The Jeep rolled down the broken highway, its tires crunching over sun-baked asphalt and scattered debris. Case scanned the wasteland on both sides of the road, eyes flicking between the ridges and the brush. He wasn't sure what he expected—bandits, raiders, maybe even Legion scouts. The idea alone made his stomach twist.
He should be scared. Fear had kept him alive this long.
Jacob noticed his rigid posture and let out a dry laugh. "Kid, chill the hell out. This region's safe. Legion's never been spotted on this side of the Colorado River." He paused, then added with a grim chuckle, "Yet."
Case swallowed and forced himself to breathe. The Jeep continued north, winding through a narrow canyon road where the cliffs loomed high on both sides. Shadows stretched across the path, broken only by the glare of the Mojave sun above.
He tried to piece together the map in his head. The farmstead sat south of Novac, tucked just off the highway. But he didn't remember any outpost there. No Ranger presence. No fortified farm. Nothing.
What happened?
When did the Rangers leave during the game?
He turned slightly toward Jacob. The old ghoul kept his eyes on the road, as if reading Case's thoughts before he even spoke. The jeep continued its journey until it reached an abandoned trailer park. The trailer park, however, was reinforced with sandbags and alike. There were also some rangers stationed there.
Jacob brought the Jeep to a stop in front of the gate.
"Hey, old fella! How's the Farmstead?" a guard called out from behind a row of sandbags stacked on top of an abandoned trailer. His rifle rested casually across his lap, like he'd been expecting them.
"Hungry, as usual," Jacob replied, leaning out the window. "Everything alright up here?"
The guard nodded, scanning the horizon out of habit more than need. The Mojave wind tugged at the faded Ranger flag behind him, the fabric snapping in short, tired bursts.
"Quiet morning," the guard said. "Too quiet, maybe. But no Legion, no raiders. Just dust."
"Don't jinx yourself," Jacob shot back.
The guard leaned a little over the sandbags, eyeing Case in the passenger seat. "So what's this? Bring-your-kid-to-work day?"
"Nah," Jacob said with a grunt. "Just giving him a tour of the desert."
"Desert, huh? You know, the Southwest Outpost might be a better stop," the ranger called down.
"Hell naw," Jacob shot back. "Don't need your tourist suggestions. See you around."
"See you, old man," the guard laughed.
Jacob rolled his eyes, shifted the Jeep into gear, and the vehicle rumbled away from the gate. They followed the cracked highway north, weaving past sun-bleached signs and rusted guardrails. In the distance, the giant dinosaur statue of Novac rose over the horizon.
The place felt… oddly peaceful.
Case wasn't used to that. Not even a little.
Ever since he'd been reborn into this world, silence had been rare—almost unnatural. He couldn't remember a moment without shouting, orders, punishments, or the constant background noise of people suffering.
Even before the Legion, in the fragments of memory he still held, his mother had forced some bitter, strange mixture down his throat just to make him sleep. And when he was little under the Legion's rule, the handlers would choke him quiet if he so much as whimpered.
But now, even in the so-called wasteland, he didn't see anything that would threaten to kill him. Nobody would choke him because he couldn't keep his mouth shut, or threaten to kill him if he didn't obey to serve the Centurion.
The steady hum of the Jeep's engine filled the air as they rolled down the quiet stretch of Mojave highway. No raiders, no gunshots—just the open desert, the whisper of wind over sand, and the reassuring weight of the service rifle resting across Case's lap. For once, the wasteland felt peaceful.
"Vegas is a big place," Jacob said, keeping one hand on the wheel as he talked. "Three major tribal groups run the Strip—each one crazier than the last. And the airport? Overrun by this insane raider gang packing energy weapons. Real nutjobs. They turned two Vaults into their headquarters—Three and Twenty-Two."
Case blinked. "And you never thought of taking it back?"
Jacob snorted. "For what purpose? Listen, kid—the Rangers might look big from where you're standing, but in the grand scheme of the Mojave, we're small. Damn effective, but small."
He tapped the steering wheel with a gloved finger. "We're Rangers. If you catch my meaning. A tight-knit outfit. Not an army. Just a few highly trained folks—some pre-war, some born after—people who learned to survive from the moment they could walk. That's our strength, but it comes with limits.
"We simply don't have the logistics or the numbers to pull that off, kid," Jacob said. "Not unless we grow ten times overnight."
Case just nodded, letting the thought settle.
The Jeep rolled on, and before long the familiar silhouette of Novac came into view—the towering dinosaur statue rising over the desert like a weathered guardian. As they entered the town limits, Case noticed the activity immediately. Scavengers moved in and out along the eastern road, packs full, rifles slung over shoulders. Some bartered near makeshift stalls, others argued over scrap prices, and a few just watched the newcomers warily.
Jacob slowed the Jeep to navigate the bustle. "Welcome to Novac," he muttered. "One of the last places in the desert where folks still try to pretend life is normal. The whole town lives from scavenging the nearby REPCONN facility."
"You keep security here?" Case asked as they eased through Novac's main road.
"For the most part, yeah," Jacob replied. "We trade protection for supplies—high-value junk, food, whatever they can spare. In return, we keep raiders and feral ghouls off their scavenging routes."
He pointed toward the eastern road. "There are two major sites they hit often—the chemical dump and that old research facility. There's also Helios One, but we rarely go there."
"Why?" Case asked.
Jacob gave a noncommittal grunt. "You'll see."
He didn't elaborate, and something in his tone told Case not to push.
The Jeep rolled out of Novac and back onto the broken highway, dust swirling behind them. They passed a handful of traveling merchants herding brahmin, their caravans piled high with scrap metal, pre-war electronics, and whatever else the Mojave hadn't managed to swallow yet.
The Jeep came to a stop in the middle of the highway. Jacob rested his arm on the door and jerked his chin to the left.
"Take a look," he said, handing Case a pair of binoculars.
Case lifted them to his eyes and focused on the distant structure—Helios One, the old pre-war solar power plant. Up close, through the lenses, it looked far more intimidating than the stories made it sound.
"Helios One," Jacob said. "Used to be part of the scavenging run… until those metal tin cans moved in."
Case adjusted the focus. The entire facility crawled with soldiers—some in heavy power armor, others in high-grade combat armor that gleamed unnaturally in the sun. Their weapons looked advanced, too advanced for the Mojave: energy rifles, plasma casters, tech he didn't recognize.
The perimeter was fortified with barricades, sandbags, and automated turrets. Snipers watched from the upper platforms, rifles trained outward, scanning for threats.
Case lowered the binoculars slowly. "Who… are they?" he asked.
Jacob kept his gaze fixed on the facility. "The Brotherhood of Steel," he muttered. "And trust me, kid—you don't want to get on their bad side."
"Are they our enemies?" Case asked.
"No, not really," Jacob replied. "At least not this chapter of them. But listen—don't go near their territory unless you absolutely have to. And whatever you do, don't show up wearing power armor. Brotherhood sees you in one, they'll demand you hand it over. You'll walk in fully geared and walk out naked."
Case grimaced. "We have vehicles. Why don't they try to take those?"
Jacob snorted. "Because it's not advanced enough. Brotherhood can rebuild old trucks and jeeps on their own. They only care about tech that glows, hums, or can vaporize a man. Besides—" he gave a small, proud smirk "—they're smart enough not to pick a fight with the Rangers."
Case glanced at him. "Have we ever fought them?"
Jacob's smirk widened. "You know where that 'smart' part comes from, right?"
Case shook his head.
Jacob leaned back in his seat, eyes still on Helios One. "Once—just once—they demanded we hand over our armored personnel carrier. We told 'em no. They opened fire first."
"What happened?"
"We fired back," Jacob said simply. "With combined-arms tactics, Ranger precision, and… well, let's just say we still had a couple of working tanks back then. Lost an APC, sure—but we picked up some juicy T-51 suits in the process."
He tapped the steering wheel, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Brotherhood learned real fast we weren't some scavenger gang they could push around."
Case swallowed. He'd known the Rangers were tough—he just hadn't realized how tough.
Jacob shifted gears and eased the Jeep back onto the road, dust rising behind them as they left Helios One in the distance. "Lesson of the day, kid: respect is earned. Fear is negotiated. And the Mojave…" He gave a low, knowing chuckle. "The Mojave's got a long memory, and so does the Ranger. Let's return before it gets dark, shall we?"