Snippet #2419950

The Mojave was a very bipolar environment, just like any desert really. Days were excruciatingly hot, and the nights were blisteringly cold. Add, say, 250 years of radioactive post-apocalypse, and it gets worse. Much worse. The lucky few who had power armor were much better off, having a built in temperature and humidity regulator. For the other poor bastards, the night was like winter. The wind had a strong sting to it, and the dirt and sand being thrown around by the wind could easily cut one open. If an unfortunate wanderer found himself out in the middle of the Mojave at night, the only hope he had was to bury himself in the sand for the warmth it absorbed during the day. Then the last thing he could do was pray that something doesn't eat his sorry ass.

The sight of Nipton was one that was very reminiscent of being practically anywhere in America; it was mainly black and looked like it would topple over at any second. The legion had razed it long ago, and it had been left as an example of "The Great Caesar's" power. Legion flags dotted the area. Crosses with men and women mounted to them lined the road into the city. This place had been turned into a graveyard, where enemies of the legion would be crucified to send a message, the same message the ruins itself hammered. The wind itself was visible, leaving an even more sinister aura. Whether it was the eroding ashes being carried away from the ruins, the razor sharp pebbles and debris, or the very tragedy and despair that seemed to radiate from the ruins was up for debate. Or, perhaps, it was a little of all three.

And, speaking of earlier sorry asses, John and Conner had just made their way up the road to Nipton, surrounded on both side by crucified skeletons in the middle of the night. John was indeed one of the poor souls without power armor, so needless to say he was a little chilly. Conner, on the other hand, was bright eyed and bushy tailed, singing his god damn tunes with no shame. Even with the seemingly never serious attitude the two exiles had, the sight of all the dead was enough to silence the two in a long trek of respect. There was a strong variety among the dead. There were many NCR soldiers hanging on the crosses, their uniforms torn and swaying greatly to do the amount of slack that was once held tight by flesh. Raiders seemed to make up another of the higher populations of the dead. On a rare cross one could see a Desert Ranger, and one corpse sported what could only be broken down enclave armor. At one cross in particular, John stopped. He got down on one knee, and his shivering ceased. In front of him hung a body that couldn't have been more than 4 feet tall, donning what once could have been a nice yellow dress. Bits of decaying flesh still dotted the corpse, and traces of hair were still able to be found on the head. At the base of the cross was teddy bear, laying on its side as if it had been dropped. It was covered in dirt, and required a little bit of digging to actually get it out. Stuffing was coming out from different holes the toy had received among the years. Old blood stains coated the bear, and attached to its ear was a tag that could be opened. The tag read: "This is the best friend of:


John clenched onto the bear, forcing out some stuffing that was taken away by the wind. John concluded from the clothing that the bodies adjacent to this one were the child's parents. The assumed father's chest still held a throwing spear that went right through the rib cage. Conner took a few steps over towards John.



Conner didn't respond with anything but a hand on John's shoulder. It was unusual for John to take to this mood, and the duo had seen some pretty gruesome and dreadful things before. John took a few moments of silence before carefully sliding the bear under his belt and continuing on the path. They weren't too far from reaching the town at this point, but one last stop from John delayed their arrival even further. Once again it was at a crucified body, but this time John reached his hand up to grab something after quick examination. He snapped off a dog tag from the corpse, accidentally taking the head off with it. The skull fell at his feet, and even it was almost carried off by the wind. The dog tag was of the BOS, something he had not seen in a long time. The person's name was Veronica Santangelo, of the Mojave Chapter. John put the dog tag in his pouch, in case he ever did come across a member.

Upon entering the town, the scene was not much better. Crosses lined the street up to the remains of the town hall, and piles of bodies remained at the base of the stairs. The town had been looted beyond its usefulness, and nothing that could ever be useful remained in the town. John and Conner decided to take refuge in the town hall, hoping to call it a night. They set up on the base floor and Conner went into his pack to grab some food they saved up, only to find that it had already been opened. His head snapped to John, and John looked to what was in his hand. Conner inhaled to prepare to yell at John, but John intercepted.



John stopped at the sudden sound of a quick creek. We're being watched. He vaulted over Conner's head and from behind started to try and push Conner, which was a good attempt, except for the fact that Conner wasn't moving at all. To change this little problem, John quickly drew his knife and very carefully...stabbed Conner right in the right ass cheek. The quick jump of pain and surprise from Conner was enough for John to guide him into the nearest room and shut the door. John turned back to face Conner and found that they were very close together...in a small room...a small bathroom. Conner was staring at John, unamused.



On that last note, John opened the door and nonchalantly walked back over to where they had set up. God dammit he took the pinyon nuts! And so with 1 less serving of pinyon nuts, the two exiles put their little trap into effect...