30 Chapter 30 (final)

The room was dry and dark, shafts of light peering through the cracks of the aged wooden planks of the house. She had been here before. This was Doc Mitchell's house.

She sat on his sofa as she had before, legs crossed and fidgeting, impatient and anxious. She had already done this.

The old doctor seated himself across from her. "I'm going to be showing you some pictures, and I want you to say the first thing to come to mind—"

"We've already done the ink blots," she pointed out plaintively.

He stole a glance at the cards in his hands, flicking through his collection. "No, I don't believe we've done this yet."

She sighed impatiently but argued no further.

Doc Mitchell leaned back in his chair, contemplating her. "Would you rather we talk first?"

"Talk about what?"

"Anything from before come to mind yet? Remember your name? Anything?"

She frowned, saying nothing. Her continued fidgeting was answer enough for him.

He looked back down at his cards. "Okay, no need to get yourself worked up. Let's get started."

He paused, as if waiting for some breath of anticipation. It only made her that much more impatient.

"Try to relax, there's no right or wrong answer. And I don't think you're going to be late for a doctor's appointment." Doc Mitchell wasn't the sort to laugh at his own jokes, but he allowed himself a chuckle for her benefit.

She tried to take his advice and relax, flexing the stiff muscles of her fingers. She attempted a smile, unsure what had her so wound up.

"This is going to be a little different than that lady's ink blots. Say the first word that comes to mind with the picture and then after that, choose either good or bad. Understand?"

She nodded.

"Okay, I'll start you on an easy one. Tell me about this."

Doc Mitchell held up the first picture, and it showed a likeness of Carla and Baby Craig. It jarred something in her perception, as if Doc Mitchell's house briefly flickered out of focus. Carla and Baby Craig did not fit in the context of her time with Doc Mitchell. But when she blinked, everything remained still as normal. He waited patiently for her answer.

"Uh," she began lamely to collect herself. "Family."

"Good or bad?"

"Good."

"And what about this one?" He held up a picture of Boone.

"Ranger—where did you get these?"

"Good or bad?"

"Good. Doc—"

"Please, don't interrupt for the sake of the test. What about this one?" It was Benny.

This one made her clench her teeth. "Checkered Jacket. Murderer."

"Well, that's technically three words, but I suppose it doesn't matter. Good or bad?"

The answer was automatic. "Bad."

The next one was Siri.

"Slave." She hesitated. "Good."

"You think slaves are good?" he mused more to himself.

"No—" she quickly tried to explain.

"It's all right. Things get taken out of context. Now. This one might be a little harder." The picture was of Silus.

Her body reacted much more violently than with Benny. "Sick bastard. Bad."

"Easier—" He held up a picture of Sarah from the Vault 21 hotel.

"Lonely. Good."

The computerized visage of Mr. House was next.

"Greed. Bad."

The next one surprised her. Doc Mitchell showed a picture of Victor.

And despite how things ended with Mr. House, she felt fondness for the robot. "Savior. Good."

"That's interesting. How about this fellow?" Lord Caesar was next.

"Tyrant."

"Good or bad?"

"Bad."

"Next?" Arcade Gannon.

She felt like smiling. "Self-deprecating."

"Well there's a fancy word if I ever heard one. Good or bad?"

"Good."

"This one might be a little difficult for you." Martina Groesbeck.

She tried swallowing past the venom she felt welling up in her mouth. "Whore. Bad."

"And last but not least—" Of course, Vulpes Inculta.

This one actually gave her pause. She leaned back, studying the angled planes of his face, his icy blue eyes. The emotions he stirred conflicted with one another. "I don't know, there's just so much to say about him."

"I don't need a story, just a word. We're almost done here."

After a minute of struggling, she finally settled. "Demon."

"Good or evil?"

"You didn't say evil for the others?" she pointed out, confused.

"I didn't need to. Good or evil?" He was calm but there was something about the question that made her feel rushed.

"I don't know. Can there even be a good demon?"

"You tell me. Why would you call him a demon if he wasn't evil in the first place?"

"And if he calls me his queen?" she proposed, her voice trailing off in thought.

"Queens can be good or evil. Benevolent or tyrannical. Demons might also be similarly misunderstood or cursed."

"And what doe that mean if I'm the queen of some demon?" she asked, feeling that lash of venom for Martina, the wave of self-deprecation that belonged to Arcade.

"I don't answer the questions. I just ask them," Doc Mitchell said unhelpfully. He continued this train of thought. "Lucifer, a demon or a manifestation of evil in every respect, was once an archangel of God, the right hand of His, so to speak. But Lucifer was cast from Heaven for desiring to be as his Lord. Now if God is truly the Creator, the Force of Goodness in the world, why would he choose someone he would later retract? If God is the source of righteousness, why would it be a sin for Lucifer to be like him, unless God is not this image of purity we've painted for him."

"You're rambling," she said. "I don't see how this is relevant."

"It is entirely relevant. This exercise of picture associations with good or bad is imperative to how you identify the people in your life. A slave, a girl's loneliness, and a man's self-deprecation are good in your eyes, but when the word is 'demon,' with obviously strong connotations with evil, you struggle to name it as such."

She shook her head, still not understanding.

He leaned closer. "So do you bend the rules, your morality, your perception of goodness in the world for a demon with a queen?"

She came to with the reverberating thunder of explosives, plaster and dust coating her face. A faint ringing in one ear and no sound in the other. A few blinks, a quick sweep of her surroundings reminded her where she was. In the middle of the Battle for Hoover Dam. A blast had erupted dangerously close to her, and she had feared that her hero's journey had come to its second premature end.

Fortunately, it seemed to be merely delayed.

She shook the eerie feeling of calmness that Doc Mitchell's house evoked. It was a dream, a hallucination. It was nothing of substance; it didn't mean anything. She picked herself up, her knees and hands weak. She patted the debris around her, searching for her revolver. She eventually found it beneath the rubble.

The air shook with ballistics, and she tasted the metallic coating of gunpowder against her tongue. Smoke filled her nostrils, creeping through to her lungs like a heavy mask.

This was the flavor of battle in all its shattering glory. Though she still recalled next to nothing from Before the Bullet, her perception of combat was not changed. War never changes.

Legion swarmed in its brutish force and in subterfuge, taking to the subterranean levels of the Dam, exploiting its weaknesses. The NCR did valiantly in pushing them back, given their mad scramble for survival. The Enclave vertibird provided air support at just the right moment. Nelson charged in with their own bombs and a B-29 in full support.

All that was left was the Legate. Monster of the East.

After picking herself up from the blast, she pushed her way through the sea of streaming soldiers. NCR. Legion. It mattered not who passed her, brushing past her shoulder or elbow.

She reached the end of the Dam, pushed open the loose, swinging gate. And made her ascent to Fortification Hill. Not as some profligate slave, wife of the Head Frumentarii with some borrowed, Latinized name.

She was the Courier Reborn.

The Legate was recognizable enough, standing as a brandished spearpoint of the Legion with his armor glinting in the blaze of afternoon sun. He stood on an outcropping that placed him above his army, dogs circling viciously around him.

She came to him, slowly, deliberately. Unafraid. Though Lanius was masked, when he tilted his head at her approach, she imagined his mysterious face held some measure of curiosity.

She spoke to him when she had approached him within range. "You must be the Legate."

His voice was booming, like the thunderous peals of a beating war drum. "I am the commander of this army. The Son of Mars has granted me the name Lanius. And the time to serve him has come once more."

She lightly rested her hand on her gun. "You certainly have had a reputation in the Mojave. But I suppose no one has told you about me."

"I have come from the East to conquer the West as Caesar's will. I have no need for idle whispers of profligate slatterns."

"Legate, any great soldier, military leader knows to familiarize themselves with what they intend to conquer." She began pacing in a slow circle, eliciting several nasty snarls from his hounds. "You should know the weaknesses of the West to exploit them, as should you know its Champion in order to defeat her."

There was a gurgling, a low laugh. "I've no love of barbed words and hidden meanings. What the West holds is of little consequence to me. Everything profligate is weak. Everything weak bows or breaks to the path of the Legion, and I shall deal their death to them accordingly."

She chuckled herself. "You speak of death as if you are some master. But is the true master of death one who deals it or who can look death in the face and return to the realm of the living?"

"You speak as if your idle titles should mean something to me. My patience runs thin for this conversation."

She stopped, looking at him curiously. "Truly, you have not heard of me? Your Lord Caesar has done you a great disservice, set you up for failure if he so much as neglect to warn you of me."

The ground shook. Both of them held their balance."Telling me this does not benefit you at all... you gamble with your words and my patience."

"Then, Legate, look me up and down. Examine your greatest opponent for your own sake and tell me what you see. You should be allowed a moment to study the danger set before you. You come to the Mojave, New Vegas, seeking to conquer. You will find it a difficult task. You will find that you shall fall."

Lanius took a moment to reflect on her words, seemingly intrigued. She couldn't tell for certain. "You see yourself as some protector, a Savior of the West? You shall bring death with your defiance."

"Where you see death, I see change, and I see it as a strength. I see the Legion's violence ending forever here at Hoover Dam."

"War bequeaths violence and demands strength. Violence gave you that strength, awakened you. I can see it upon your face, where two bullets left their mark."

She leveled her gaze as the ground shook once more. She could hear the Securitrons advancing. "You have lost this battle, and I have made sure of it. To further challenge me would only be folly."

By then, the Securitrons pooled into the nearby area, claiming the annihilation of the Legion camp further up the hill. Lanius regained his footing and looked around. "There is victory in wisdom. As for wisdom, there is wisdom in your words, woman of the West. Perhaps it is unfortunate Vulpes was not here to hear your words, something tells me you would prove more than his match."

Something turned in her stomach at that comparison, but she kept her serene expression unchanged. His hounds scattered, and the Legate disappeared with the incoming Securitrons to claim victory of the Battle of Hoover Dam. Yes Man rolled up to her to describe the successes over the Legion of Fortification Hill. The minimal amount of survivors were fleeing. But that paved the way for a new wave of troops: the NCR with their esteemed leader General "Wait and See" Oliver at their head. She had made a point to learn a few things of the NCR before leaving for the Dam, namely the names of their officers.

"Good work, soldier," the General said stiffly, stepping up to her. "I don't believe I've seen this kind of work in a long time. It always does me some good to see Legion screaming and running. Now stand aside, you and these Securitrons, to allow the NCR through."

She could only marvel in bewilderment at his entitled instincts, laughing at the sight of the fleeing Legion. He would never understand the tenor of their spirit, their sheer dedication to their own cause. At least the Legion worked tirelessly and understood a certain degree of placement in the order of things. Oliver would never understand the sort of nerve it took to confront Lanius in any form of amicability. The NCR disgusted her. "You are mistaken, General," she said shortly. "My efforts against the Legion were not made for the sake of the NCR. Hoover Dam belongs to me and the people of the Mojave. The NCR will not use it again to exploit these people. Leave now while my good mood still lasts."

Unsurprisingly, this seemed to enrage him. "Look, I know you're riding high right now, but let me tell you. You ain't pissing on me right now, you're pissing on the Bear."

"The Bear?" she scoffed "Is that supposed to intimidate me? Don't make me laugh. What has the Bear done today? The Bear did not win this battle. I did. The Republic has outstayed its welcome. Now leave, quickly."

His face reddened, he leaned closer to spit his words out in disgust. "I would sooner spit on the grave of my dead mother than let some Courier, 'walk-the-wasteland' fuck talk to me like that."

"Look behind you, General. This 'walk-the-wasteland' fuck, as you put it, has a stronger army than you, one that does not bleed as yours does. I would choose your next words carefully. My good humor is running out."

"So we're supposed to turn around and make out West with our tail between our legs? While you stand here and hold the Dam by your lonesome?"

"You think I can't? I just stood down Caesar's toughest General, the Monster of the East. I believe you are familiar with him."

She watched his humiliation in his red face and burning eyes. But luckily, General Wait and See lived up to his name. "Hell. Can't believe we got suckered by some road jockey. Should've watched the flank while Caesar's best was making all that noise. I know what those robots of yours can do on a bad day, and I'm not eager to toss lives at them just to make a point. But if you're taking this place, you better hope you can hold it. I'll give my superiors my opinion, but I don't think they're going to listen. So if NCR comes at you, and it will, pray you're ready. I promise you, our situations reversed, I'd see you hang."

She waited two full beats for him to turn and walk away before her temper got the best of her. She didn't like to be threatened by some coward of general, not after everything she had been through. "Yes Man, please throw General Oliver off the Dam."

The robot whirred toward him. As she smirked devilishly, she could hear Oliver saying, "What the hell? No, get away from me, you goddamn TV on wheels!"

His petitions were short-lived. Yes Man made a quick ceremony of flinging his rag doll body over the Dam. His useless screams reverberated throughout the canyon, making her pleased, perhaps more than she should be. Yes Man returned shortly to congratulate her on wrapping things up.

But not everything had been wrapped up. There was one prominent loose end remaining, and she didn't know where to even begin tying it.

When the last of the NCR fled in the wake of the Legion, she walked along the Dam, squinting at the sinking, afternoon sun that glinted against the river like sheets of rippling metal. It reminded her of the Legate's armor. She didn't recall anyone else in the Legion wearing anything so glorious.

When her stroll along the Dam was completed, she decided to inspect the ashes of the Legion herself. She sent Yes Man back to the Lucky 38 for a software update and the rest of the securitrons to Vegas to begin their tireless watch over the Mojave. But she had to see the Legion's extermination for herself.

The tents were ripped from their posts or smoldering in ash. The defensive wall no longer towered around the encampment but lay in shambles on the ground or floating down the river. The crosses had been torn down or burned with their hapless victims. The awaiting securitrons had done their work well, and she was pleased to see her efforts rewarded against her captors. The Legion would no longer impose such cruelty on her lands.

She made it all the way to where Caesar's tent once stood. Only more ash, the burned shadows marking the ground, and abandoned tent posts signaled the place that held the once heralded Mars Reborn, Caesar. She hoped that he had been a casualty but would settle, for now, on the ambiguity of the Legion's destruction. Looking down the hill, she could even see the where the destroyed weather station once stood, its mangled frame the only remnant of its existence.

Good. No one would ever suffer the horrors she had experienced in there.

When the smell of smoke and cinders began to twist her stomach, she turned to leave Fortification Hill once and for all. But standing just a few feet away was someone she never expected. Maybe the only person she would expect, truly. Vulpes Inculta.

He wore his full Legion armor, complete with the fur of his vexillarius helmet. It was pristine, unscratched or tarnished by battle. Perhaps he was the proof that the Legion still survived in the Mojave, unlike what she had thought moments before. Perhaps he was there for another motivation. She couldn't fathom it. She was strongly reminded of her imagined discussion with Doc Mitchell concerning demons, queens, and morality.

"Vulpes," she said merely, her voice sounding muted in their windswept surroundings.

He stepped closer. "Maria, at last we have come full circle." He turned his face fractionally to survey the apparent damage left by the securitrons. "Congratulations on your battle efforts. It seems you were successful in your endeavors." He took another few steps until they were standing a short distance apart, his eyes returning to gaze upon her in full severity.

"The real shame lies in your absence. You did not participate in nor witness my prowess," she pointed out plaintively.

His hands went behind his back. "I witnessed every moment; make no mistake." He paused. "I believe this is the place where we first saw each other, at least in the Mojave."

The confrontation with Caesar and Carla seemed so long ago for her rather young memory. "What are you doing here? What is your plan?"

"Plan?" he repeated with no small amount of derisive hostility. "I have no plan. I am composed of experiences and determination. I have purpose."

"Purpose?" she repeated. "I do not understand. Why did you not fight with the Legion?" she asked. There was a minute part of her that hoped, that wished Vulpes might prove loyal to her in the end. She found that possibility quite improbable when she didn't have his love. He had admitted as such to her in their last encounter. But Vulpes Inculta, if nothing else, was a liar, a manipulator of truth and bender of words. He loved contorting them for his own use. Lanius himself was aware of this.

"Why would I have fought with the Legion?" he posed. "When you confirmed my suspicions about the bunker in Novac, I realized the folly of the Legion's attempts to capture the Dam."

"You could have warned your Legion instead of deserting them," she criticized.

His eyes tightened at the insult, but Vulpes otherwise ignored the remark. "And risk your volatile temper? While I do value my own combat ability, I am not so ignorant to recognize that you could have and would have killed me for that lapse in judgment."

"So why are you here?" she pressed, becoming impatience.

Those eyes never wavered. "The battle is your calling. You are unstoppable while on its threshold, so much so that while teetering on the precipice of life and death, you could not resist the mounting tensions in the Mojave. If anything, you encouraged them. You may not remember anything from before your fateful encounter with Benny, but your instincts had you cling so desperately to life. You would not give up an opportunity for war. It is your life's essence; it follows you around like a dear shadow."

This description of her left her trembling, her throat constricting. She hated its accuracy, and yet, it fit her much better than the life he had painted for her in Novac. "I don't understand."

"You don't understand?" he scoffed in disbelief. "You had many exploits before the Legion captured you. Powder Gangers and raider gangs. Ghouls and NCR dogs. You invited those encounters. The arena battle with another slave and your choice to engage Benny. Killing Mr. House and Silus. Igniting your securitron army. The Courier Reborn breeds war. You didn't have the nerve to kill Lanius, not because you couldn't or you held yourself to some higher standard of morality. You saw his potential as a solider and a replacement of Caesar, while you easily detected the weakness of General Oliver and disposed of him as such, a simple matter of survival of the fittest, the strongest. You fancied yourself as some hero with a divine quest, but you just required a mask to wear as you march through the Mojave. War never changes; and neither do you."

Her body tensed. She felt Vulpes should not be standing so close to her, but she was never one to shy away from a challenge. "That doesn't line up with your description of me from Before the Bullet."

He took a step closer, too close. She felt his breath like a breeze against her cheek. "I lied."

She never saw the blade that pierced her abdomen, right below her rib cage. But she felt the breath escape her chest and the impassiveness of his stare while his face remained as unchanged as weathered stone. He had the courtesy of wrapping his other arm around her waist, keeping her upright as her knees buckled and fell beneath her.

She didn't need to ask why; she didn't have the breath to draw as the thick, wetness of blood bubbled in her throat.

But Vulpes could be counted upon his chivalry, explaining the depth of his actions, almost to a fault. "The Legion lost a battle today. The Legion has lost other battles before this day. They have always returned to conquer, and eventually they will. The Legion is the only force of constancy in the Wasteland, and when they come to collect the bounty of the Mojave, to forge the reaches of their empire, you will not be here to stop them."

She pressed her lips together, swallowing the bile. She leaned against him for support, much to her displeasure.

And he was romantic enough to grace his murder with a kiss upon the neck. It was the only warmth she could ever recall from him.

He listed off his feats one by one, adding her to his collection. "I've burned Nipton, poisoned Searchlight, and now I've dethroned the Courier Reborn."

But the Courier would be allowed a final victory, though Death was not kind enough to relinquish her a second time. With her remaining strength, she drew her revolver and squeezed the trigger. She didn't hear the gunshot, but she saw Vulpes Inculta greet Death before her. The physical vestiges of his greatest weapon and his life force, his brain and blood, splattered against her face.

Then fall, Demon and Queen.