“I am Lieutenant Hayes of the New California Republic Army, 5tg Battalion 1st Company. What's your business?” Hayes stated tiredly.

The man had probably been awake for 30 minutes, and Franklin couldn't find any trace of coffee around here. It's not like he needed caffeine anymore, but how could a world without coffee function? Finding some unmutated coffee beans was now one of his higher priorities.

“I was wondering what your group was doing about the prisoners. I was informed the town was under siege,” Franklin asked.

“Ugh, okay, look. The prisoners were better equipped and more coordinated than we thought. There are only five of us, and we can't handle that many prisoners. Maybe if we had more ammo, guns, and soldiers to use them, we could take the town back, but right now we can only hold up on this side of the bridge,” Hayes said.

“What about the people in town? Those prisoners are gonna kill them,” Franklin said.

Armies trained their troops in tactics for a reason. They are expected to fight in unfavorable situations at any point. He might not be able to hold the town for long, but surely they could sneak into the city and rescue the people hiding within, right? Fighting only when you have favorable odds. That's the tactic of a coward.

“What are the crimes of these prisoners? If this isn't NCR territory, why are they being kept out here?” Franklin asked.

Formulating an opinion on an entire government based on the interactions with two soldiers isn't going to make an informed opinion, but Franklin could definitely make one about their military.

“The prisoners were brought here to help repair the railroad. The NCR wanted to have a system of travel to New Vegas,” Hayes said with a rising temper in his voice. Franklin was starting to get on his nerves.

“So they revolted because they didn't want to be working in the middle of a dangerous wasteland,” Franklin said.

“Look, I don't know and don't fucking care. The Powdergangers killed the jailors and took over the NCR correctional facility. Now they are working their way around acting no better than raiders. If you want to kill them and save the town, you can go right ahead,” Hayes said sarcastically.

Maybe he would. Franklin had thought a lot about this world and what living here would be like. He doubts he could replicate the accident that brought him to this world without a few years of study. He would have to interact with society, at least on some level. Franklin also couldn't just let this world go either. So much had been lost, and so many people were suffering from the actions of some unknown madmen who decided to blow up the world. He had the knowledge and, more importantly, the power to improve this place. He was going to do just that.

Franklin strode out of the tent and towards the bridge to Primm. One of the troopers stopped him.

“Hey, don't cross that bridge. We got mines set up!” He yelled.

Franklin's sensors could easily pick out various disks hidden in rubble. They emitted a radio signal that he could interfere with. The trooper was shocked to see Franklin walk through the minefield unexploded.

“Hey, how you do that?” The trooper shouted from across the bridge.

“Sorry, but that is proprietary information,” Franklin shouted back.

The walk into Primm was short. This city was built chiefly along one road with all the essential buildings off of it or on a side street connected to it. Everything was falling apart after two hundred years of neglect, and many of the once beautiful brick buildings now lay crumbled with only small sections of walls remaining.

One such wall had hidden three raiders who stepped out and pulled their guns on me. Each had a pistol that Franklin’s visual sensors measured to fire 9mm bullets. Those rounds wouldn’t pierce his outer layer of nanites and cause minimal damage.

“Hands up dickwad. We have a trade offer for you—courtesy of the new gang in charge of Primm. You hand over all of your valuables, and we won’t blow your head,” one of the three convicts threatened while waving his gun around.

“Gentlemen. You won’t believe me when I say it, but you can do nothing to hurt me. Well, except maybe my feelings. You could hurt those. Here is the deal. Surrender, and you can be turned over to the NCR. I will advocate on your behalf, hoping they will give you a lighter sentence despite your numerous crimes,” Franklin bargained. He wasn’t a fool. These escaped convicts will more than likely not give surrender a single thought.

The convicts threw their heads back in laughter. One of them spoke first after trying to maintain his laughter. “Haha, kill this idiot.” They fired a few rounds each into my body.

Each bullet met with a solid wall of hardened molecularly interlocked nanites. Franklin's HUD displayed 0% penetration and less than 0.01% in total loss of nanites.

“Real nice guys. That might have stung a little if I hadn’t turned off my pain replication program. Now we gonna do this the hard way, or will you surrender?” Franklin asked.

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“KILLL IT!” One of them shouted and pulled out a stick of dynamite.

‘Seriously! Where did they find so many explosives in the apocalypse?’ Franklin thought as he ran behind a wall to escape the explosives.

The explosive force of a stick of dynamite wasn’t enough to kill Franklin. Even a bundle would, at most, inconvenience him for a time. The actual problem is if the reactor becomes damaged and unstable. Fission reactors, even ones as small as his, contain a great deal of energy. If it takes enough damage, it could destroy most of his nanites, or worse, it could possibly cause his memory banks to be compromised. He could lose memories, data, programs, or technical information if those become damaged. He has a few backup contingencies in case they ever get destroyed, but all of them were left behind in his old world. Franklin would need to take the time to make backups and store them in safe locations.

Potential saboteurs could alter his memories or personality if the backups are compromised. Franklin didn’t even want to think about the other worst-case scenario, his backups gaining sentience and becoming different versions of himself.

He wasn’t a lunatic; cooperation with his duplicates would be more than possible. The problem comes from a duplicate wanting to have the same connections as himself. It's hard to make friends with multiple versions of the same person.

There was also the issue of his nanites going out of control and becoming an unending swarm of self-replicating locusts.

Franklin thought about these things in the second after he had turned around a corner. Being an artificial being afforded him with a great deal of time dilation. He couldn’t make the world seem like it had stopped, but stretching out a few minutes into an hour or two was possible.

He searched the various programs from the Darwin operating system and picked out something found often in performance nanites. He separated the outer hardened shell of his skin and his gray center and had the outer shell maintain his appearance. His grey goo moved under a pile of bricks and molded itself to look no different from the surrounding debris.

The empty shell consisted of 10% of Franklin’s total nanites and was controlled by combat protocols in the Darwin operating system. This wasn't one of the non-lethal programs he added for self-defense. It was code designed to kill. He added them, intending only to use them in extreme situations he hoped would never come. It was ironic he would use them only a day after he achieved his life's work.

Franklin said he would advocate on their behalf but knew nothing of the NCR’s laws. They obviously had some form of criminal justice system, but he doubted they would be merciful after they killed their jailors and escaped prison. Private Johnson said that the central authority for the NCR was west in California, and it was the Army that handled law enforcement in the so-called frontier. Without a prison, bandits like these people were probably executed.

Franklin could only spare them if he developed his own correctional facility. Such a potential facility would need physical materials like concrete, steel, drugs, and food that could be provided by Franklin’s technology, but it is the staff that matters most. He would need guards, doctors, psychiatric counselors, wardens, and other individuals who could rehabilitate these desperate people.

With time, he could hire all the essential staff needed to run a prison to his standards. Unfortunately, he didn’t have such a luxury.

A lifetime of work dedicated to trying to help humanity despite itself and its flaws. Thousands of hours making sure none of my experiments, inventions, or crimes killed a single person. Now, I am without the safety net of a modern civilization, unable to help these lost wanderers find a better path. How the mighty have fallen.

The empty shell moved fast between the buildings. It shaped its body into a tube-like frame, close to what you might imagine a stick figure to look like in three dimensions. Next, it made its arms into sharp blades. Now that it was faster and harder to hit, it went to work cutting down the convicts as they threw more sticks of dynamite and unloaded their 9mm pistols into it. The shell was too fast to be hurt and sliced a convict with a blade that was a single nanite thick. The poor bastard didn’t even realize he was dead when he stepped forward and fell into two parts.

It took less than a minute for the shell to kill the convicts. The good doctor was not happy about what he had to do. Murder was an unprofessional act in his line of work. Research was costly, and sometimes, you had to do less than stellar things to get needed. Murder though, was always off the table. At least it was back home. Franklin would have to get used to this world. No one was going to respect his morality or sense of ethics. Not unless he had more power to enforce them.

Franklin played it safe and had the shell inspect the bodies. They had some 9mm pistols and some ammo. Their clothing was no better than rags, not that Franklin was even wearing clothes himself. All in all, the loot was useless compared to what he could have done already.

“Guns? Really? I have the designs for over 20 different types of energy rifles, rail guns, and plasma cannons. So, am I really just gonna use this basic 9mm pistol? Hmm… naah,” Franklin told himself.

The pistol was just a little too mundane for his tastes. Creating nanite shells that would fight for him was better. He may begin assembling weapons that fit his standards in a few days or weeks. Such weapons could be used by any people he chooses to trust. So far, that list is empty. He found most of the humans he met lacking and wouldn’t trust them yet. Johnson was nice. Perhaps a new job as security for a material processing plant would pique the private’s interests.

Franklin needed to get some matter replicators producing raw materials. Food, clothing, electricity, water, and medicine would go a long way to convincing people he was worth listening to. He could sell them in Las Vegas and begin to form an organization that would… Franklin stopped. It hadn’t even been 24 hours, and he was thinking about planting roots and planning to convince people that he could fix the world.

A lovely dream, but it would have to wait. Franklin turned on thermal sensors and found which building produced the most heat. On the east side of the road was the Bison Steve Hotel. It had moderate heat, but the Vikki and Vance Casino across the street produced much more. He pulled on the handle of the casino doors, and a gunshot came out from the other side.

“Don’t shoot! I am friendly!” Franklin screamed.

“That's what they all say. I don’t know what brought you to Primm, but you might want to rethink your plans,” a voice from within the casino said.

“Okay, but I really am friendly. I got into town this morning from up north around Goodsprings,” Franklin said.

“Alright fine, you can come in. But no funny business ya hear,” they responded.

Franklin entered the casino and found several tables and old slot machines pilled into a makeshift barrier. An old saggy skinned man was on the other side of the barrier with some kind of long rifle pointed at Franklin.

“Who are you?” The man asked.

“I am Dr. Franklin Limon. I was traveling north to New Vegas when some raiders camped that way, which made me turn around,” Franklin said.

“Dr., huh? Well, I am Johnson Nash. Husband of Ruby Nash. I am mostly a trader but also run the local Mojave Express,” Nash said.

“Johnson? Do you know a private by the same name?” Franklin said.

“Yes, I know of the other Johnson. If you met with him, you probably aint one of them Powder Gangers. Welcome to Primm, Doc. It has gone to hell for what it's worth,” Nash said.

“Yea, about that. The townsfolk don’t have some form of sheriff or militia. Can’t you take out these convicts yourselves?” Franklin asked.

“We had a sheriff. Empathise on had. Now all we got left is Deputy Beagle. You can call him a deputy if your opinion of the law is low. That boy is about as useful as tits on a rad scorpion. He got himself kidnapped and is now being kept by those convicts in the hotel across the street.” Nash said.

“Yeah, if I could get to him, I might as well kill all the convicts in my way while I do it,” Franklin said.

“That might be true, but we still have to deal with any future threats. The town is going to need a new sheriff,” Nash said, throwing his arms up in defeat.

“I might be able to think of something. I guess if you want something done around here, you have to do it yourself. I head on over to the hotel and rescue your deputy,” Franklin said, looking out the bullet holes in the front door.

“You’d do that? Well, if you can, the town would greatly appreciate it.” Nash said.

Franklin stepped out of the door and walked across the street to the hotel.