“Caravan, citizen, pilgrim, or umm,” an NCR soldier said. Franklin looked for a name badge and found it said Knight. This soldier was standing behind the front desk and had been the first person to speak with Franklin since coming inside the outpost.

“Citizen, I believe. Are you Major Knight? Lieutenant Hayes told me you are the one to speak to about getting reinforcements for Primm. They are interested in becoming an NCR town,” Franklin asked.

“Primm? We have been having trouble with some escaped NCRCF convicts. What can I help you with?” Knight asked.

“The convicts have killed the sheriff of Primm. Hayes said he couldn’t protect the town without reinforcements. They could really use the help,” Franklin asked. So far, while the NCR he had seen were a little underequiped, they had discipline. Following orders would go a long way against the unorganized raiders and convicts.

“I want to help, but we can’t spare the men. Orders from out West said we have to maintain a head count here at the outpost,” Knight said. The Major seemed to care about the situation in Primm, but it would be his ass if something went wrong.

“Major, I have a question. Why are you sitting behind a desk, greeting every person coming by?” Franklin asked.

“I am writing down stuff for the logbook. So we know who is coming and going through the outpost. These days, it is mostly just people leaving the Mojave, not many coming too,” Knight said.

“Yes, I figured that out. What I meant was why is a commissioned officer sitting around, doing desk work that could have been done by a Private,” Franklin said, a little angry on the Majors's behalf.

“Well, I don’t just record coming and going. I also handle the maintenance of supplies, arms, and armor, including the maintenance of civilian equipment as well. It comes at a monetary cost, but we can handle repairing anything,” Knight said.

“So the NCR Army is involved with the trade of the Mojave. You probably repair a lot of equipment for the caravans that come through here. And seeing as how you said fewer are coming by, you all must not be making that much money,” Franklin pointed out.

“You are not wrong. We do what we can, but with Caesar’s Legion and raider attacks on the rise lately, it's been hard for caravans to safely make it to New Vegas,” Knight said.

“I know a bit about the dangers of the road. On my way from Primm, I found a group of raiders in an old police station, some giant ants, and a giant scorpion. But do you know what they all have in common? I killed them. I did the same for the Powder Gangers in Primm. I could also do the same for those blocking the roads north. Those crosses and red flags you have on that map over there. The ones that prevent caravans from traveling to Las Vegas without entering Legion territory. I could remove those for you. Make traveling the road a smooth experience,” Franklin said, boasting his combat abilities.

“You could do that? Not to doubt, but that is a big claim,” Knight said skeptically.

“I understand your hesitation. Let's just say I have friends and like to fight from a distance. The deputy of Primm can attest to the results of my work. Your soldiers could even ask as they defend the town. Primm could be a nice little waystation where caravans can rest before they make the last bit of travel to New Vegas. Maybe even a stop by Camp McCarran,” Franklin said.

Major Knight leans back a little and considers Franklin's words. “You are correct. Travel to New Vegas has been difficult ever since the Powder Ganger broke out. If you could clear them, it would be greatly appreciated. Give me a minute to speak with the commander. Why don't you rest in the barracks and take a break at the bar, too. Tell Lacey you can buy on my tab for now.”

“Thank you, Major Knight. I will await your favorable decision,” Franklin said.

Franklin stepped back out into the fresh air. It was filled with irradiated dust and mildew. It left everything with a brown coating that made the world a lot more dreary. He added giant air filtration systems to his to-do list.

Sunlight was begging to fade, so Franklin thought he might as well rest his mind. The beds in the barracks were not the most comfortable, but he could adjust his touch feedback sensors and replicate any feeling he needed. So he just pretended he was sleeping on the fluffiest mattress made of the whitest clouds. He didn't require sleep, but it was healthy to rest.

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The next morning, before he went looking for Knight, Franklin found a ramp leading to the barracks' roof. The building was positioned in a good spot, so he should be able to see a lot from its roof.

Walking up there, Franklin found he wasn't the only one with this thought. An NCR ranger was also up there. She was sitting in a chair with a bottle of something called Sunset Sapirilla, some cigarettes, and binoculars. The woman herself has albinoism and wore something similar to cowboy clothes if they had been designed for the military.

“Didn't hear you come up the ramp. Are you a trader? No, not a trader. Courier? No, not that either,” she pondered.

Franklin's mind still made his body move based on his subconscious mind so it could show off body language. Lately though, he was more in control of these movements. He did this to conserve energy and help himself focus on his surroundings.

“I am a scientist turned explorer after an unfortunate lab accident,” Franklin said.

“Scientist huh. Don't get too many of those around here. You also move quietly and seem good about staying ready for action. If you don't mind putting those legs to work, I could use some help,” she said, grabbing her binoculars.

“Help with what?” Franklin asked.

She handed the binoculars to Franklin and pointed east. “Over that direction is the town of Nipton. We haven't received any travelers from there for about a day or two. This morning around dawn, smoke started to rise from the city.”

“Why hasn't anyone gone to investigate?” Franklin asked.

“Standing orders to maintain a head count. We are also supposed to prevent any caravans from leaving,” she said.

“No caravans. What about that Crimson Caravan group I saw on my way in?” Franklin asked.

“Like I said. ‘Supposed to.’ Doesn't mean they listen or someone tries to stop them. I am Ranger Ghost. You are?” Ghost said.

“Dr. Franklin Limon.”

“Well, Doc. You aren't a part of any caravan. And I can easily pretend I didn't see you leave. I can also lose some supplies if someone happens to tell me what happened in Nipton,” Ghost insinuated without looking at Franklin.

“I might know someone that could do that,” Franklin said. He might as well do that. He saw the edge of Nipton on his way up to the outpost. It would take only a couple of hours and give Major Knight some more time.

Franklin began the trek down the mountains. He spent an hour walking before encountering an old ruin. There wasn't much but a couple of destroyed buildings.

The ruins were occupied by more of the members of the cannibal group Franklin had fought yesterday. Not taking the chance, two shells were sent out and made quick work of the raiders.

Franklin took a moment and looked at their belongings. He didn't have the habit of stealing from the dead, but maybe he should. They did not have much other than their armor and guns. What they did have that was worth something was their bodies. He activated the matter conversion protocol and had his nanites swarm consume all the raw materials that made up the bandits. This brought his total nanites levels to 125% and made up for his losses from recent fighting.

“Waste not, want not.”

Next, Franklin converted the extra nanites into containers and carried them with his other items. He wasn't carrying much. He had the Pipboy from the unfortunate traveler, a scorpion stinger, some samples from the zombified human, and now the extra nanites.

On one of the walls of this ruined building was another of the random messages people seemed to like to make. This one said, ‘The Burned Man Walks.’

‘Adding Burned Man to the research list,’ Franklin thought.

The smoke hanging over the town of Nipton was still there and growing. Franklin was about a thousand feet from town when he saw a man come running down the hill. He wore the uniform of the NCR Correctional Facility, so he must be a Powder Ganger. The convict wasn't hostile or doing anything threatening. He seemed happy, in fact.

“YEAH. Who won the lottery? I did!” The jubilant man said.

“Slow down now. What lottery?” Franklin asked.

“The only one that matters, idiot. Wooow, smell that air. I am going to fucking Vegas, baby!” The man then left, heading north through the desert, no longer following the road.

“The hell? What happened here?” Franklin said aloud.

The town of Nipton would probably would have been one of the nicer towns he had seen. The key word being would. Now the town was wrecked. Blood was spilled on the roads and across buildings. Tired had been stacked and set aflame.

Franklin turned onto what might have been Main Street. On the other end of the road was a large building that must have been the former town hall: tire fires and bodies laid in his path. Several crosses had been arranged down the road. Each had a person crucified to them. Some of them were still alive, barely breathing. All of them were wearing the uniform of the NCR Correctional Facility.

Franklin was about to get them down when he noticed a group waiting for him in front of the town hall. As much as he wanted to help the people on the crosses, the men down the road had guns pointed at him. They only raised their weapons when he went towards a cross. He had to ignore the suffering people and meet this group.

The group all wore a similar uniform. Red leathers with a skirt that went to their legs. Some had guns, while others readied swords. Dogs flanked the group.

One man stepped forward. He wore the same outfit as the others but had a skinned jackal for a headdress and dark aviators on his face.

“Don't worry. I won't lash you to a cross like these degenerates. It is useful you happened by,” the man Franklin believed to be a member of Caesar's Legion said.

“Lucky me,” Franklin said, letting his emotions actually show. This act of barbarity was unforgivable.

“Indeed. You have the good fortune to be a witness to fate. To memorize every detail of the justice Caesar’s Legion brought to this filthy town,” the jackal man said.

“Justice? What crime could be so great to justify this?!” Franklin shouted.

“Oh, where to begin? They were weak, and we were strong? This was already apparent. But no. The moral failures of this town serve as a perfect example of what Caesar wants to exterminate. This sick town served all who came here: the NCR, the Powder Gangers, and even some amongst the Legion. Anyone who paid was served no matter what was asked. So, I paid them to create a trap for the NCR and the convicts. The mayor of this town brought both groups together for us to exterminate. And when we were done, we moved on to the town itself,” the jackal told Franklin of his master plan. Of his form of justice.

Franklin has heard enough. He did not need to know more about Caesar's Legion. His opinion was set and made. They would die so that this world might have a chance to survive.