1 Brahmin Sh*t

The fire crackled as it burns the deadwood, curling and swaying, flicking this way and that way in obscure shapes. It projected long shadows on the surrounding area, and the light cast by the flames danced, providing a small radius of light. The fire itself was pulsating, the glowing embers seemed to move in rhythm with the flames, matching every dip and sweep. It was mesmerizing for him to watch; colors of orange and red gave way to yellow and white near the centre, where the emanating heat was the greatest.

The merchants who run the caravan were fast asleep, meanwhile he kept watch, softly observing the campfire burn. Somebody had to make sure the fire kept burning and alert the group when danger comes. The group decided it was his turn, and he had no complaints; besides, a contact is a contact.

Watching the embers made him thirsty, so he took a swing of his waterskin. The tastelessness, but yet the refreshfulness of purified water was a privilege only a few could have and enjoy. Of course, with his experience in survival, he could just boil the dirty or irritated water and make it purified. Awfully simple, but yet, not many people of the wasteland don't have much brains to do it.

After satisfying his thirst, and had nothing else to do, he runs deep into his pockets and pulled out a rusted Pre-War rosario, and clutch onto it tightly. The relic was the only memento he carried, a reminder of his past life and the sins that he committed, ironically enough. This was one of the few moments that he stop and reflect on his past, and how he can mend those scars.

His thoughts then focused on a particular teenage girl who slept beside him. He smiled, almost giggled, at how defenseless she was toward him. He is her kind Big Brother, after all, or least, that's how she describes him.

He just needed to do a few more jobs, and with the caps he saved, he can get a petition, then he and her can live without worrying about the NCR pursuing them. A new life, a brand new start… an opportunity that many people in the wasteland will most likely never get.

"Soon." he whispered to the sleeping sibling.

-Line Break-

The Long 15 is one of the most traveled routes in the Mojave Wasteland. The Crimson Caravan company uses the interstate route as a way to transport their trading goods from New Vegas to Shady Sands or any part of the New California Republic.

"How much further until we get to the Mojave Outpost, Big Brother?"

The young lively girl who asked the question goes by the name of 'Willow'. She had large blue eyes, a small and exquisite nose, soft lips and messy short silver hair. Her skin was a bit dirty, but with a refreshing warm bath, it's exquisiteness will rival those of Pre-War celebrities. Her outfit consist of a brown jacket, blue jeans and a tank top that she wears underneath her jacket. She carried a repeater rifle, which shoots .357 rounds; although the rifle is not the strongest in the wasteland, the ammo is quite common. Many raiders had mistakenly thought that she was defenseless and innocent, until she put a bullet through their skull. The only reason why she acted this way is because she always around her Big Brother, which is her source of her happiness and cheerfulness.

"Still got a few ways to go Willow."

The man beside her goes by the name of 'Mull'. His eyes were more brownish and dark, his nose is almost the same size as hers, and his hair is silver as well. He wore an outfit that the Pre-War movies would describe him as a 'cowboy'. Below his waterskins were his two .44 revolvers, kept inside of his holsters. Two belts, filled with .44 rounds, crisscrossed above his crotch for easy access in dangerous situations. His primary weapon, however, is his trusted hunting rifle, duct taped with various parts on it. His shirt was open at the throat, due to the extraordinary heat of the Mojave sun.

"My feet are getting sore… maybe If I ride on one of the Brahmins…" Willow thought it was a good idea to ride on one of the mutated cows. Mull simply thought that the idea was childish and foolish.

"If you end up smelling like Brahmin sh*t, then I won't let you sleep by my side tonight." he warned.

"Why you gotta be so mean?! Fine, I'll keep walking." she pouted and puff her cheeks out at Mull's comment.

"...I'll buy some sugar bombs when we pass by the trader at the outpost if you makes you feel better."

"Although some sweets would be nice... I'm not a little kid anymore, Big Brother. I need a new gun!" she recommended. Mull did thought it would be useful if she had a new gun, but he needs to be mindful of his budget; besides, buying a new weapon will most likely cost a lot of caps...

"Maybe it'll be better if we found some suicidal raider to kill, then we'll loot their bodies. Anyway, why do you still keep on calling me Big Brother?" he decided to put the matter aside, and teased her for referring him as 'Big Brother'.

"That's because I adore you~" she presses her body against his when saying that. Mull's cheeks did blush a bit when he felt her breast upon his arm.

"Just keep watch, alright? I don't want to be Deathclaw leftovers."

"Okay~"

Thus the siblings continued to watch out for trouble.

Along the way, they heard many stories:

How Caesar's Legion is starting to send more troops and raiding parties into NCR territory.

How Nipton went radio silent for a few days, which caused many suspicions.

Hell, they even heard of a courier who was shot in the head and survived.

But, out of all these things, what Mull and Willow were most interested in, is the news of his old comrades: the Fiends.

Yes, Mull and Willow used to be part of the most notorious raider gang in the Mojave Wasteland: the Fiends. Composed largely of violent, mentally unstable drug addicts, individually they are unexceptional in every way, but their large numbers have made them a dangerous organization for settlements and travellers in west New Vegas. Whether it is murder, r*pe, or shooting innocents for sport, the Fiends are more than happy to bring anarchy to the areas under their control. Mull and Willow used to be well known in the Fiend gang, but that was before the time of Violet, Cook-Cook, Driver Nephi, and Motor-Runner. After the NCR had wiped out most of his small raiding party, both Mull and Willow fled for their lives.

To this day, many veteran Fiends presumed they were killed.

Ever since, they've been trying to repent for their sins.

They jumped at the chance of redemption when they heard about the petition that Larry Scull was offering to ex-criminals.

That's why they ended up as hired mercenaries for the Crimson Caravan.

-Line Break-

"Those Fiends are at again…"

"When will they be stopped? They should all die for killing innocent NCR citizens!"

"F*ck those fiends!"

Everytime Willow heard the hateful insults, she usually holds Mull's hand very tightly, or even buries her head on his chest. She might look like a beautiful woman, but she was still young, at the ripe age of 17. The things she did… it was just under the influence. How else would she survived? But as long her Big Brother was by her side, she wouldn't need to worry so much.

"Don't listen to them. Just focus on me Willow."

"Okay Brother Mull." she whimpered silently, and did just that.

'...Seriously, if I had to describe the Mojave right now… it'll probably be worse than Brahmin Sh*t.'