“Absolutely fucking not!” General Oliver said to his radio. He has had a long few days because of a certain doctor kicking the hornet's nest with the Legion.

Ever since Vulpes Incanta was killed in Nipton, the Legion has tripled its infiltrations into the NCR’s side of the Colorado. They were most likely searching for the Doctor so they could get revenge, no doubt on Ceasar’s orders.

Word about what had happened at Nipton was a wake-up call for the NCR. If news about Vulpes’ death hadn’t come with it, Oliver might have been forced to demote a few soldiers in order to appease the leadership back west.

The General was ready to kiss the doctor for what he had done, but now all he could think about was throwing him off Hoover Dam.

“I will not accept a full pardon for the convicts of the NCRCF. I don’t care who is asking, and I don’t care about the damn roads!” Oliver screamed.

He was having this conversation from a Hoover Dam office with Ambassador Dennis Crocker in Vegas. Crocker responded, “I understand your frustration, Oliver, but things are tough enough as they are. With the Long 15 clear again, I can begin to approve caravans to head north. This means more supplies, more troops, and more workers for the quarry. Take this as the windfall we have needed, and shut up.”

“No! Do you know what it would look like if we just forgive these murderers? How bad it would be. What am I gonna tell the families of the men who died protecting that prison? What am I gonna tell my soldiers when they demand to avenge their fellow patriots?” Oliver asked.

“Tell them that peace takes sacrifices from us all. Plus, it's not as if all of them are being forgiven. Of the 400 prisoners from before the riot, 100 have either died or gone missing. Another 50 of the worst that were put away have been handed over to us as a peace offering. These 50 are rapists, raiders, drug dealers, and murderers, with records pages long. I have already drafted a plan on how we can use these 50 to help satisfy anyone who complains.”

Crocker was no stranger to political maneuvering. He was President Kimball's campaign manager, after all.

“And what about Kimball? He is the only one with the power to approve pardons,” Oliver stated.

“That will be easy as long as you help. The two of us together will be enough to convince him of the merits of our plan,” Crocker said.

“Hmmm, fine. I might also be able to use this to move more troops to the damn. People are already talking about the second battle of Hoover Dam. I am gonna make sure it's one the NCR remembers for a long time,” Oliver boasted and turned off the radio.

Crocker leaned back in his chair. He was in an office at the NCR embassy on the southern side of the Vegas Strip. He was the third person to have his title, which he achieved due to his work helping Kimball win the Presidency—not that the war hero needed that much help.

Kimball got his role because of his hardline stance on tribals and a grand and decorated military career. In the early years of his presidency, his approval rating was high, but recently, that had changed. What should have been an easy war has turned into a seven-year campaign against Ceasar’s Legion, which has tied Kimball's image and presidency to its success.

Crocker relaxed as he considered what he could say to convince the old war hawk that pardoning the MRCS wasn’t career suicide but one of the best things to happen in the last year. All the ambassador wanted was for peace to come to the Mojave. Peace meant safe roads, citizens' spending caps, and happy customers.

It would be nice if the worst problem he had to deal with was a trooper puking his whiskey-filled guts up in the lobby. Crocker would have to settle for what life has given him. Peace would come in time.

Crocker pressed a button on his desk and called his secretary into his office.

“Yes, Mr. Crocker.”

“Send out a memo to all office personnel. If the man known as Dr. Franklin Limus is seen on the strip, I would like a meeting with him,” Crocker said.

“Yes, sir.”

Now to wait for the man to make it to Vegas. Hopefully, it shouldn’t take too long.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

_______

“Dooby dooby doo-ba, dooby dooby doo-ba. Franklin!”

The doctor hummed to himself as he snuck into the Novac motel lobby. This room was in no way comparable to the Brotherhood bunker, Fort Knox, or anything really. You will find more security in a gas station.

The lobby didn't have much but a few old chairs and old cabinets. Franklin searched them all, even the destroyed and unusable bathroom No-Bark mentioned. There was nothing that could indicate why the Legion came in here.

The last thing to search was Jeanne May's desk and safe. She was the owner and operator of the Dino Dee-lite Motel. Cass came to her for the motel room and asked her about Boone's wife.

Cass described the woman as an old woman who wore the mask of a polite grandma but was really a venomous radscorpion waiting to stab you.

Franklin found the unfortunate truth, which was that Cass was right. She was a heartless bitch who would sell out her neighbors.

“We, the representatives of the Consul Officiorum, God, these Legion assholes love their Roman roleplay, have this day bargained and purchased Jeanne May Crawford of the township of Novac the exclusive rights to ownership of the slave Carla Boone. Mother fuckers. I have met some assholes in my life, but to sell your neighbor into slavery is low. Alright, keep reading. Blah blah, health and safety, blah blah, unborn child! They paid for the child, too! This absolute bitch.”

The more Franklin read the bill of sale, the more his desire to let Boone have his revenge grew. He was also considering that it was time to make that helicopter from his list and bomb the Legion encampments east of here, but he let cooler thoughts prevail.

The Legion was still a huge unknown to Franklin. He has heard rumors and the opinions of the NCR but that was only one view. To form a full picture, he would need to speak with Legion members. Find out who profited from their system and who was oppressed by it. This world had enough genocide when the bombs fell. No reason to continue with the mindless slaughter of innocents.

That being said, Ms. Crawford needed to be dealt with.

Franklin snuck back outside and across the street to the van. Cass and ED-E laid back in their seats, trying not to be seen.

“How did you make out? Any clues?” Cass asked, holding her shotgun close to her chest.

Quiet, inquisitive beeps.

“I know who did it. They left behind documentation,” Franklin said, handing her the bill of sale.

“What is it,” she started to mumble as she read, which was quickly interrupted by a bunch of cursing and some aggressive gun reloading. “I am gonna blow that two-faced granny's brains out all over that fucking dinosaur.”

“Easy Cass,” Franklin said, holding his hand onto the barrel of her gun. “I promised Boone the first shot, and I don’t think that sniper will miss.”

“Fine. How we gettin' the snake?” Cass asked.

“Quick and quietly. Wait here,” Franklin then stepped out of the van and walked to Jeanne's house.

As part of his investigation, he memorized the locations of every one of Novac's residents. This might have been a slight bending of his handicap rules, but it wasn't that much of an advantage.

Jeanne lived only three hundred feet away from the motel, in an old pre-war house like most of the other townsfolk. The windows were boarded up as the glass had long since shattered. The door was a loose fit and the wrong color like it had been taken from some other building.

Franklin entered her home by simply breaking the doorknob. Handicap be damned, this woman pissed him off.

“Who the fuck thinks they can come into my home so rudely?” Jeanne shouted.

Franklin punched her in the gut and grabbed her by the hair. She was about to shout, so he covered her mouth.

“Shhh. Don’t want to disturb the neighbors,” Franklin whispered into her ear.

She squirmed a bit, but the old woman didn’t have the strength to budge his metallically

reinforced limbs.

“Good. You have been a horrible member of this community. Good neighbors don’t sell each other and their unborn children to the Legion,” Franklin chided her. His grip on her hair remained good, and she was now positioned towards the front door. Next, he started to push her outside.

Cass waited outside with her shotgun pointed at the old crone. “Hey, look at that. You caught a shithead.”

Jeanne squired in Franklin's arms at the comment, but he just shoved her forward. Their destination was the bridge that crossed over the old highway. Dino Dinky faced this way and had a clear view of everything.

“It's nighttime, so Boone should be the one on shift,” Franklin said and released the woman.

“You fucking cocksucker. How dare you do this to me. Who do you think you are? I ought to shoot you. You're fucking dead, do you hear me, DEAD!” She screamed.

“Quiet. I need to know why you sold Carla into slavery,” Franklin asked. He was sure Boone had already seen them on the bridge by now but he hadn’t put on the beret yet. That was the signal for him to fire at whomever he brought to the bridge.

“This is about that whiny cunt. Oh, poor, poor Boone. To marry such a loud and annoying bitch who didn’t give two fucks about him or this town. All she did all day was bitch about how things smelled or how the water tasted. Yeah, I got the Legion to take her. You know why, 'cause she didn’t deserve this town. We work hard here to make do with what we have. We especially don’t need anyone who thinks they are too good for our town. Boone will forget her with time, and she is getting what she deserves, being some Legionaries sex toy.”

Her ranting left Franklin bereft of sympathy. She talked about town pride but made no mention of Boone's unborn child. Did she not know they were both dead? How did Boone know then? You would have to infiltrate their forces if he wanted to get close to his wife… wait. No, you didn’t.

A sniper wouldn’t need to be close to see someone. They just had to find a single line of sight.

Ahh.

That's how he knows she is dead.

The poor bastard. Life really decided to take a shit on his world, huh.

Let's see if I can help him get something back from it.

“I have been in this world for about a week or two now. Compared to my old one, it is missing a lot of important concepts. Concepts that a proper community could provide to its residents. Justice is one of the most important ones. I am glad I have the opportunity to bring some of it back to this wasteland,” Franklin said and put on the beret.

“What the fu-”

BANG!