

Grabbing his body by the collar, he pulled the man's head off the knife's edge in a deft motion and sheathed it. The body was limp as he held it, walking to other one, he grabbed it with his other hand.

He walked down the mountainside and past the sandy dunes with both bodies.

Approaching the chain link fence he threw them over. They sounded a large thud.

He noticed the platinum blonde woman turn around and go investigate as he jumped over the fence, landing softly. The woman had just gotten down the stairs. She was slightly taken aback, but it wasn’t the weirdest thing she’d seen someone do.

She began to speak, in a deep, butch voice. “I heard we had a new recruit, didn’t think he’d be taking out Legion for us already though. The name’s Ghost. Ranger Ghost.” She extended a handshake.

“Affirmative, Ma’am. I wanted to do some reconnaissance by myself and found these men, plus one, scouting the ridge; all neutralized. Probably going to report back on Nipton and the Mojave Outpost. Ma’am.” John met her handshake with a firm, respectful grip. 

“These bastards look to be Frumentarii, Caesar’s lead spies. It makes sense that they were out here, gathering information. Your report was the second on Nipton’s destruction… Glad to see that observation isn’t all you’re capable of.” She said with a hint of mutual respect.

“Noted Ma’am, just doing my duty.”

“And I will make sure someone hears about this service soldier. Great work.” She paused for a moment and stared at the bodies. “I take one, you take the other? We have a dumping ground not too far from here. I’ll lead you to it.”

“Negative, Ma’am, I have both. Location, so you can get back to your post.” It sounded more like an order to her than a question, but she wasn’t crazily keen on hoisting some dead Legion fuck around. “Understood, it’s right outside of the chain link fence, you'll see a couple soldiers near a campfire around this time.”

“Affirmative.” replied John.

He walked back to the men and grabbed both of their bodies. He walked past the camp’s fence and approached, just like the lady had said, a group of soldiers next to a campfire, the piles of bodies a hundred meters away from them. They were standing guard.

One of the ones who had watched John flip the car, surprised to see him out this late. And already with two fresh Legion kills.

“Wow you act quick huh? Guess those fuckers were spying on us, good riddance I say.” remarked the soldier.

“Affirmative.” replied John as he walked to the pile.

The soldier behind him began to smile and crack a laugh. “Yknow I bet those fuckers were so proud of themselves, SHIT their PANTs when they saw you huh?!” Cackling even more.

John stared at the soldier before speaking. “Death is a respite from the existence of service, soldier. Those men fought for what they thought was right, even though it was wrong. I was trained to kill humans, dehumanize them in my head. But after fighting things that weren’t human for so long it changed my perspective. Not that some people don’t deserve to die, but that it’s better to try and keep as many alive as possible, even if that means killing the few that refuse to know peace."

Another soldier scoffed, “Maannnn that's some crazy idealistic bullshit.” He paused for a second. “you got results so I’m not complaining though.”

“Do any of us have a say as to how we’ll die? No, death is inevitable, it’s how we choose to live.” replied John.

“Well I can definitely agree to that, that’s why I fucking love Whiskey and cigarettes.” Another soldier then pulled out a pack and started passing some out. “Want one.”

“Negative,” replied John.

“Your choice man.” One of the soldiers pulled out his lighter, he held it up to the tobacco’s edge, flicked it on, and began to inhale. Each puff whispered into the night air like a ghost.

John left the soldiers side, content with leaving them be after that long of a conversation. He dumped the bodies and made his way back to the ridge. Knowing no one was up there anymore he began to leap up the mountainside, much faster than before.

He hadn’t paid too much attention to the view when he was there previously, but now that he had time to focus. It was beautiful in its own devastated, post-nuclear apocalypse type of way.

From his position with the binoculars he saw a few things of note. His augmented vision cut through the darkness. Multiple nuclear impact craters to his north, west and east. He could see all the way to Novac, though some mountains blocked a good portion of his view of the town.

The bright lights of Vegas were far in the distance, around eighty kilometers away. He couldn’t make anything out of the city yet, not even the suburbs of Henderson, nor Boulder City.

The mountains were too vast, the peaks too high. Even with binoculars he could only make out bright light beyond a mountain peak. Maybe there were more optimal positions, but probably not worth it to trek up there, could be creatures like he saw before.

He remembered the Major mentioned Mr House, so had Mobius, briefly. If he was alive now and kicking and created technologies from over two hundred years ago, he was undeniably a valuable asset. John thought about the bright lights and how they symbolized hope in this wasteland.

Mountains lie to his east, cutting up the sand dunes like shrapnel in a person’s leg. Before that was the town of Nipton, mountains blocked the view past that but his datapad’s map said that the town of Searchlight was beyond them, fifty kilometers. Beyond Searchlight was a Legion camp that had been recently erected at Cottonwood Cove.

Around twenty kilometers North lies a small resort town, Primm. In its silhouette were multiple abandoned hotels, a massive resort with a rollercoaster, and gigantic parking lots filled with destroyed cars. John couldn’t think the place housed more than a thousand people before the bombs dropped.

There were multiple, other, smaller rest stops and towns along the way. Northwards he could see all the way up to Jean and Goodsprings, right before the mountains cut off his view near Sloan.

He looked at the map on his datapad and compared it for a few minutes and then realized he had been sightseeing for an hour or longer. The sky started to turn a dark purple instead of its previous black - the Sun was rising. The datapad’s chronometer read 0245 Hours.

Moving back down the mountainside and through the valley, he again jumped over the fence and headed back inside the command building. Walking back to his bunk he noticed a few soldiers getting ready for their shifts, lamps powered by small fission battery generators illuminated their silhouettes. Some cleaned rifles, others tied boots.

In a minute they were out of the building. Their lamp lights off now.

John turned his on. He rechecked his bags, all of his gear was in the same place, untouched. On his desk was a note though, along with a bag containing a hundred and fifty bottle caps; the note read:

“From Ghost

Thanks again for taking out those Legion cunts. I knew something was up, saw foot trails near the mountains on patrol every now and then, a used can or two that weren’t our rations, etc. Anyways, I didn't want to say anything because I wasn't expecting anything, could've paid for it so I'm paying you.

150 bottle caps. Spend it wisely.“

John was doing side quests before he even got the prompt.

A welcome reward, he emptied the sack into his collection. He grabbed his Silenced Sniper Rifle and Protonic-Inversal Axe from underneath his bed and put both on his back.

He made sure his M6D was on safety and his LAER was positioned correctly in the maglock. He checked the time again, 0356 Hours. An hour was still plenty of time to do something. But really there wasn’t anything to do. The time passed by slowly as he thought of things that might be on the way to Vegas, Legion camps, raiders, mutated animals, traps, any number of things could happen. He checked his map obsessively, thinking of the best routes to get to Vegas, but without a true tactical assessment of the area he had no idea which route would be the safest. He'd need to scout ahead as they traveled, for himself and the Caravan; he was sure he could be fast enough to do that and pull guard duty.

Chapter Text

Suffocating hotness enveloped the desert as the open sun beat hard on sandy dunes. John's chronometer read 0830, and his thermometer read thirty-seven degrees Celsius. They'd been walking for an hour and a half, not much noticeable progress, finally getting past the large conga line of wrecked vehicles on the interstate. They turned east, heading down the road towards Nipton. There shouldn't be much trouble around their current position.

John checked the map on his datapad, a three-dimensional display appeared above the device's screen. John analyzed their plotted path and so far on their roughly ninety kilometer journey they had only progressed nine.

Looking to the head guard, John said to him, "I'm going to scout ahead, shouldn't take me more than thirty minutes. I know there's large mutated scorpions up ahead, I'll manage them accordingly, clear the way, and get us a threat assessment past Nipton."

The older man turned to respond. A large poncho covered his entire body and he had wrapped his face to protect against the heat, only his deep crackly voice sounding grateful, yet firm was an indicator of his recognition of John's proposal. "If ya want, usually we don't have NCR company and they ain't half as brawny as you, so you're more than a welcome addition. We can take care of ourselves here, those guns ya got should give a fine whooping to the radscorpions, they're nasty business."

"Affirmative, I'll return with my report in thirty minutes, watch your backs." John said as he looked ahead.

The road was nothing much but cracked pavement, tumbleweeds, dirt, and bones. The radscorpions still lay in their large valleys, patrolling the area and searching for potential food, mutant, animal, ghoul, human; it didn't matter. He didn't care to activate the augmented visual display, wanting the visceral rush of natural combat again. Six targets on the left, three on the right. He'd target the smaller group first, especially considering they were some of the largest of the bunch. 

John stepped a few meters away from the caravan and began picking up pace, now jogging. His feet kicked up pavement; he opened his robe and grabbed the LAER. The scorpions were still a few hundred meters away. His approach was deliberate, calculated - he moved with finesse as he held the rifle near his torso. What looked like a few seconds for the members of the caravan in comparison felt closer to a minute for John; his perception of time inherently faster.

Radscorpions drawing closer, John picked up the speed, running now. His LAER zapped fire in a violent salvo of blindingly fast lightning bolts, the aim preternatural. He targeted the largest radscorpion, unaware of its impending demise; it was struck in the top of its head and thorax, striking the median eyes and carving through chitin, then stripping flesh of its oxygen; cauterizing open wounds and cutting off blood vessels. It leached in pain before its stinger fell limp and the creature perished, open wounds creating abscesses where sunlight beamed through.

The smell of ozone perforated the air. 

Two more, smaller yet still terrifyingly large radscorpions, turned to see their dead friend. Only to be met with more blistering fire as John ran circles around them. Cracking beams hit the second one's lower abdomen as the volume of fire separated the tail from its back in a surgical manner. The scorpion turned slowly, before giving up and dying. Its legs shriveling up and creating a ball.

The third began its approach but John steadied the LAER again, four more beams volt forwards. One bolt hit its stinger, three others hit the middle of its abdomen. The stinger exploded in a vile concoction of venomous fluid death and fell flat on its body. Large holes were carved through the abdomen by the other three shots, creating a clear image through to the other side; it started to limp and then curled up, dead.

Five more came up on the other side of the road, behind John trying to flank him. The largest three were in front, poised to strike at him. The biggest of all of them came first; it raised its stinger, ready to strike and infect John with its deadly venom.

A normal person may've had trouble reacting to the strike, but John was no normal person.

The stinger flew at him, he raised his left arm above the assumed vector, pulled open his robe and retrieved his Protonic-Inversal axe. 

In a quick downwards strike, faster than the scorpion's, he cut its stinger off mid thrust. And in one motion, he grabbed the axe with both hands, as the radscorpion raised the front of its body in pain, and sliced the entire creature in half. 

The upper half of its body went flying across the street as purple blood sprayed everywhere. Familiarity.

The other two radscorpions next to it paused for a moment, their animalistic senses feeling fear for the first time. That moment was enough for John. 

He leapt to the scorpion on the left, its movement paused in anxious tension. Planting himself firmly, John stomped on its head in a brutally efficient manner. Before unloading a couple bolts into its back for good measure. 

The other radscorpion had gotten over its initial fit of fear and began making its way towards John. A stinger flew past his face from out of line of sight but he dodged it. The LAER blasted five times into the thing as it shriveled into a crumpled mess of charred chitin and flesh. 

Finally, the last two began running away from the death that had befell their family members. They were obviously much smaller than the other six radscorpions; children most likely. 

John considered killing them but he saw no further mature scorpions on the road and the creatures were retreating to their den. 

"Waste of ammo." He thought to himself.

Holstering his LAER, he began to look around, no more hostiles, he wasn't too far away from the rest stop he noted earlier, and then Nipton. He sprinted to the only intact building at the rest stop and climbed onto the top of it.

Once on top he pulled out the sniper rifle from behind his back, sighted in, and began taking notes of anything interesting he saw that might be a threat. 

There wasn't much left at Nipton, the fires burn dimmer then they had when he first got there, though even from a few kilometers out he could smell the death brought unto the town by the Legion. A grim reminder of how they operate. 

A group of three people stalked the streets, all armed with conventional weaponry, shotguns, rifles. They looked decrepit, filthy, and feverish. Two wore leather garbs fashioned with pins strung up along the outfits. The man in the center of their group wore a makeshift scrap metal outfit covered in spikes. 

They were walking in the middle of one of the avenues, searching through bodies and cutting off their limbs to eat for later. He'd have to take them out if the caravan was going to get through Nipton uneventfully. 

John adjusted the mechanism of his scope, aligning the sight and his aim perfectly. 

He fired, the recoil nonexistent. The man in the center went down first, then another, then the last. 

None of them had time to react to the deaths of their peers. John was too fast of a shot. They lie cold and motionless on the ground. 

He kept looking through his scope, there wasn't anything left in Nipton that was alive and could be a problem. He checked the surrounding mountain ranges and noticed nothing there either. There could potentially be ambushes past Nipton, the canyon going past the town was ripe for a setup. They'd need to be wary. He kept looking, it was hard for anything to get past his 80/20 vision but still nothing stuck out. 

After ten minutes of waiting he saw something move near the top of a ridge past the town. A man had started to crawl to the edge of the ridge, he started to look down and began talking to someone else. 

John waited.

The man stood up after a couple of seconds and head off into somewhere John had no visual of. He kept note that there were people in those mountains and that they probably weren't friendly. The augmented visual display only worked on targets two kilometers away and closer, the man was too far out. John would have to set up on the mountains to get a better look at them.

He started to head back to the caravan. Leaping off the top of the building, he jogged back. It only took a couple of minutes to get over to them. 

John tempered his step as he fell back in and began speaking, "Radscorpions and potential hostiles dealt with, beyond Nipton there seems to be a group of people planning an ambush. Once we get to Nipton I suggest the caravan stay back while I head up the mountain side to eliminate potential threats."

Vergil, the old man replied, "Yeah...  y'know I ain't never seen a feller take on that many radscorpions before, we'll heed your advice, just let us know when ya plan to head off." He looked to the other members of the caravan to gauge their thoughts.

The trader, Lindsey, a young woman, skeptical but fresh to the business in general, piped up. "Looks like he's got a plan. I've heard of some Jackal raiders up in the mountains from the last caravan that came in, said they got ambushed in the hills; that might be who you saw. Earl what are your thoughts?" She said while turning her head.

Earl just nodded as they kept their pace towards Nipton. 

Chapter Text

John had made his way up the mountains, the caravan stayed down by the Nipton General Store. He pulled out his sniper rifle and sighted into where he had seen the people from earlier. Positioning the rifle on a rock, his aim was completely still, fifteen-hundred meters; he adjusted accordingly, the calculations ran in milliseconds.

Sighted in, four people were visible immediately, across the highway they were stationed by a little path that led up the mountainside. Weapons, ammunition, and explosives were all visible. The people looked savage, unkempt; bird feathers stuck up from their metal helmets. John could make out a human arm on their roasting spit, and a person with their guts opened up on the ground. With his vision he could pick out the little details even from this far away. He thought they might be buddies with the guys he killed earlier. 

The Stealth Suit chimed in for the first time in a while, “If you need my augmented visual capabilities, feel free to ask at any moment.”

The terrain was complex and covered in potential hiding spots, even though John could see four people, he didn’t know exactly how many were there, his HUD could tell him instead. “Affirmative, activate.”

“Activating now, I’m detecting five additional hostiles on the scan, behind cover. How do you intend to deal with them?” the Suit inquired.

"Pick them off from here, move in and eliminate the remaining hostiles." he replied bluntly.

John steadied his breath, his gaze was cold, focused, measured. His eyes met the eyes of another man.

He fired.

The man started to fall, John fired again. Then again.

Two more fell as the fourth ducked behind cover. Thunderous booms rang across the valley.

John repositioned. He darted from his previous rock and to another fifty meters away. Sighting in again; he had an angle on the straggler behind cover as well as two others coming up for reinforcement. The rest of their group stayed back. 

Three shots, all immediately after the other. The figures fell. The campsite was looking like a mass grave and it had only been ten seconds. No other person moved forward from what John could see, instead they were staying behind cover, occasionally peeking angles John thought were too risky to waste ammo on. 

Holstering the sniper rifle, he made his way carefully down the mountainside, a single, small radscorpion dared approached him, a bullet was in its head before it could even begin to attack. 

After a few minutes of speed walking down the rocks and hills he found himself next to the highway. The augmented vision showed the last three hostiles hiding behind a sand dune, they had positioned themselves to force the path into a chokepoint. They were paranoid, weapons still drawn. John moved to flank around them, pulling out his LAER. 

Crossing to the right side of their dune, next to it was a rock ledge which led to an amazing angle where he could rain fire down on them. Pulling himself up he moved quietly until he could kill all three easily. 

After a second he had found his spot. The men were still cowering behind their sand, thinking it would save them, oblivious to their impending doom. 

Blinding lightning ripped through the air and vaporized two of them immediately. The combined arc of energy travelling between the two and killing both. The last man didn't even have time to turn and see his friends' deaths before another arc eviscerated him. Their charred corpses started to smoke wildly as ash piled off in droves and flew into the wind. Instant death, but disgustingly brutal. 

John swept his vision across the mountains and desert. No more hostiles picked up on the augmented visual feed, though traps had been scattered along the entire highway. Mines, bear traps, spikes in pot-holes, etc. He moved to disable them, tearing down and picking up anything that wasn't an explosive, and then detonating the mines from range, not taking the chance to disable something he didn't exactly knew how worked. It took around ten minutes and the process was annoying more than anything. 

Past the highway the caravan was getting uneasy. 

Lindsey, the young trader, a hot headed and opportunistic woman who had joined up with the Crimson Caravan Company a few years ago. She looked to her peers, anxiety had been building in her mind as the gunshots from before had turned to explosions, and those were drawing nearer by the second. In a fit of impatience and worry over how long they'd been staying in Nipton, she piped up. "Y'know I bet that dumbass got himself killed, I heard talks of Jackal raiders in the mountains, dozens of em' setting up camps and butchering people. He's probably food for them right now, the NCR is getting sloppy with their recruits and I bet he ain't much better, they might come looking for us afterwards."

She stood up from her chair and moved to the doorway, light shone through on Earl, the second guard, he didn't say anything as she walked through. The old man, Vergil, looked at her; though she couldn't make out an expression. At the porch of the building she sat down and looked around. The heat hadn't gotten any better; everybody was sweating balls.

A short, hackled cough came from Vergil as he began to speak, "Well, it seemed like he had a plan; I've known some of these NCR boys going on three decades now, they ain't stupid and if those radscorpions were anything to go off of the man can handle himself in a fight at least, whether that translates to shootin' with a rifle... well them Rangers ain't no joke when it comes to takin' a feller's head clean off." 

Earl spoke for the first time in a while, bald headed and well tempered, he had been out on the road close to two decades, a great shot who kept his mouth shut, that's how he survived in the Mojave. "Those weapons he had weren't your regular NCR arsenal, I ain't never seen a laser gun like that, and the sniper rifle? Shit I'd love me one of those." He looked back at his own service rifle, a well maintained gun he kept after the first time the Legion attacked a caravan he was on a few years ago, one of the NCR troopers that was with them got taken out immediately and he had picked it up out of instinct. "This thing doesn't hold a candle to what the Rangers get, and that scope he had was not standard issue; I'd bet you he's fine." 

As soon as Earl said that, almost on cue the group turned to the left after hearing metal scraping, the blockade of cars that had taken up Main Street began moving. Two rusted, collapsed sedans clumsily stationed on top of each other began to scrap across the group; violent screeching made any other sound feel insignificant. When the distal lights appeared in view, so did the silhouette of John's hulking body. Once the cars had been moved ninety degrees left from their previous position he was done. 

He began to approach the caravan, each member carefully collecting their belongings and making ready to leave. Vergil was the first to say anything, "So... it seems you got on well, didn't ya, we heard everything from here, old Lindsey ain't think you was gonna make it. But I guess you proved her wrong!" A guffaw left his body as he hunched over in joy at the sheer uncertainty of a person killing a bunch of folk and then pushing two cars afterwards. 

Lindsey rolled her eyes and crossed her arms at the old man, at the same time Earl began to speak, "What'd you find out there?" 

"Nine hostiles, dealt with. Cannibals it seems. We should stop and search the bodies." John replied.

Lindsey looked at John with an inquisitive but worried look in her eye when he mentioned cannibals, her fears of the Jackals being up here were true.  

Vergil hit the back of the brahmin and feed it some crops to get it moving again. "Good girl Bessie..." 

Lindsey put her straw hat back on, then said "Looks like it's time to move out, if you left anything in the buildin' go get it, if not we're leaving." She tried to keep her mind off the raiders. If this man could take out nine of them by himself they were probably safe, never mind having Earl and Vergil there as well.  Turning to the brahmin's pack, on it sat a functioning radio, she turned a few dials as the static clicks and hisses quickly transformed into an audible voice. 

"... tension...  brewi... in Freeside between the ruling gang known as the Kings, and the larg... nu..ber of NCR squatters seeking refuge there. In other news, a hostage crisis between the NCR and the Great Khans in Boulder City was resolved peacefully when a third-party negotiator successfully secured the hostages' release. More classics coming right up for you. So stay tuned..."

"In the Shadow of the Valley" started playing, an old song, peaceful, and quiet. Lindsey stopped messing with the radio after it started playing. 

Walking for another thirty minutes they happened upon the Jackal's camp, the raiders were being picked apart by wild dogs, feasting on flesh and bone; the smell was awful for the members of the caravan, especially Lindsey. Vergil was used to seeing dead raiders, Earl was bored of it. John only needed to step close to the dogs for them to start running away; they had gotten their feast.

"We can stop and search the bodies, I'll provide cover on the ridge." stated John.

Earl covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief and began picking through the bodies and what was left in camp; Vergil moved up with Earl, just a little slower. Lindsey stayed by the brahmin, she was squeamish around the dead. No one spoke around the corpses, it felt like a bad omen to.

It only took them around ten minutes. John didn't notice anything else, even with the augmented vision turned on nothing popped up; the road was clear for now. 

It was nearing 1300 Hours, the caravan had been trekking for four hours at this point; Novac was fifteen kilometers out from their position; probably another three straight hours of walking. Vergil's old bones were starting to ache; he pulled a Jet from out of his pocket; pulled down his face mask and inhaled; the drug providing potent relief for his aging body. Earl puffed on a cigarette, Lindsey stayed next to the radio, her eyes darting around, after a few hours of nothing but walking she had mustered up the courage to speak to John, his vacant gaze and quiet demeanor throwing her off from guesses at what he was like as a person, she only had to go off actions and the few words he had said if she was going to try and make conversation.

She looked towards John cautiously and asked, "How did you know they were there? And how did you kill them all? I... I mean, I heard some talk from another trader in the bar about raiders, I just didn't think there'd be so many. I guess Nipton gettin' fucked over was probably why." 

Earl overheard Lindsey's question, he was curious about where John had gotten his equipment from, the NCR didn't just give handouts to its soldiers. "I betchu' it's that fancy ass equipment he has, that laser gun ain't no joke. I couldn't even find a trace of something useful on the poor saps who got hit by it." 

"I found my equipment in the Big MT, the suit I'm wearing connects to my visor and my heads up display, i can initiate a visual target software to highlight living creatures whether they're behind cover or not. That's how I was able to find them, as for killing them, that was another directive in my mission. I completed it." John didn't care much for conversation with other people, he was focused on making sure the caravan wasn't going to be ambushed, he gave a simple explanation.

"Wish the NCR had more soldiers like you. If that suit can tell us what's up ahead, what do you see now?" replied Lindsey.

Instead of John responding, the Suit did, the young woman's voice confusing the members of the caravan. "No human hostiles detected in a two kilometer radius from our current position, multiple groups of ants and radscorpions detected in sparse localized areas, adverse to plotted path, low logistical threat." 

 "The Suit can talk as well?" asked Earl.

"Affirmative" both the Suit and John said at the same time, only the Suit continuing on. "Though he doesn't really care for me to." 

"Shit sounds like I need to go to this Big MT place." Earl said longingly, wishing he had that type of equipment. 

More long hours passed, Novac drawing nearer and nearer by the minute, the Mojave held little respite for those who walked its roads. Despite the beauty of the mountains. The loneliness, the heat, and the desolation; every aspect that made this place near unlivable was reminding you of why it was like that constantly. Past the valleys of McCullough Mountain, the open desert once again presented the caravan to the deadly Sun.

At 1615 Hours, the caravan arrived at Novac. A very small town, the first thing John noticed was the large T-Rex statue holding a ten foot tall thermometer. It sat next to an old motel, the sign next to that read "NO VACANY" with the bulbs on the letters "ANY" not receiving any power, which is why the people who live here named the place Novac. To put it quite frankly, John was not impressed by the town. In fact it made him wary about how well Humanity had managed to recover post war, there were no functioning vehicles, no lightpoles, electricity obviously was not a priority as half the town had no lights on; only the motel was truly fully functional and not even everyone lived in it, evident from the run down houses that had been turned into makeshift shelter, some had holes in the roofs making them completely worthless. But still society kept on living in its own way here, proving that there was still hope for Humanity. 

Past a tent adjourned with medical supplies and a few jury rigged operating tables, the caravan set up position in some shade, waiting for buyers as well as just resting before the next part of their journey. Vergil pulled out a large bottle of whiskey from his jacket, he looked at Earl and shook it, he grabbed it and took a swig, swallowing painfully, coughing, then handed it back. Vergil took an even longer sip and just wiped his lips.

Lindsey turned to John and said. "We're going to be here for the next few hours, you can do whatever you want; come find us when the Sun starts coming down, we'll be headin' down to the 188 Trading Post after we rest." 

"Affirmative." replied John.

There was nothing to do in Novac for John besides trade, he wasn't the gambling type, he wasn't the drinking type, and he wasn't the talkative type. Novac also served as a spot of rest for John though rest for a Spartan was a bit different than for regular people. He scanned his datapad religiously, checking topology, routes, marking areas he had seen on the way there. Cataloguing any useful information. After that he talked to the woman in the medical tent and bought another doctor's bag and some radaway. Then he made to the northernmost edge of town to see what he could find there. 

The highway kept going towards Boulder City, a couple of kilometers eastwards a massive pre-war power plant sat in the middle of a great depression. Solar panels broke off into strips of reflective light that stretched half a mile. A large satellite sat at the top of the power plant. Even from this distance John could make out the words, "Helios One" on the front of the building. 

The sun was starting to set, and past the power plant John saw it. A massive glow started to rise beyond the mountains. Between two peaks, a massive building hoisted high into the sky, the top of it stuck out an antenna like a giant needle. Its lights creating a translucent ring that could illuminate the daytime. John made note of both of these places, Vegas was still some forty odd kilometers out, meaning that building was massive, and functional; the power plant too, had lights on, both of these were good signs among the desolate nature of everything else in the Mojave. 

John made his way back to the caravan, Vergil was getting packed up, Lindsey was doing her final trade, and Earl was keeping guard. All of them were equally as ready to get out of Novac as he was.