This time, Franklin paid attention to his sensors. So when a group of raiders was picked up, he hid and avoided their notice. They were sitting outside an old prewar police station. He split off some nanites and created two tiny drones operated by a survey protocol. They would fly quickly around and make a 3d map of the surrounding area.
The drones found a couple of bodies that wore the uniform of the NCR Correctional Facility. The living raiders wore no matching clothing, so they must be another faction. Huh. Factions of different raiders. That was something that put Franklin on edge a little. How many would he find? How many would be too far gone and need to be executed?
Looking across the building, he saw some writing referencing the Sierra Madre casino. Franklin checked his radio signals and found the advertisement was still playing. He might need to consider investigating this location. The front door also had a message, but Franklin wasn’t sure how much he appreciated the phrase ‘Fuck You.’
While these raiders were not wearing any matching clothing, there was something that made them stick out. Their hair was made into weird designs. One of the members had shaved their head completely bald except for two strips down the side. It was pulled back and shaped into two twin mohawks, making it look like wings. The others only had the one mohawk. It was a characteristic they all shared, so for now, they will be identified as the Mohawk Gang.
That name might have been a little premature. Further, scans showed the substance used to maintain their haircuts was human blood and viscera. It was all over their hair, hands, and mouths. They also had filled their teeth down into sharp points. Franklin theorized these weren’t cosmetic decisions. They were cannibals.
Another horror of this post-apocalyptic world. Franklin would not judge what people did in desperate times in order to survive, but he believed this world was not that desperate. Despite this world being a nuclear wasteland, people were trying. To become a murderer and cannibal when people were out here doing their best to survive and rebuild the world was a sign of an evil heart. In order to not lose hope, Dr. Franklin Limon had to draw the line somewhere. This might as well be a good place.
The spy drones returned. Franklin then created two shells and sent them to eliminate the cannibals. The raiders wore a mixture of metal armor and leathers. They wielded tire irons and 10mm pistols.
The twin mohawk leader was a little more experienced than the convicts. She used her machete skillfully and managed to shrug off some of the shells' lighter attacks. Her followers tackled the shells and knocked them to the ground. The shells only had 10% of my total nanites and weighed about 25 lbs each. They used a honeycomb structure throughout their bodies, which would be flexed and pulled to move. This meant while they could move fast and with precision, they were light and lacked strength, but they were still nanites.
Both raiders were skewered as the shells erupted into a flurry of spikes. The shells reformed on top of the corpses and faced the raider leader again. She had taken out some form of inhaler and a syringe.
‘Drugs? I hadn’t considered the combat applications of the morphine variant I saw in the hotel, but it would be a suitable stimulant. It might let this raider ignore most of the nonlethal attacks the shells would inflict.’ Franklin thought.
The leader was now a much more significant threat. She shrugged off the light scratches the shells made and was causing a good amount of damage to the shell's nanites. Both had lost about 1.5% of my total nanites.
‘This is good data. If I encounter other enemies that use drugs like this, I will need to be more careful,’ Franklin thought and had the shells finish the fight. They both grappled the leader with one arm and swung their other blade arms into her throat. No matter how juiced a human was, they couldn’t fight for long with their throat split open.
The raider leader fell to the ground and quickly bled out. Franklin then had the shells enter the police station and clear it out. The raiders inside were quickly taken out. There were some interesting creatures inside, though. A group of giant praying mantises were locked in a cell with the half-eaten body of an unknown man. They were about the size of small dogs, with one being about the size of a Doberman.
Franklin had the shells kill the mantises and dissect their corpses. They did not have signs of the virus found in the giant gecko and had little signs of genetic mutation caused by radiation. Wherever these things came from must have been a clean environment, but that didn’t explain their greater size. They had signs of genetic manipulation, but it only seems to have increased their size.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
‘Curios. Could these things have been created? Why though? And by whom? This world continues to intrigue me,’ Franklin thought.
So much he would have to investigate.
__________________
Continuing south along the highway, Franklin could continue his biological research on the native wildlife. He countered two species with signs of modification from this mystery virus, giant versions of scorpions and ants. The virus had heavily modified both species, and they were now the size of cows.
While giant scorpions were scary given the species' proficiency as hunters, the ants were the more terrifying. Franklin didn’t want to imagine what a colony of these creatures could do. They must have a weakness or some other limiting factor, as ants of this size should have stripped the world of potential food sources. The fact they hadn’t was Franklin's only hope that a possible colony wouldn’t be filled with hundreds of them.
The next biological marvel was a human suffering from a large amount of radiation exposure. Prolonged radiation exposure had necrotized their skin and flesh, leaving them with a zombified appearance. The once-human was also suffering from severe mental deterioration. They were only capable of screeching and attempted to bite the shells. Franklin couldn’t let them suffer anymore and ended the observation early and killed them. Out of respect, he left the body alone.
The wonders of the wasteland did not cease, it seemed. Franklin managed to see the faint outline of two statues between mountains to the north. He also found some of the first signs of friendly life since he left Primm.
“Greetings,” a man said as he held onto a leash. A red cow with two heads was on the other end of the rope. The bovine's fur had fallen out, and only red leather skin remained. She had enlarged udders that seemed to be suffering from over-lactation. It was not something Franklin wanted to observe, but he needed to make note of potential farm life. There were 3 of these creatures, each carrying crates and other items strapped to their backs.
Following beside and behind were armored individuals with long rifles and sidearms.
‘A carivan? That means trade was still alive, and there was money to be made. The NCR would obviously need it, but this was not their territory,’ Franklin thought.
Looking south, he could barely see a faint outline of Las Vegas.
‘The city must be their destination,’ Franklin decided to ask. “Hey. Where are you coming from?”
“Oh, us? We are coming from Baker. That's a couple of hours away from the outpost on top of the hill,” said a man wearing overalls and a large hat.
“Are you independent?” Franklin inquired. He wanted to know the status of trade among people in California. They had a government, but what about their economy?
“Ooh, we are part of the Crimson Caravan. I'm heading on over to New Vegas now. How is the road north?” The trader asked.
“Not too bad. Some giant ants and raiders were on the road to Nipton but are now dead. I came from Primm to convince the NCR to take over the town officially. Some convicts from a jail got loose and killed their sheriff, so the town is a little desperate for law enforcement,” Franklin sorrowed at the situation.
“That is a shame to hear. I knew old knew Sheriff McBain. He was a good man. But you cleared the road north, huh?” The trader asked.
“Only up to Primm. I will probably head back that way once I can meet with Major Knight in the outpost,” Franklin said and waved goodbye to the caravan.
Franklins soon caught sight of the giant monument. Two figures were standing tall and had met each other for a handshake. It was made of wooden beams with sheet metal hammered into the figure of a cowboy and a person wearing a trench coat with some kind of helmet/gas mask. Franklin liked the aesthetic of the helmeted man.
He approached the monument and read the plaque out loud. “In the year 2271, the Desert Rangers of Nevada and rangers of the New California Republic met at this spot to sign the Ranger Unification Treaty. Under this treaty, the Desert Rangers agreed to be absorbed into the NCR in exchange for the NCR’s protection of Hoover Dam, Las Vegas, and southern Nevada against the forces of Caesar’s Legion.”
“Heh. Not many take the time to read up on their history. Good on you for trying to stay educated. That is about the only use other than shade these statues really provide,” an NCR soldier said.
“I have several doctorates. I pride myself on my ability to learn new and interesting information,” Franklin said, more than happy to show off his intelligence.
“Doctorates? You a doctor?” The soldier asked.
“Medically? Technically, I am. I had to get my license, or my peers wouldn’t take my research seriously,” Franklin said. If he did not have his medical license, then his research might have been considered the work of a mad scientist and not that of a professional. It was a tedious experience, but he fondly remembered his years practicing in the Saint Bastion Hospital.
“We could always use more doctors around. What brings you out here, Dr.? I am sorry I didn’t catch your name.” He asked.
“Dr. Franklin Limon. You are?”
“I am Sergeant Killborn. NCR Army.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Sergeant. I am looking for a Major Knight. I was told he would be the one to speak to about a situation in Primm,” Franklin said.
“I see. You will find him in that second building right there,” Killborn said.
Franklin thanked the Sergeant and went inside the second building. It was a prewar construction that had seen better days, like every other one he had entered the last few weeks. On one wall was a current map of Las Vegas and the surrounding areas. He saw that the NCR had taken over the former Las Vegas airport and a golf course east of the town next to a lake. Their names were Camp McCarran and Camp Golf, respectively. The NCR had a few other smaller locations called camps, but they seemed less important.
The map also showed the local trade routes. Franklin noticed that the way to the north past Primm and something called Quarry Junction had several red flags and crosses. The route past Goodsprings was also marked the same.
‘So the only way north was the long way around the mountains and up Highway 95. That territory is patrolled by Caesar’s Legion, or at least so I was told. This means there are no safe routes to New Vegas right now,” Franklin thought. This was helpful information.