“You keep flinching,” Lawrence reminded Vincent through the cloud of smoke gathering around his face. “The gun ain’t gonna hurt you as long as it’s pointed at the target.” Vincent groaned, lowering the pistol. A frown came seconds later.  “You’ve been getting better, so don’t fret it. It’ll all practice.” Lawrence patted the boy on his back. At least the ranger was more patient than most with teaching.

 “I’m lining the sights, but when I shoot, it’s completely off.”

The makeshift target seemed to mock him at this point. The closer the days counted down to getting to the strip, the less true his aim had been. Having the ranger around made him feel safer, but Vincent wanted to better for himself. Tomorrow being the showdown with Benny was also a strong motivator.

“Don’t just line the sights, they can be wrong sometimes,” Lawrence said.

Vincent raised his arms again. He evaluated the sights, then the dummy target down Camp McCarran’s range. Soles skidded on the gritty and Lawrence was suddenly behind him, hunched over to Vincent’s height. “Line up the barrel with your eyes.”

Lawrence’s hands set on Vincent’s shoulders. He savored the man’s unexpected touch and the goosebumps it gave him. The ranger’s hands wandered to Vincent’s, curling around his grip on the pistol, and gently adjusting his position.

“Relax,” Lawrence whispered, but Vincent could do no such thing. Couldn’t the ranger hear his nervous breaths? Feel his erratic heartbeat thundering in his chest. “Keep this posture and take note. Fire when you’re ready.”

Vincent’s gaze followed Lawrence’s retreating hands. He lingered behind Vincent, however. Briefly, Vincent pondered sabotaging himself just to get Lawrence’s intimate guidance again. But what would he even do then? He was too much of a coward—Bang!

“You hit it!” 

Vincent blinked at the target. The soft metal sheet warped by numerous holes far from its center had a miraculous new addition one ring off from its center circle.

 Lawrence returned to the nearby shade of the canopy stretching the length of the shooting gallery. He picked up Vincent’s satchel and searched for their water canteens. “Your eye give you problems?”

“I can see fine during the day, but in the dark it’s difficult to make out anything in my one eye,” Vincent explained. “Sometimes things looked a little warped, kind of like a heat mirage but I know it’s not. It’s annoying but, don’t have a choice…”

“You seem to be doing alright despite it,” Lawrence observed.

“I think I see better than I used to in bright lights,” Vincent pondered. He covered his responsive eye and tested his pinpoint pupil, then did the same with his paralyzed eye covered, and noted the delay in which in responsive pupil adjusted to the light.  “I’ve been meaning to say something… I didn’t mean to upset you when we were talking about your tattoos.”

“You didn’t upset me,” Lawrence said. He took a long gulp of water then screwed the cap back on. “Been a while since anyone seen that one.”

Vincent nervously fiddled with the strap of his canteen. “I’m curious about it, but I won’t pry if it’s…”

Vincent’s timid gaze wandered to the cement beneath their feet, lending Lawrence a better view of the scar that occasionally came out when the breeze rustled his hair. The ranger noted Vincent was quite particular about his hair. When fingers weren’t brushing waves back into place to conceal the scar, a quick check assured locks were covering it. Lawrence chuckled as Vincent did just that.

“What’d I tell you ‘bout that curiosity of yours?”

“Sorry, I won’t bring it up again.”

“You’d be more convincing if you kept eye contact,” Lawrence stated. “When you ask someone something that might make them or you uncomfortable, hold their eyes. It’ll get them to tell you what you want and then some. Those funky pupils or yours can be used for good or evil.”

“So, you want me to stare at you?” Vincent chuckled. “Because of my funky pupils’?”

“I’m something to stare at,” Lawrence asserted.

“I’m not saying you aren’t,” Vincent’s chuckle turned to a laugh.

“Takes one to know one.” 

Vincent’s smile lingered having been goaded out and put on a spotlight with that statement. The ranger went quiet for a couple seconds after that. His own smile had weakened, but not vanished entirely.

“Marcus was a ranger.”

Vincent inched off his seat and listened intently.

“We were close. Much closer than regulations permitted and were together for a while. Six years.” Lawrence pressed his elbows into his knees as his mind wandered off down the tarmac. Sweltering black asphalt danced, shimmering like an inky mirror that gave no reflection back to him. “He was killed a few years ago on a mission. I wasn’t there.”

“Oh…” A jab of guilt struck Vincent. He should’ve known better not to pry about something that was obviously a sore spot. Yet, Lawrence was talking about it… “Legion, I suppose?” 

Lawrence nodded. “It’s also why I’ve been out here when I shouldn’t be. Out for revenge too.” A quiet sigh pushed him back into his chair. Corroded metal squeaked under his weight. “Another thing we got in common, huh?” Lawrence chuckled, hiding the obvious sting behind that forced grin. “I’m going off a two-year old description of a decanus who murdered him. So, uh, haven’t gotten far.”

“I can understand why you’re doing it,” Vincent said. “I want my revenge for what was taken from me. You want the same, but having someone taken from you feels a little different. I’ll help you find him.”

A smile tugged Lawrence’s lips as he glanced at Vincent. “Guess I ought to keep you gettin’ good with a side-arm.”

When Lawrence stirred, morning light had already shone through the window for an hour. Vincent watched it creep in, trickling through the neon canopy overhead in the soft flashes of color illuminating the white ceiling. The curtains diffused the colors that came in even intervals. Blue became green, after which red peeked through for a bit before dimming to pink then purple and finally back to blue. He found some vague meaning in the cycle that kept him awake.

Being attacked by Benny and his thugs wasn’t the first time, just the worst. He found it better to flee when he could. Eventually, he got good at picking up on those subtle hints. A gut feeling. Intuition, whatever it was knew he couldn’t fight back, no matter how much he wanted to. Was confronting Benny going to be just another one of those times. Wasn’t even going to change anything?

Lawrence turned on his back, raising arms behind his head. “Take it you didn’t sleep much,” he pondered, fog of sleep darkening his voice. 

“Sorry if I disturbed you,” Vincent whispered to the pillow the separated them. 

“Nah.” He shoved his blanket off and sat up. “Let’s head to McCarran.”




Mornings were a quiet affair in New Vegas. Chaste and modest compared to the debauchery from the evening before, but those night-walking types had their daytime analogues. Shopkeepers opening up were like the high rollers strolling in to the VIP tables, eager to gamble on what they could haggle out of tourists or locals. Then there were the day laborers pacing construction sites, hoping the foremen pick them out of the lineup for the day. Beggars loitered on the street corners, hats turned upside down, keeping to their own minuscule claim of the city and careful not to step into some other prospector’s claim. Outside the relative safety of Freeside, however, all that disappeared.

Vincent was quiet on the walk to McCarran. Enough to pique the ranger’s curious glances now and then with how uncharacteristically solemn he was. However, once Vincent received that passport something seemed to stir in him. He stared at it with a stern face like it was some alien object. He flipped through the brahmin hide and leather strips binding the paper documents between. Various Do’s and Don’ts off and on the strip cautioned him. Other recommendations should he get into trouble came after, but Vincent paused on the one that had a fuzzy black and white rendition of his face. Next to it was his name. The right one he had chosen for himself that cemented him in reality for a brief moment.

Unfortunately, that was short lived for him when he realized how easily a bullet could rip it all away in a matter of seconds.

“Never had an ID before?” Lawrence shouldered the quiet boy next to him.

“No, never had the need or chance to get one.”

“I have too many,” Lawrence muttered. “One they give to the regular citizens. Then I had to get another once I joined. Then I have the dogtags and finally an updated ID when I completed training and really became a ranger.”

“Do you have to carry all of them?”

“No but that don’t stop them from cluttering up my pockets.”

Lawrence reached inside an inner pouch and pulled a wad of NCR dollars and a couple caps wrapped around a rectangle. He shoved the money back into the pocket before handing the card to Vincent. The first one must have been his most recent as it identified him as a ranger, his rank, placement, a birthdate of December 6th, 2248—something Vincent decided to remember. Other numbers and details about the ranger accompanied a picture of a younger man.

“Why do you have such a long name?” Vincent asked, a teasing jab in his tone “Lawrence David-Ashley Wyatt-Garrett.”

“Hey,” Lawrence snatched his card back. “Coming from the guy with no last name…”

 “Suppose I could borrow one of yours? You got plenty.”

“Maybe if we get to know each other better,” Lawrence chuckled. “My parents couldn’t decide on a middle name so I got two.”

“And two last names,” Vincent noted, eyes wandering to the oncoming passengers. A sparse crowd of soldiers, MPs, and a variety of NCR personnel shuffled through a narrow corridor. “Should I come up with one?”

“How does Luck sound?”

“Ha-ha.” Vincent rolled his eyes. 

“The McCarran-Las Vegas monorail will now be departing!” A synthetic voice boomed overhead, feminine and scratching against speakers hidden in the ceiling. Stipulations of safety concerns echoed across the cars in uneven timing.

Outside the window, the world rushed by Vincent in a smeared palette of desert reds and browns. The endless blue sky remained the same overhead. Neon lights colored up the canvas before it got too boring, but too soon the monorail came to a halt. Butterflies hatched in Vincent’s stomach, fluttering about as sand rushed through his veins. However, when they finally left the station, awe distracted his nerves. 

The glare of grid windows rivaled their buildings’ colorful lights. Tall like those he gawked at in the Boneyard once upon a time, but these buildings had more character. Similarly, only in the Boneyard did he think these numbers of folks existed. Dense hordes roamed the streets of a desert oasis. An overwhelming number of faces flashed by on the platform the two stood on and in the streets below. Clashing music and voices rumbled around him. Images danced across leviathan screens resurrected from centuries of slumber to accost the eyes with an array of advertisement for every casino, shops, and shows of paradise.  

The desert wasteland was staved off at the walls marking the strip’s border. Lush green grass adorned strips cut in the pavement and sprawling lawns sprinkled with vibrant flowers to draw in guests at the casinos. In the center of the wide street, towering palms sprung up in even intervals, each one segment of a long line holding onto a string of rainbow lights. To his left, a tropical waterfall misted away the sun’s heat. Overgrowth crawled across faux rocks as playful spurts of water came up to shower flowers and vines.




The people! The people themselves were from another world entirely. Performers wandered or stood stationary to draw a crowd and soak in generous donations. Women in eye-catching outfits of feathers and glitter strut through, luring young soldiers on leave and civilian men alike to the casino they originated from. A masked magician entertained a crowd outside his, enticing onlookers to attend his show. Vendors were like the rocks in a stream, slowing the natural pace of people around him to hawk little trinkets, street food, and drinks. Unseen against the lively atmosphere were the securitrons. The same build and model as the mysterious one who called itself Victor, but these ones wore different faces. They were patient and still, flushed against gray walls and hidden in far corners. The only ones that stood out was the collective stationed outside a white tower.

 The Lucky 38.

Salient white beamed like a beacon, forcing any gazing on it to squint. A dizzying throw back of the head was needed just to take it all in. Little beyond its apex was seen through the glare. Only from the two’s good distance at the monorail station and under its shade, did Vincent ponder what lay in the roulette wheel top. Slanted windows. Vague and dark. Peering down on the city, dwarfing all other sparkling towers. 

“Tops is that one over there,” Lawrence pointed further down the strip. Through the jungle chaos, Vincent saw the sign first. Dancing jacks twinkled like stars. The structure was a round entrance hall attached to a tower complex, wedged between shops, restaurants, and all manner of enticing enterprises. He had made it. Now he could finally enact revenge for what was taken from him. Yet, something kept Vincent feet from moving forward. 

“Well howdy, pardner!” 

The cheery cowboy’s voice yanked him outside his own mind. Victor wheeled himself over from wherever he was hiding. Dodging people and others of his kind, he stopped at the end of the stairs where he would be out of foot traffic’s way.

Vincent gave the machine a perplexed look then turned the same look on Lawrence.

“Glad I caught you here!” The machine exclaimed. Vincent started down the stairs with Lawrence behind him.

“Uh, why’s that?”

“Consider me your personal welcome wagon!” Victor cheered as he extended his arms. The rubbery tube housing squeaked while clamps at their ends turned according to their programming. “The head honcho of New Vegas, Mr. House, is itchin’ to make your acquaintance.”

“Mr. House?”

“Mosey on in, pardner. Mr. House isn’t someone you want to go on snubbin’.” The securitron warned. A stagnant grinning cowboy flickered on the screen. He spun in a tight circle and wheeled away towards the high tower.

“Things just keep on gettin’ more interesting,” Lawrence remarked.

Despite a welcoming front garden of lush green grass with not one flaw upon its face, none approached the tower closer than the distant sidewalk. Flashing white lights under the steps showed the way to the main door adorned with the roulette wheel sigil of the Lucky 38.

“Right this way.” Victor waited patiently at the door. “But, just a word to the wise, Mr. House won’t let your friend inside.”

Vincent turned back to Lawrence. Both held the other’s stare but said nothing. Their respective expressions told all. The ranger was naturally suspicious, and the boy, naïve and curious.

“What do you think this about?” Vincent finally said. “What’s going to happen?”

Lawrence’s scrutiny turned on the machine waiting in the shade of the Lucky 38’s entrance. Every securitron answered only to Mr. House. They were his own personal army, scouts, spies… And one, albeit a unique one, yanked some courier out the clutches of death. A quirk Lawrence could attribute to its unique programming, but then to follow that courier on a long path that led him here.

“I’m sorry,” Lawrence finally spoke. Nothing about the events of the last month were happenstance. “I don’t know. But if you want to go inside, I’ll be down when you come back.”

What little anybody knew about House wasn’t enough to anticipate what awaited him in the Lucky 38. People only referred to him by other names: Mr. Vacancy, Not-at-Home, the boss. A man in the lofty tower overlooking New Vegas from the saucer, only known as Mr. House. There was plenty to say about him while saying nothing at all. 

Cold, stale air met Vincent on the other side of the doors. Better than the sun outside, yet the silence be damned. Pristine red carpet muffled his first steps into the lobby. Not a single soul besides him was inside. Securitrons guarded the floor of an elegant reception hall for guests that would never come. An expansive gambling floor lay just beyond the tall deco motifs of arches spanned the width of the tower’s base. Dim overhead lights feigned warmth and vivacity in what was otherwise the loneliest place he had ever stepped foot in. Rows upon rows of slots occupied the most of the velvet floor, dormant in their tomb. Empty tables of pristine green felt never used gravitated in their peripherals. An empty bar silently observed the expansive gambling hall atop the cashiers cages. Above that, floors spiraled up the height of the tower, circling around the central elevator column. Spindles stretched out to each layer leading on forever to the tallest point obscured by the natural light leaking in through clouded windows at the atrium floor wedged half-way up

“Right this way!” Victor announced as he wheeled to elevator nexus.

Light boots left faint prints in the dusty carpet. Vincent’s eyes widened to absorb all he could in the dim setting as though he expected ghosts of a bygone era to manifest before him at any moment, ready to play the slots and tables for as long as the casino remained. He heard only his own blood rushing around in his ears. A faint heartbeat embedded deep and quickening for fear of what lay in the unnatural stillness. Whirring in the securitrons’ internal workings was barely louder than his thoughts.

Four securitrons

stood around the center column, silently observing as Victor wheel into the box and Vincent hesitantly followed. The ride was too long. His heart thudded against ribs, climbing in intensity as he ascended the helix of floors. He wasn’t fond of heights, but whoever designed the elevator box to be transparent was a special kind of sadistic. Eventually red walls swallowed glass windows, then it stopped altogether.

A single ding opened the doors.

His legs turned to lead as he walked out of the box, daring to work no further lest he turned around. Daylight graced Vincent, however. He shielded one eye and started towards the immaculate sight. The entire breadth of the Mojave lay before him. The mountains that made the valley the tower dominated faded to blue. Still reeling from the elevator ride, Vincent gripped the mezzanine’s railing. He was tempted to approach the 360 degree window cascade and stare in awe of Lake Mead’s sparkling waters but the view of California to the west lured him equally. He stood there frozen in awe for, whipping his head back, forth, and center until he finally decided to descend to the main floor.

The penthouse itself was also a stunning anomaly. It was a time capsule, built for hosting the modern man and all his needs. Pristine book spines filled shelves pushed against the wall between the steps connecting the floor and mezzanine. Each segment of the penthouse was devoted some use like any home. The bedroom was unoccupied as well. Soft sheets and blankets had not a single wrinkle in them. The living room hosted only a compact model of a Mr. Handy, dusting a television set that would receive no pictures. Fingers traced the rounded geometry of a maroon sofa, memorizing the fabric as though he was touching the century it was manufactured in.

He finally succumbed to the windows’ view. Cautious steps stopped at a dividing support wall where he secured hands for fear off somehow falling out. Blue skies were as expansive as they were humbling. Far below him was the strip. A picture of serenity among a sea of ruin. Vincent wondered in that moment why soft rains hadn’t come down upon the tower.

“This meeting has been a long time coming, hasn’t it?”

Vincent spun around. His back pressed to the slanted wall. Eyes darted frantically for the source of the voice. His gaze however, lingered to another section of the circular penthouse he hadn’t explored yet. Quiet steps led him over to the arch separating the office and living room. An array of screens glowed, each with their own image, all centered around a large one that hosted a portrait of a man. The still image refreshed. A thin layer of dust coated glass, fading the green tint of an unusual face lacking in time and age. This was a face he’d expect to see in the old-world pictures remaining on ancient billboards and playbills. “I have to ask—now that you’ve reached your destination, what do you make of what you see?”

The voice took Vincent by surprised. He must have looked a frightened wild animal to whoever the man was, if he could see Vincent at all.

“I’m not sure what I’m looking at,” Vincent said, his tone as guarded as his posture. His head swiveled about, ogling every screen before him. Some watched the crowds on the strip in real time. Another stared at the entrance of the Lucky 38 where Lawrence waited patiently on its steps.

“I am Robert Edwin House, President, CEO, and sole proprietor of the New Vegas strip. Make no mistake, there is a man behind the curtain. I am no wizard. Not a machine, nor dictator.”

“A-alright then…” Such a loaded response felt more like a parade of accomplishments. This was the elusive Mr. House? A collection of machines and screens? Vincent’s imagination ran off wondering what kind of old-world magic trick this was. An AI that thought itself human? Its voice seemed real enough.

“Tell me what you make of New Vegas. You’ve clearly never been here before.”

“It’s nothing like I’ve ever seen before—"

“Vegas always was one of a kind,” Mr. House said, a touch of nostalgia in his voice. “What you see down on the strip is just a fraction of the city’s former glory, and yet more than an echo. I preserved its spirit.”

“I don’t understand why I’m here,” Vincent sheepishly said.

“One of my employees has stolen an item of extraordinary value from me, and I want it recovered.”

“Oh…” Vincent laughed nervously. “I don’t think I’ll be of any use—”

“But you already have been,” Mr. House corrected. “This item is what you were supposed to deliver until Benny intercepted you. Early.”

Vincent stared at the screen, his face tightening the more he ruminated on past events that led up until now. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me? You knew what Benny did.”

“Benny was my protégé,” House confessed. “There was little I did not know about him—his ruthless ambition being one of those unforeseen traits.”

“And how do you expect me to get the chip?”

“That is exactly why I had you directed here; to help you and your ranger companion prepare,” Mr. House explained. “And give you, alone, an offer to rival any future or past ventures.”

“Something worth being shot in the head for?”

“And beyond,” he declared, a slight beat lifting a monotone voice. “Retrieve the platinum chip from Benny and comply with my demands and you may have whatever your heart desires. To give you a taste of what I have to offer, you will be given your own suite here in the Lucky 38.”

Vincent looked around the penthouse for the curtains that would fall at any moment. Reveal the fraud or reveal the dream he was obviously having.  “There’s more to this though? Has to be.” 

“You wish to know your payout in this high-stakes game?”

“That’s a start.”

“I’m not offering you an incentive as crude as money, though there’ll be plenty of that,” Mr. House assured. “What I’m offering you is a ground-floor opportunity in the most important enterprise on Earth. What I’m offering is a future, for you, and for what remains of the human race.”

Vincent paused. The timeless face refreshed on the screen. Its eager silence awaited Vincent’s delayed response. “I’m listening…”

Cool air met the two at the main doors of the Tops. The casino was larger than it appeared on the outside. Beyond the receptionist’s desk, was the inviting and colorful gambling hall where neon flamingos walked on the walls, women in pink sequin and feathers strutted about the floor with trays of drinks, boxes of cigars, cigarettes, and tobacco. Slots sang and cheered, mixing in with an invisible swinging orchestra. It wall called to Vincent, luring him in as curiosity grabbed him by the nose. Lawrence tugged Vincent back. “Hold on.”

“What?”

“What’s the plan?”

“Well…” Vincent muttered as all discerning thoughts vacated his brain. “House said Benny would be skittish if I openly accused him in front of people, but that could go bad.”

“Very bad.”

“But…” Vincent continued. Lawrence’s impatient brow peaked as he waited for the catch. “House also mentioned he received some interesting transmission from somewhere in the Tops and he has a hunch it’s Benny.”

“Alright here’s what we’re gonna do.” Lawrence pulled Vincent closer by his shoulder, slouching down to meet the boy face to face. “We’re gonna go in and pretend we’re here for a good time. Every casino is gonna ask to forfeit guns, so don’t think anything of it.”

“What if we get attacked?”

“I’m always packing some kind of heat, I promise.” Vincent’s intrigued eyes glossed over the ranger as Vincent’s imagination ran wild.

They wandered through the gambling hall. Lawrence blended in with ease without the armor and duster to give away his allegiance, and Vincent was ignored by most as usual. Lawrence hadn’t explained much of a plan beyond not drawing attention to themselves, but it seems the ranger was more magnetic than he believed.

“Would you care for a cigar, sir?” The fifth floor-girl to ask some variation of that question beamed at Lawrence with eyes that flirted as much as her sequin leotard.

“No, thank you,” Lawrence replied with a polite smile, but he wouldn’t refuse the view of her walking away.

“Call me if you need anything,” she said, oblivious to Vincent rolling his eyes.

Lawrence continued on the carpeted path between slot machines. It seems he was more interested in the flashy games than coming up with a true plan.

“Lawrence,” Vincent followed after him with an annoyed fervor, “what are we doing?”

“Recon.”

“Really? Cause it just looks like you just so happening to run into girls and eyeballing them.”

Lawrence halted in his steps and turned around. “Yes, really,” he returned Vincent’s agitated tone back to him while cautious eyes glanced over Vincent’s head. “I’ve been taking inventory of security, their arms, elevator and stairwell locations, trying to come up with a plan for something I’d hope you would’ve drop by the time we got here, but now your own happenstance has got Mr. House involved and for some reason you’re going along with it.”

“It’s not without reason!” Vincent scowled at the man. He crossed his arms finding himself vulnerable without any witty rebuttal to what was a harsh truth. “I should be compensated for all the crap I’ve been through. Mr. House was the one who supposed to get the chip anyway—”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better about this,” Lawrence shook his head. “What’s so important about this thing—”

Vincent’s eyes widened on something behind Lawrence. He tapped Lawrence’s chest and stammered out, “there’s that rat bastard.” The ranger looked over his shoulder. Off the edges of the gambling floor, between the patrons crowding the bar and the glass separating the commoners from the VIP lounge, was a black and white checkered suit blaring out like neon lights.

“Change of plans.” 

Lawrence snuffed another half-smoked cigarette. He found a friend in diversion. Just one of many tactics the rangers used and, by far, one he felt allowed him to be his most creative. Once the smoke darkened, Lawrence left the men’s room first, keeping his attention fixed on the VIP section of the adjacent bar. The alarm wailed not long after. Guests paused their games and drinks, looking amongst themselves and around for the alleged fire. The ranger weaved through the reluctant crowds, discreetly lighting a flame in a planter box then moving on.

A shrill scream drew attention to one long behind him. Staff rushed over, crowding around and shouting for everyone to keep back while others scrambled to snuff the growing flame. Lawrence paused to search the VIP lounge with a semi-orderly evacuation underway. He pressed on against the flow of traffic, tailing Benny and three other men in his company. They weren’t like the usual suits in the joint. Not his cronies, and thus, probably wouldn’t notice if he happened to disappear.

Behind the door of the men’s restroom Lawrence began his arson in, Vincent watched the ranger. Cold sweat wicked his brow. His palms were clammy against chilly metal. Lawrence was just a step behind Benny. He reached out and tapped his shoulder. “Excuse me, sir, but you dropped this,” Lawrence said, handing Benny a distinct lighter.

Benny stopped and took it, muttering a thanks that trailed off as soon as he recognized it. Bulging eyes flashed up to Lawrence, and before he knew it, Lawrence shoved him into the women’s restroom. Vincent sprung from the door, dodging the oncoming crowds as he weaved for the other door.

“Woah, woah! What’s going on?”

Lawrence shoved him into a stall, snatching Benny’s pistol on the way. It was an ornate thing as flashy and overdone like its owner.

“Lawrence!” Vincent rushed through the door. He spun around, shoving it closed and locked. “I spotted some of his friends coming back this way.”

“Shit.”

“Hey—hey!” Benny protested. “At least wine and dine before you poke and prod me like that.” Lawrence searched the man feverishly, pulling odds and ends from his pockets. Cards, cigarettes, a new lighter, and notes crumpled around it. All of it was discarded indiscriminately onto the floor. A key ring jingled as it skidded on tile and splayed out at his boots. Vincent snatched the ring, catching a glimpse of Benny on the way up. Color drained from his face gawking at the boy. Wide eyes traced the scar he gouged into Vincent's skull with a bullet. “You’re supposed to be dead!”

“Is this it?” Lawrence shoved the poker chip to Vincent. He hadn’t actually seen the thing but the glossy metal chip with an etching of a 38 in its center was convincing. Vincent nodded, never taking his eyes off it. A sudden crack from the stall broke that focus however. Benny sat limp on the toilet, legs splayed out and arms dangling at his side. “Alright let’s go.”

As the evacuation neared its end, so did their cover. Lawrence hid behind the clouded glass panels, peaking around to find two goons headed towards them among the crowds. He released the clip of Benny’s gun and counted the bullets. More than enough. “Get behind the bar.”

Vincent complied and Lawrence followed behind him. The two crouched in the corner, unseen by whoever’s steps were on the other side.

“Don’t see him here,” a man’s voice said.

“I’ll check the lounge,” another replied. “Look in the bathrooms.”

Door hinges creaked and the first pair of heavier steps disappeared. The second, however, headed for the bar.

“Keep your head down and head that way,” Lawrence whispered, practically breathing in Vincent’s ear. He pointed to the opposite side of the bar. Lawrence was behind him, facing the opposite way, pistol ready should the lingering goon get wise. Vincent turned the corner, stealing a brave glance at the backside of the stranger looking in on the VIP lounge. Anxiety flooded the boy, hoping against whatever weird kind of luck he had the guy wouldn’t hear them over the alarms and evacuating crowds.

Once outside and free from the Tops’s chaos, Vincent and Lawrence moved freely. The emergency didn’t last long, but the disgruntled patrons’ forced out into the summer swelter would be the next one for the casino. Alarms eventually ceased and onlookers wandered off for the next entertaining scene on the strip. Antsy chairmen whispered among themselves while the perpetrators walked by unnoticed, and even lingering for a bit until the two collected their guns.

Lawrence and Vincent returned to the Lucky 38, but one remained outside as expected. They departed without words, just a look of understanding and a nod. The second ride up the elevator wasn’t as bad as the first. Intrusive fears of it suddenly breaking and crashing still followed Vincent though. However, nothing compared to the unknown lurking in the back of his mind.

The screens were blank until he approached. He raised his hand, the silvery chip pinched between thumb and forefinger. 

“Such a small thing, isn’t it?” Mr. House’s face returned to the main screen. The center console pushed out tray below it. “And yet so capacious. So very dear.”

The tray was tailored for the chip, having a single round slot for it. It disappeared greedily as soon as Vincent put it in. The package he had set out to deliver, finally delivered.

“As requested, I will show you what the chip does,” House stated. Subtle undertones of pride added flavor to his solemn voice. “Don’t worry. You’ll like what you see. We have much to accomplish, you and I.”

In the shade of the tower, Lawrence found a perfect spot to rest. It was his own little oasis from the heat and people he had no desire to be around. Except for the one who had left him outside the tower an hour ago. The boy’s silence was deafening. Vincent’s expression was troubled as he sat with Lawrence on the grass. The ranger knew better than to pry, but surely staring at Vincent between sneaking bites of snack cakes wasn’t helpful either.

Vincent wouldn’t notice the staring or he might’ve blushed. His attention was fixed on the passing crowds and the individuals that made up the colorful conglomerate of a wasteland oasis. He wondered how many of them were like himself, whether it was harboring an embarrassing secret or having died didn’t matter. Lawrence didn’t see it that way, being focused on the younger man and the scar over his right eye revealed when the breeze rustled his hair.

“So…” The ranger muttered, staring into the bottom of an empty box that once had ten little snack cakes it in. “What do you plan on doing now? Got your pay, but not the revenge part.”

“Are you going to tell me to quit while I’m ahead?”

“So, you agree you’re ahead and pursing a casino chairmen is a bad idea?”

Vincent’s brows scrunched at that statement. “Did you call it quits at your first opposition since graduating ranger school?”

“No, but risk assessment isn’t a bad thing to do.” Lawrence sat up, hanging his arms around his knees like Vincent. He hadn’t even hummed to acknowledge Lawrence’s words, until Lawrence nudged him his elbow. “What’s on your mind?”

“What do you think is the best for New Vegas? For the Mojave?”

The gears were turning behind Lawrence’s eyes, partly to think about that question and the true one Vincent wasn’t being forthcoming with. “What do you mean?”

“Just that—The NCR, the Legion, or staying independent of both and Vegas remains House’s, or something else,” Vincent added with a shrug. “There can only be one winner, right?”

“Um,” Lawrence sighed. He rubbed the back of his neck, simultaneously shaking his head. “There’s no good answer to that. Legion ain’t even an answer, but should the NCR be here? I don’t know. I think we need to deal with the problems at home, and yeah the dam is a necessity for water and power, but do we need to spread ourselves thin just to claim New Vegas? Henderson? What else?”

Vincent’s softened gaze met Lawrence’s. “I’m surprised to hear that…”

“The unpleasant truth is I’ve seen a lot of people die for something I’m not really sure of. I don’t know how we can even expect to hold our assets here when we’re still dealing with raiding gangs in the rural parts, trying to expand into Baja and now into the Mojave…”

“What if there was a way to make the NCR leave?”

Lawrence stifled an amused chuckle. “Mind tellin’ me?”

“What if Mr. House gained control of the dam. He wouldn’t cut off supply to the NCR, but it might force them to back off—” Vincent hesitated to continue. “And House is more of an obstacle to the Legion than anyone else realizes…”

“I’m not too trustworthy of Mr. House, Vince,” Lawrence said. “What’s keeping him from strongarming the NCR?”

“He’s not all bad. New Vegas’s economy is reliant on tourism from the NCR, for one. House can’t risk losing the NCR or subjugating them,” Vincent explained. He hopped to his feet, a gleam of hope on his face as he reached out for Lawrence. “I want to show you something.”

The suite was what one could imagine hidden away at the top of the guarded and most exclusive casino on the strip. Walls conformed to the curve of the tower in an open layout. Working lights, running water, even a refrigerator—a cold refrigerator at that—was a deal anyone could hardly pass up. Neither thought they’d find something like it the republic’s metropolitan areas, yet here it was. Frozen in time with the rest of the Lucky 38.

The central window stood floor to ceiling, wall to wall, and capturing Vincent’s undivided attention. Red velvet curtains framed the scene like it a treasured painting of the entirety of New Vegas below; the strip, Freeside, Westside, Summerlin, and everything between and pouring out on the edges. Eyes followed the maze of streets and highways to the entirety of the valley that took Vincent’s breath away.

Lawrence stood awkwardly on the mezzanine where the elevator deposited them. Sure, it was luxurious with the plush bed, the sofa arrangement and the office set up opposite that, the fully functional kitchen and dining view in it impressed the aging adult in him hoping to settle down one day, but he had burning questions.

He descended the stairs and joined the boy at the window. “So, what’s the price tag?”

Vincent hummed in acknowledge as if he didn’t know what Lawrence meant.

“House is willing to indulge you, as long as you’re useful to him,” Lawrence said. “Which just begs the question; what does he want from you? How already delivered him the chip, so what’s next?”

“Well…” Vincent’s excited demeanor retreated. He knew this would be the hardest part. “Turns out the chip also needs to kind of go to… the Fort.”

“What?” Lawrence bellowed. He had exactly the disapproving look Vincent imagined he would, except there was a vein bulging in his neck. “Why—Why you? Why would you?”

“He promised something more than just caps and a lofty suite…” Vincent’s voice was hushed. Yes, there were many rewards. One of which was something the ranger could never fathom because he already had it.

“Did you lose some of your brains when Benny shot?” Lawrence’s gesticulations were comically fast. “Why would you go there for him? Or whatever this arrangement is?”

“It’s more about the outcome after the inevitable second war for the dam.” Confusion calmed Lawrence, and Vincent took the opportunity to continue. “The NCR isn’t winning this war and you know it. The Legion won’t stop once we’re forced back home either, but Mr. House has the means to destroy them.”

“Is that why you asked me what I think is best for this place?” Lawrence asked, but it was clear he already knew the answer.

“Yes,” Vincent confessed. “You remember all those battles you didn’t win and people you couldn’t save? Well, now you have the opportunity to certainly win.”

Lawrence’s expression was stoic as he stood there, hands on his hips and chest deflating with a sigh. “What makes you so sure of that?”

Vincent hesitated to tell him. Mr. House didn’t explicitly say to not tell anyone, but maybe this was one of those of topics that goes without saying shouldn’t be discussed… “Just go with it for a moment,” Vincent urged. “What would you do if you had the means and resources to stop the Legion from progressing, never taking the Dam, and thus never razing the Mojave as they seem inclined to do?”

Lawrence massaged his brows. His low gaze studied the deep red carpet then glanced at the boy patiently awaiting his reply with naïve and hopeful eyes. “I-I’d have to go with that route.”

Vincent cautiously approached Lawrence, hushing his voice to a whisper, “that’s why I have to go to the fort. It’s the next move.”

“Why there?” Lawrence immediately asked.

Vincent’s temples flashed as he clenched his jaw. Nervous hands fidgeted with each other until one flattened against Lawrence’s chest to steady himself as he stood on his tiptoes. “There’s an army of thousands of securitrons hidden underneath the fort,” he whispered in Lawrence’s ear.

Hairs stood on end feeling Vincent’s breath on his neck. The boy’s hand lingered on his chest. Lawrence became all too aware of his own climbing heartbeat, but he wasn’t sure if it was from their closeness or the precarious situation he had found himself in saving this boy from a deathclaw.

“I feel like you’re going to go there despite anything I have to say.”

Vincent withdrew from Lawrence’s personal space, although the ranger wished he hadn’t. “You don’t want to—to stay with me? I mean, to help, to do all that stuff about saving and battles and—”

Vincent’s rambling ceased when Lawrence set a hand on his shoulder. “The Legion is threat to a magnitude I don’t think we’ve fully realized.” Wide eyes stared back at Lawrence. The boy was nervously stiff under his touch. “I’m going with you. God knows what silly shit you’re gonna wind up in next if I don’t babysit you.”

Vincent’s exhaled the breath he was holding and quickly did scorn replace anxiety. “Are you crazy? You’ll get hurt or imprisoned or whatever—You can’t just waltz in there with me.”

A playful smile lightened Lawrence’s face. “You’re worried I’ll get hurt?”

“N-no, I—”

“And is waltzing in there actually your plan?” Lawrence shook his head, “that’s a bad idea. Something which you seem to have an endless supply of.”

Vincent crossed his arms defensively, but butterflies were hatching in hist stomach to see the ranger light-hearted again. “We wouldn’t have gotten this far without me.”

“No shit,” Lawrence scoffed. He waved off Vincent’s notions as he made his way to the bed for a seat. “Wouldn’t be here had you stayed out of trouble…”

“Y-you—” Vincent aimed an accusatory finger at the ranger but he was firing blanks. “You’re—”

Lawrence laughed as he pried off his boot. “What?” His tone, his smile, his everything teased Vincent. The ranger ignited a fire in him like no one else and he hated how much he loved it. Lawrence stood up again, taking to a cocky pose as he intentionally towered over Vincent with an arrogant smirk. “You got something to say, little boy?”

Vincent stuck out his tongue and walked off. Lawrence chuckled like a giddy little kid too satisfied with himself. When he returned from the kitchen, Lawerence had already set up a space on the floor to plan. The easy stuff was out of the way first over two bottles of Nuka-Cola, and even then, that wasn’t easy. They’d need supplies, ammunitions, and some way of trekking to the Fort that would be the least risky. Getting in was a whole other issue…

The ache in the pits of his stomach told Vincent he was leading the ranger to certain death… And on a mission he may have not been entirely devoted to. Concerns about the ranger was just another way to procrastinate on dealing with his own fears. The Legion was brutal. Vicious. Murderous. They didn’t have a code of ethics to abide to like the NCR’s military. Going there was a great risk to himself. His body, if his secret was somehow discovered… But the rewards equaled, if not rivaled that risk.

There was only one thing on Vincent’s mind once he got a hold of the generous amount caps Mr. House awarded him just for returning the chip. He pondered telling Lawrence about it, but…

Even a warm shower, food, and the bed that swallowed him up like a cloud couldn’t lull away the thoughts that made him toss and turn. Vincent rolled over to the edge and eyed the man surrounded by the notes and ideas jotted down during their length discussion that fizzled out an hour earlier. He combed his hands through still damp hair and stirred something in Vincent that made the boy fling himself to the other side of the bed.

The overhead lights turned on, and he realized daylight was slowing dying outside. Deep purple skies loomed over New Vegas as the sun sunk lowering on the mountain horizon. The mattress depressed and Vincent looked over his shoulder to find Lawrence making himself comfortable atop the blanket. Vincent’s heart stopped. He curled up in a fetal position. His arms pressed to his chest, bunching up the oversized shirt that suddenly felt skintight. He didn’t think Lawrence would stay on the bed. Well, they didn’t exactly discuss sleeping arrangements since all those nights shared in a single bed were forced on them.

“Can’t sleep either?” 

“Guess not…” Vincent muttered.

Lawrence turned on his side, facing Vincent’s curled back. “Ever hear stories of skinwalkers in these parts?” 

“Is that supposed to help me sleep?”

Lawrence chuckled and returned to resting on his back. “Just stories. Like the stories about those mutants and monsters in the mountains.”

“Oh, like the one we saw?”

“Nothin’ to be spooked about,” Lawrence said, stealing a glimpse at the boy across from him. “Have you heard of them? They’re all over Nevada, Arizona, but I saw them in Baja too.”

“Alright,” Vincent sighed in defeat, slipping on his back but keeping his arms to his chest. “What’s a skinwalker?”

“Strange monsters…” Lawrence whispered. “The one I saw looked like a coyote, but it was all wrong. Looked like something was just wearing its hide.”

“That sounds gross,” Vincent grimaced. “Did it do anything?”

“I thought those crazy coyotes were hunting me, but only when they got close enough did I realize they weren’t what they looked like.” Lawrence’s voice fell to a low whisper. He turned on his side, inching closer to Vincent as he continued in his ominous tone. “I was sent out to search for a group of settlers headin’ to a little place called Rosario in Baja. They were in the company of a ranger too, so that was our first call to go looking for them when they stopped contact. Then there was the radio call for help.”

“What happened to them?”

“Don’t know,” he shrugged. “Never found their bodies, never made contact with the ranger… But those coyote things, there was something weird about them.”

“They were following you?”

“Oh yeah,” he nodded. “I was with another ranger at the time as well. He seen ‘em and didn’t like them either. When we camped at night, I swear we could hear voices in the distances. Heard a few screams, but nothing a coyote or mountain lion would make. Later found out, skinwalkers can supposedly mimic voices, but only the last words of whoever they got.”

Vincent narrowed his brows. “This isn’t a good bedtime story.”

Lawrence chuckled. “Why? You scared?” Vincent groaned and turned his back to the ranger. He still hadn’t found any ounce of sleep and wasn’t sure he would—skinwalkers aside. “Afraid something’s gonna git ya?” The ranger’s whisper lurked closer. Vincent could hear that smile creeping on his face; one corner of his mouth tugged more than the other with a playful glint his eye. “Unzip your skin and wear you?” 

A nail glided down the back of his neck. Goosebumps crawled across his skin and Vincent flailed about, swatting away imaginary monsters.

“Lawrence!” Vincent hissed.

The ranger kept laugh though. He far was too proud of his own joke to quit and Vincent decided to teach him a lesson. He grabbed his pillow and swung. Before he could land a hit, Lawrence snatched it.

“No you don’t,” he teased, yanking the pillow and taking Vincent along with it. “Just for that, you get no pillow tonight.”

Lawrence flung it behind his head and reclined. Looking more comfortable and cocky than he should sent Vincent wild. He was ready to pounce. Rip at the ends of the ranger’s shirt—He shook his head of those thoughts then frantically checked his shirt was betraying his form underneath. It only did so much to hide his body, but at least in such a dim room, surely Lawrence couldn’t see anything odd about him. Vincent scolded himself for slipping up. He got too comfortable with the ranger. Even if nothing made him feel suspicious that Lawrence may know… All those looks, flirty banter, the touches… It only made him wonder about something else. And how tempting it was to indulge.

“Fine then,” Vincent shrugged it off, then snatched the shared blanket away faster than hungry scorpion’s pincers. “Then you get no blanket.”

Lawrence balked at him. “You little shit.”

Vincent made a face at Lawrence as he bundled up in cozy loot on his far side of the bed. Lawrence tugged the overflowing lump to which Vincent tightened his grip. Then Lawrence tugged a little harder and Vincent swatted away his hand.

By the time Vincent heard the bed creak, it was too late. The ranger had pounced on him. He held onto his loot for dear life. Lawrence’s playful laughs were contagious, and albeit as fun as it was, Vincent wished the fear lingering in the back of his head was always so present.

Lawrence was stronger. He could have ripped away the protective layers, but he abruptly paused to catch his breath. His mischievous smile hovered above Vincent. Fingers probed Vincent’s grasp but when that didn’t work, he leaned on the boy with full force. “Give it up,” Lawrence ordered again.

“Ack!” Vincent groaned, legs flailed and kicked the mattress as he squirmed. “Cheat!”

Lawrence laughed—cocky, hushed, and begging for attention. “You look good under me.” He wore that smile too well on those soft, warm lips. They wanted something.

“Mine.”

Another impish chuckle vibrated in the man’s throat. The soft glow of bedside lamps highlighted his bobbing Adam’s apple. The weight of the ranger on his side lifted. His hands moved to plant themselves above the boy’s head. Dogtags chimed underneath his shirt. The lamps’ orange hues brought out a deeper blue in Lawrence’s eyes. The softness in his gaze was hypnotizing. Vincent’s iron-grip loosened. They needed to reach out to them above him. Touch the delicate skin of his neck. Feel the coarseness of unshaven stubble.

Lawrence bridged that gap first. He brushed away wavy locks that obscured the youthful face he admired. Goosebumps scurried across Vincent’s body. His protective barrier slipped away as desperation curled his fingers around Lawrence’s strong shoulders. His cologne was intoxicating, sending Vincent’s eyelids fluttering closed as the ranger’s weight slowly came down on him again. Their lips met.

His whole body was set aflame doing the very thing he told himself not to. One turned to two and Vincent’s palms glided up to comb through Lawrence’s hair. With the third kiss, the ranger’s gentle touch melted to the curve of Vincent’s side—

“Wait. Wait. Wait!” Vincent pleaded, tearing away from Lawrence. He rolled off the bed, stumbling before feet planted themselves on cold carpet. “I can’t—” He shook his head, swallowing longing tears.  As much as he wanted the company of another man—of Lawrence—to have a partner in life, he knew none would accept him as he was.

“What’s wrong?” Lawrence stayed on the bed to, confusion apparent on his face.

“No, no. It’s complicated and difficult and…” Vincent sighed as he paced to the sofa and took a seat. The blanket wad returned to his chest. “You wouldn’t want me if you knew the truth about...”

“The truth?”

“About me and my… condition.”

“Alright,” Lawrence sat up and crossed his legs. “I’ll hear you out.”

“No!” Vincent shook his head and repeated his shocked words. “That’s a bad idea.”

“Am I dumb or have you been flirting back with me this whole time?”

“I have…”

“I like you, Vincent,” Lawrence said. “I was getting the feeling you might like me.”

“I do…”

“There’s not much that surprises me any more,” Lawrence said as he began to get up.

“No!” Vincent extended a splayed hand and paused the ranger.

“Ok, I’ll stay over here.”

“It’s complicated.”

“You said that already. I can deal with complicated,” Lawrence said, a chuckled sneaking through. “Didn’t we just come up a couple convoluted plans to break into the fort?”

“I’m not a man the same way you are,” Vincent winced pushing out those foreign words.

“I don’t follow…”

“I was just born wrong,” Vincent threw up his hands in defeat, already knowing how this would end before it began. Just more hurt, like every time as before. “I was born a girl, raised to be a girl, but I’m not. I can’t stress that part enough! I’m not anything but—”

“Oh!” A sudden look of revelation lit up Lawrence’s face, like the lights finally went on inside of a long-time vacant building. “Sorry to steal your thunder, but you ain’t the first, not even the second, and probably not the last I’ve met who’s told me the same.”

Vincent’s grip on the blanket relaxed. “Really?”

“First person who tole me was a ranger I used to work with,” Lawrence said. “After she retired, she kinda just disappeared. Found her one day, didn’t recognize ‘er cause she used to go by Rob and looked a lot different.” Lawrence slipped off the bed, slowly moving over to sofa as he continued. “She had the same fear as you do though,” he said, voice softening to reveal the doughy surface beneath a stone facade. “Thought I’d hate her or somethin’ but I can’t hate the person who helped me be the ranger I am today.”

“I’ve never got to meet anybody who felt the same as me, even if it’s in the other direction. I thought I was alone.”

“So, nothing new and nothing bad,” Lawrence assured him as he curled fingers between Vincent’s. “I take it you’ve been a little worried about that?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “I thought it would change the way you feel about me.”

 “I got a soft-spot for you—God knows why. You’ve done nothing but give me gray hairs since I found you.” Lawrence chuckled. His laugh eased Vincent’s tense shoulders. “I still like you.”

Vincent squeezed Lawrence’s hand. Bashful eyes flickered back and forth from Lawrence’s gentle expression and the carpet. Maybe his assumptions were wrong. Not set in stone like he had assumed and had told himself for years after leaving home. Maybe his weird kind of luck wasn’t that bad. Luck, he pleaded, would keep the ranger with him.