Eight dead bodies, zero witnesses, and two functional jeeps with NCR markings. Leaving the scene as it was felt like leaving a ticking time bomb in the middle of the highway. The risk of the bodies being discovered was too high, and the opportunity to secure motorized transport was too good to pass up—but they needed to clear it with the Think Tank first.
Case pressed his hand to the long-range transmitter on his shoulder. "Case to HQ, come in?"
"HQ here. We're receiving you loud and clear, Case," the operator replied, the signal coming through with the eerie, crystalline clarity of Big MT technology. "Status report?"
"We've got a situation on Highway 95," Case said, his voice grim as he looked down at the carnage. "We just neutralized eight NCR soldiers. Confirmed extortion and attempted armed robbery. They were running a checkpoint and drew on us first."
"Copy that, Case. Stand by," the radio operator's voice crackled.
Case stood by the lead jeep, one hand resting on the hot metal of the hood, the other gripping his marksman carbine. He scanned the shimmering horizon, watching for any sign of dust clouds that might signal an approaching NCR reinforcement.
Case knew they had a choice: they could let the desert have them. In a land as volatile as the Mojave, an isolated squad of corrupt soldiers disappearing or being gunned down would likely be blamed on the Vipers, the Jackals, or even a disgruntled caravan. The NCR had many enemies; the "Desert Rangers" weren't even on their radar yet.
"They're just meat now," Markus muttered, checking the fuel gauge of the second jeep. "If we leave 'em, the scavengers—the four-legged and the two-legged kind—will finish the job before the MPs even realize they missed a check-in."
"Maybe," Case replied, his eyes scanning the horizon. He was weighing the risk of discovery against the necessity of speed.
The radio crackled back to life, but the operator sounded flustered. "This is HQ. We have new information from Emily. She says the Transportalponder can be used as a teleportation beacon, and… it can act as a gun? Provided the object being teleported isn't too large? Blah, what the hell am I even saying?" The operator sighed audibly over the comms. "I'm just reading a note here, guys. It's all technobabble to me."
"Copy that…" Case said, his fingers brushing the cold, textured grip of the device at his side.
"Permission to hijack the frequency," Emily's voice suddenly cut in. It was distinctly female but carried that unmistakable, vibrating synthetic edge that overrode the operator's channel. "Case, listen carefully. I've unlocked a sub-routine in your Transportalponder. If you aim the device at an object and trigger a localized burst, you can essentially 'teleport' it from your current location"
"You mean I can make these bodies disappear?" Case asked, a sharp, cold grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Exactly. Aim at the target and fire. As long as the object isn't as big as a fucking truck or a Vertibird, the relay can handle the transition," Emily replied.
Case blinked, momentarily stunned by the sudden grit in her tone. "Never thought I'd hear you say 'fuck', Emily. Copy that. Case out."
He lowered the radio and looked at the others. The shock of the firefight had passed, replaced by the cold, mechanical necessity of a clean-up. "Ok, guys, load the bodies into one of the vehicles. We're going to move them to a localized 'disposal' point once we're clear of the road."
They hauled the eight dead soldiers into the back of the trailing jeep, stacking them like cordwood beneath a dusty tarp. They didn't leave a single scrap behind—looting the service rifles and stripping the web gear for every spare magazine of 5.56 ammo they could find.
Once the "cargo" was loaded and the road was swept of spent brass, Case stood by the driver's side of the lead jeep. He pulled the Transportalponder from his belt. The device hummed, with a blue glow that accompanied it.
Then, he fired the teleporter gun at the jeep. A bright blue beam appeared from thin air, then teleported the jeep with the dead bodies back into Big MT. Their problem disappeared instantly, heck, including the initial plan, and best of all, a vehicle to go to Charleston.
"Damn," Markus exhaled, staring at the empty patch of cracked asphalt. "I've seen some weird tech in the Enclave, but 'deleting' a crime scene is a new one."
Case checked the map on his wrist-mounted display, the glowing interface calculating their new ETA. "We've got wheels, we've got ammo, and we've got a head start. Let's make it count. The base of the Charleston peaks is about forty miles northwest. At this speed, we'll be there before the sun hits the horizon."
"Agree," Amelia nodded, her eyes already scanning the road ahead for the next potential threat.
Case turned the ignition, the jeep's engine roaring to life with a rugged growl, and hit the gas. They left the checkpoint looking pristine—cleaner than they'd found it—as if no NCR soldiers had ever occupied the spot. The jeep rattled over the bumpy asphalt, tearing through the outskirts of Primm as quickly as it had arrived.
The Rangers pushed north along I-15, hitting the junction that led toward Goodsprings and passing the looming, silent silhouettes of the quarry. The entire stretch felt like a ghost town. Sloan, which should have been a bustling mining hub, sat empty and desolate. Since the NCR hadn't pushed their frontier this far yet, they hadn't established a presence here.
Still, the total absence of Desert Ranger patrols in the area was chilling. Without the NCR or the Rangers to hold the line, this was a vacuum where gangs and raiders usually reigned supreme.
"We're going to stay on the outskirts of the Mojave. We'll take the Western Route to stay off the main highway—just make sure you're ready for anything," Case said, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as he yanked a sharp left at the Junction 15 railroad station.
"I'll be on the lookout for Fiends," Milla added, shifting her weight to look out the rear of the jeep. Her sensors were already pinging the surrounding ridgelines for heat signatures.
"Yeah, stay focused," Case grunted.
The road was punishingly bumpy, but the silence was the most unsettling part. They rattled past the entrance to Vault 19; the parking lot was a graveyard of rusted steel, but there were no lookouts, no smoke from campfires—nothing. Even the air felt still. They didn't encounter the dreaded buzz of Cazadores as they skirted the mountain passes, and even Bonnie Springs, usually a hornets' nest of Vipers, seemed eerily quiet.
Red Rock Canyon sat like a red-streaked cathedral in the distance, but there was no sign of the Great Khans yet. Of course, Bitter Springs were still unoccupied as well, and the Strip was not touched by the grace of Mr. House.
"Anyone brought an NVG?" Case asked, glancing at the sky as the bruised purples of twilight began to bleed into the horizon. He was already worrying about the tactical nightmare of driving through the pitch-black mountain passes.
"I brought a pair," Milla said, nodding toward her rucksack resting on the floor in the back.
"Good. Keep them handy."
The road trip pressed on, the jeep's tires humming against the increasingly cracked asphalt. They skirted the rear of the Sunset Sarsaparilla Headquarters, the giant bottles on the roof standing like rusted totems in the fading light. Case steered them wide of Westside; they didn't need the headache of local militias or desperate refugees seeing an NCR vehicle and getting the wrong idea.
He didn't linger. Case gripped the steering wheel and pushed the jeep through the northern farmsteads, the smell of fertilizer and damp earth briefly replacing the scent of dry dust. Then, he banked the vehicle into the first major turn heading up toward Charleston.
The smooth, wide highway gave way to jagged mountain passes and asphalt so weathered it was more gravel than road. The jeep's suspension groaned, tossing the Rangers around in their seats.
"Shit, road is bumpy as hell," Case hissed, fighting to keep the wheels from sliding into a deep rut.
"Better than walking the whole way," Amelia commented.
The temperature began to plummet. The dry, searing heat of the Vegas basin was replaced by a sharp, thin mountain breeze that carried the scent of pine. The temperature began to cool down as well.
"We went from a sunny desert to a literal fridge," Markus commented, shivering slightly as he rubbed his hands together. The thin mountain air bit through his tactical gear, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat they'd left behind only an hour ago.
"Calm down, we're almost there," Case said, his eyes darting between the treacherous terrain and the glowing screen of his Pip-Boy. The local map was a mess of topographical lines, but the blinking cursor was dead-on.
He yanked the steering wheel hard to the left, steering the jeep off what remained of the asphalt and onto a coarse, hidden dirt trail. The vehicle groaned as it tilted, pushing through thickets of mountain shrubbery and weaving between jagged rock outcroppings.
Finally, the jeep rolled to a halt in a secluded alcove carved naturally into the side of the mountain. Case killed the engine, and the sudden silence of the forest was deafening. Just a few yards ahead, tucked under a rocky overhang, sat their destination: a strange, square hole in the ground, disguised by a weathered hatch made of rotten, greyed wood.
"Doesn't look 'Enclave' to me," Amelia commented, skepticism dripping from her voice. She stared at the rickety, splintered hatch, looking more like something a paranoid gold prospector would build than the remnants of a high-tech shadow government.
Case didn't argue. He reached down, gripped the edge of the weathered wood, and heaved it aside. Beneath the "rotten" facade, the truth was revealed: a heavy, brushed-steel industrial hatch, sealed with a circular pressure wheel and a recessed biometric scanner that flickered with a faint, ghostly red light as the sensors detected movement.
"Looks can be deceiving, Captain," Case said, peering into the dark vertical shaft beyond the seal. He looked back over his shoulder at the team, his face caught in the pale glow of his Pip-Boy. "Are you coming down or what?"
Markus looked at the hole, then at the dark woods behind them. "Given the choice between a freezing mountain and a secret bunker that probably has heaters? I'm in the hole."
Amelia sighed, checking the action on her rifle one last time. "Fine. But if we find ourselves in a room full of automated turrets and plasma mines, I'm letting you lead the way."