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Summers in the Mojave were unbearably hot. June, July, and August were torturous, the sun unforgiving and ever-present. The Strip required more electricity to cool their casinos and pacify their residents, keeping old gamblers out of the heat and drawing in new ones to embrace them in cool air. Vulpes had to admit: even though it was simple, it was effective, and the casinos reaped the benefits of extra caps in the summer months.
Smaller buildings outside of New Vegas were occasionally hotter than the outside air. The Vikki and Vance had no air conditioning and remained ultimately unoccupied until it cooled down outside. Many NCR facilities had air conditioning but made no move to share it with surrounding towns, like Goodsprings or Novac. The NCR was selfish with its resources and didn't even distribute goods to its soldiers properly. Patrolling the Mojave were dozens of dehydrated, malnourished troops that were too easily susceptible to heatstroke to be effective.
Remote tribes like the Khans thrived in the weather. The high of drugs like jet and psycho provide the user with an internal cool-off while frying their brain cells at the same time. The Khans, tucked away in Red Rock Canyon, sent out runners and suppliers constantly over the summer to expand their trade and gain respect.
Vulpes struck them down every time he saw them. To create a name for themselves by dealing chems and alcohol was a lowly, shallow practice that earned no respect for the once mighty warriors that were the Great Khans.
The Legion professionally dealt with the heat. They supplied water to their recruits and trainees, even to their slaves, albeit dirty. Large umbrellas were put up around the training sites and general areas, providing momentary relief to the busy legionaries. Umbrellas are put up at Cottonwood Cove near the water so legionaries could stay cool. Caesar wanted his recruits to have a positive opinion of him (more so than they already did) so he gave shade and water to the legionaries, not outwardly expecting praise but getting it anyway.
He was a genius- using simple things like umbrellas and clean water to get support, as well as his overwhelming military prowess. A ruler that knew how to build loyalty and admiration without being obvious and forceful. Vulpes respected and admired him greatly, though he occasionally questioned his decisions in the deep recesses of his mind. He would never, ever, openly oppose the mighty Caesar, but sometimes he overestimated Vulpes.
Caesar sent Vulpes to Vegas to get a read on the Three Families, Mr. House, and the NCR. Getting intel on the Strip's families wasn't a challenge. Over the years of working as Caesar's best Frumentarius, Vulpes acquired a slew of roles to play as he pleased. He could play the drug addict, a King, a Khan, a ghoul, a Boomer, and everything in between. For Strip visits, he normally played the role of stumbling drunk.
Vulpes went from casino to casino, ordering expensive drinks and giving them to whomever he saw fit. He gave some wine to a Gomorrah slut, some whiskey to a Tops chairman, and some vodka to an already tipsy Fiend who seemed to take his drink as a courtship proposal. Vulpes ignored her bedroom eyes and loudly asked the bartender about the Tops and their going ons. It was a common question, one that wouldn't arouse suspicion. Vulpes knew from previous infiltrations that this particular barkeep frequently drank on the job.
"I'll tell you what," the bartender garbled, "that Benny guy is gonna get in trouble one of these days, y'know? He was goin' south towards Goodsprings to in'ercept some package or… something. I dunno, he said it was gonna be a 'platinum find,' whatever the hell that means. He hired some Khans as help so I think there's gonna be some fightin'." Vulpes nodded, absorbing the man's drunken rambling like a sponge.
"The Benny guy sounds like an i-idiot," Vulpes said. The bartender agreed and went back to making drinks, leaving Vulpes alone with his untouched whisky.
Benny was getting help from the Khans and intercepting an important package. He left the Strip, meaning that whatever he was stealing was too important for a lackey to do alone.
Vulpes was brought out of his thoughts by an arm being slung around his waist. The Fiend from before pressed herself to his side, using her other hand to grab his drink and downing it in one go.
"Hey, handsome." Vulpes could smell the alcohol on her breath, as well as the particular odor of jet. "You seem lonely, hm? I could make you feel," she leaned in, her lips caressing the shell of his ear, " higher than the moon. " Vulpes smiled but gently shrugged her off, putting his hands up in an apologetic motion.
The audacity of this whore , he thought.
"I'm flattered, but I'm sadly taken. My g-girlfriend wouldn't like it if I had someone else's lipstick on my collar." Vulpes slurred, making sure he still sounded drunk. Unrespectable profligate whore or not, he needed to keep up appearances, no matter how much said appearances infuriated him.
In retaliation, the Fiend pressed even closer, moving the hand that was around his waist to his back and eventually landing on his inner thigh. Vulpes had to fight back the urge to whip out his hidden switchblade and cut her hand off.
"And who is this girlfriend? I don't see her around," she made an exaggerated show of turning her head and scanning the crowd.
"She's not here. She's at Camp Golf. NCR stuff." That comment got the attention of the man on his other side, who turned around to face Vuples.
"You've got an NCR girl? Lucky bastard," he said. He reeked of marijuana. "My NCR girl left me for some Khan asshole. I've been alone at this fucking station for months. There's nothing to do on the Strip." He sighed, pulling a dab pen out of his pocket and taking a hit. He blew the smoke in the Fiend's face, making her sputter angrily. "Get lost, bitch. I wanna talk to this one." Sticking her nose up in the air, the Fiend left, but not before smacking Vulpes on the ass hard enough to make him jump.
"Y'know, I've been thinking about enlisting in the NCR so I could get with my girl. The caravan business is boring as hell," Vulpes moped. "I g-gotta do something more with my life." The soldier nodded and clapped him on the back.
"Come on over to the Embassy! I could get you in touch with some people that could help you out with your girl." Vulpes grinned and swayed happily, waving at the high soldier.
"Good," Vulpes called over a different bartender and ordered another two glasses of wine, and glared at him when he said that he was cut off for the night. "Well, there's nothing for me to do now. I'll be at Vault 21 if you need me," Vulpes slapped down a handful of caps and stumbled towards the exit of the Tops, purposefully knocking into several chairmen for the fun of it.
He needed to tell Caesar what he found out.
Stepping out into humid, warm air, Vulpes started on his way to exit the Strip and get all the way to Freeside. Purposefully tripping over his feet and sounding like an idiot made him feel foolish, but it was his job as a Frumentarii. He was the eyes and ears of the mighty Caesar, and that required him to play roles that he detested.
He would do anything for Caesar.
Finally making his way to outer Freeside, Vulpes straightened himself out and set his sights on Camp McCarran. His mission wasn't only to find out about the Three Families, but also to gather intelligence on the NCR; possibly plant a spy there.
Under the cover of night, Vulpes scaled one of the camp walls and landed quietly on a pile of empty supply boxes. He'd studied the McCarran schedule and blueprints, learning where and when to do things without getting caught. He knew that at one o'clock in the morning, while the casinos were still alive and swinging, many NCR soldiers left their beds and turned to the Vegas strip, losing what little caps they had in games rigged against them. They would show up just before the responsible soldiers were waking up, getting an hour of underserved sleep and then pretending like they weren't intoxicated and exhausted.
Sneaking along the long concrete wall, Vulpes ran up to a control tower, picked the lock on the door, and was in. Silently climbing the small flight of stairs, Vulpes got ready to tap into the NCR's radio signal and memorize as much as he could.
What neither Vulpes nor Caesar could account for was the possibility that a canoodling couple would be occupying the previously empty communication tower.
What neither Vulpes nor Caesar could account for was that one of the two people in the tower was working with the science unit to develop a long-range poison dart gun.
Before Vulpes even got the chance to peek his head over the small ledge, a dart filled with poison entered his neck. He was unconscious before he hit the floor.
Caesar was worried. Vulpes Inculta, his most loyal Frumentarii, hadn't returned from his mission. It was supposed to be easy, something that Vulpes should've gotten done in a day.
Even if he was injured beyond measure, Vulpes would always finish his missions by recounting what he found out to Caesar personally, just as he'd been asked to. It had been a full two days since Caesar had been expecting Vulpes, and there was no sign of him. He wasn't at Cottonwood Cove, he wasn't hiding in a safehouse, and he wasn't at Legate's Camp to check up on the recruits.
He was gone .
Something was wrong. Something was very wrong, and it was keeping Caesar up at night. He stared at the ceiling of his tent trying to sleep, silently hoping that Vulpes would disturb him, trudging in, apologizing for being late before recounting his findings to Caesar. Caesar would brush him off and send him on his way, secretly relieved that Vulpes returned safely.
Instead, he was near constantly looking towards the flap of his tent, checking the time on his Pip-Boy, snapping at his legionaries. Without needing to look in a mirror, he knew that bags were starting to form under his eyes because of two nights without sleep and three days' worth of activities taking up his time and energy.
He huffed, palming his forehead and sinking further into his throne as he waited for Vulpes to return. Caesar couldn't ignore the awful sinking feeling in his chest as the third day without Vulpes beat down on him like the harsh Mojave sunlight. Wiping the sweat off of his brow, Caesar brought his gaze to the flap of his tent.
Dead Sea pushed past the fabric and ran to Caesar, not bothering to bow at any of the high-ranking officials in the tent and instead planting himself right at Caesar's feet, chest heaving.
Having his leader from Nelson come all the way to the Fort was concerning.
Dead Sea, not bothering to catch his breath, removed his hat and looked Caesar in the eyes as he spoke. "Vulpes Inculta has been found. He's being held captive by a rogue group of NCR soldiers at Camp McCarran."
"Why hasn't he returned? Vulpes can fight off a handful of profligates. Hell, he could take down Camp McCarran single-handedly if I asked him to! Why are you telling me this when he should be telling me himself? Speak!"
"Vulpes was struck with a new NCR prototype dart, rendering him unconscious and leaving him in their custody."
"And how do you know all of this shit?" Caesar's patience was running thin. Dead Sea was avoiding telling him something on purpose, and it was making him nervous.
"The NCR profligates have him locked up in an unused communications tower. I-" he stuttered. Dead Sea had the audacity to hesitate at a time like this. "I believe that you need to see this." Taking off his own Pip-Boy and handing it to Caesar, Dead Sea pressed play on a grainy video on the screen of his Pip-Boy. Caesar sat up straight in his throne and held the device close to his face, watching everything happen on the screen with intense scrutiny.
When Caesar created the Legion, he knew that he was going to lose men. It was a part of war; something that couldn't be avoided. For that reason, he placed a base amount of trust in the men he deemed worthy, not bothering to develop a serious friendship with them because he knew that they were expendable and eventually going to die.
Vulpes Inculta was different. Vulpes was the greatest of his Frumentarii, his eyes and ears of the Mojave. He listened to Caesar and respected him with his whole being. He trusted Caesar, and Caesar, despite himself, put a large amount of trust in Vulpes. He spoke to Vulpes about his headaches and allowed him to be his only guard while he was sleeping them off. He chose Vulpes' hand to be the one to grasp when his migraines were too extreme and he needed something to ground himself with.
In return, he listened to Vulpes speak of his thoughts and feelings freely, openly engaging in the deep conversations that Vulpes initiated. When his meeting tent was empty in the early hours of the morning, he and Vulpes would talk about philosophy, strategy, regrets, and wishes for the future.
Caesar broke his own rule and became close with Vulpes, refusing to believe he would ever be anywhere other than at his side, unharmed and attentive.
Yet the video that the foolish NCR soldiers took showed a different, cruel reality that Caesar forced himself not to think about, lurking in the dark spots of his subconscious. For once, he was grateful for the naive soldiers that the NCR enlisted and their slacking overseers.
The two soldiers that poisoned his Frumentarii were named Celeste and Emmanuel, two unremarkable faces in the vast sea of green uniforms at Camp McCarran. They started a "secret" video livestream to show to their friend at Camp Echo that showed their amazing capture of the mighty Vulpes Inculta. Dead Sea intercepted the signal and showed Caesar the still ongoing video feed.
There Vulpes was, his Vulpes, beaten to a bloody pulp on the floor of the communications tower. His shirt was off and his back was towards the camera, showing his cut-up back and shallow breaths. They lashed him.
The NCR scoundrels had taken a whip to his Vulpes and torn up his back.
There was an IV drip connected to somewhere on his arm, pumping him full of what Caesar assumed to be poison and rendering him immobile. He was unconscious and alone, unable to turn around and show Caesar his face and chest, what had been done to it.
Caesar watched the footage of Vulpes for a few tense moments before gently placing Dead Sea's Pip-Boy on the armrest of his throne and standing up, swiping away invisible dirt from his shirt and addressing his men. "I'll be back."
"-else do you think we should do, Em? We've been at this for two days and he still hasn't cracked ," Celeste kicked Vulpes in the chest, making him wheeze. Vulpes could feel her boot colliding with his ribs, feeling every atom of it touch his skin. The cazador venom and psycho that they were pumping into his bloodstream made him hypersensitive. He was in constant agony and confusion, riding a terrible high that hadn't ended in two days.
"I dunno," Emmanuel said. He crouched down to Vulpes' level and yanked his head by his hair, straining Vulpes' neck painfully. He pinched the tendon that was jutting out from his neck hard enough to bruise.
It wouldn't be the only bruise I got, Vulpes thought. I wonder if Caesar would appreciate my bruises. I think he would. Maybe he would call me good if he saw how strong I am.
"Think we could haul him over to Camp Echo so Gunner could have a crack at him? He's been watching the stream constantly since we started broadcasting." Celeste nodded, pushing her boot back onto Vulpes' chest and pressing down. He could feel the air in his lungs slowly leave his body.
"That would be a good idea if we didn't have to haul his ass all the way there without the higher-ups finding out. You would think ," she pressed down harder, pushing Vulpes onto his back, "that they would let us torture this bastard! I know that the NCR has an image that they have to maintain and holding a secret captive wouldn't do well, but c'mon!" Celeste took her foot off of Vulpes' chest, allowing him a moment's reprieve. She turned to Emmanuel, who was fiddling with the camera.
"Yeah, I hadn't thought about that. We can't tell the commanders that we have him now or else they'll have our hides for beating him up for two days straight. I think that maybe he should come over? I- hide him !"
The sound of the door opening was heard, and Emmanuel harshly shoved Vulpes under the desk in the office and covered him with his jacket. "Hey, E!" A voice called to Emmanuel from the open doorway, his words slurred. "There's a fuckin' open bar at the Tops for the next hour! I think the Gomorrah girls are half off tonight, too! Bring Cel down here 'cause I know you two have been fucking up here for the past two days !" The obviously drunk soldier burped before shutting the door and stumbled away, leaving Celeste and Emmanuel alone.
Emmanuel sighed in relief. "That was close. Way too close. What if Holt came up? Jesus, we can't keep him here!" Emmanuel frantically gestured to the small area around them. "Fuck! God, okay, here's what we'll do." Emmanuel clapped his hands once and laid his hands on Celeste's shoulders. "So we go to the bar, get drunk as hell, and stop worrying about the legionary. We could just leave him here! Lock the door, key it, and keep the video up. Gunner would tell us when he died, so nothing could be traced back to us when we 'find' the body." Celeste nodded and started down the spiral stairs before turning around, kicking Vulpes in the head, sticking a psycho in his neck, a jet in his mouth, and a med-x in his wrist.
"He won't be moving anytime soon," she said smugly. "C'mon, the open bar won't last forever!" Emmanuel and Celeste left the communication tower, breaking the key while it was inside the lock and waiting for Vulpes to succumb to his injuries or overdose alone.
Vulpes could feel his heartbeat in his fingers, could hear it slowing down and speeding up irregularly. He could feel every drop of blood on his skin dripping down to the floor below it, staining it with his agony. He could feel and hear everything that was going on in or around his body in extreme detail. He was freezing. The copious amounts of drugs and poisons they filled him with were taking their toll on his body temperature.
Celeste, the scientist with the dart gun, never once allowed him the mercy of being unconscious while she and Emmanuel dealt their blows. They'd kept him painfully aware of all that was being done to him with a steady stream of jet being forced into his lungs. Vulpes felt nothing but pain and exhaustion.
Caesar is here again.
The cazador venom was hallucinogenic, apparently. Ever since the poison entered his body, Vulpes had seen strange visions encircling the small room. First, bright colors like lime green and hot pink danced across his captor's faces, making them appear as if they came out of a twisted dreamland. The colors never went back to normal, and they continued to move and shift throughout the room. Next came the physical hallucinations that hadn't stopped for almost an entire day.
They started small, just appearing as something flitting by in his peripheral vision. Later they evolved into full-body apparitions that ranged from a giant radscorpion that punched him with its stinger, a deathclaw that was about to pounce, to the Caesar looming above him, watching him suffer.
The hallucination was sitting in the small swivel chair like it was his throne, legs spread and head tilted to the side while he looked at Vulpes. " You know, " it said, " I was always hoping that you would die. You're not worthy of the title of Frumentarius and you know it! Your ignorance made my job easier, though. I didn't have to waste any time getting rid of you myself. " Vulpes winced at fake Caesar's words. His Caesar was miles away in the Fort, but the drugs overpowered his sense of reason. To Vulpes, his Caesar was in front of him, covered in bright blue dots and yellow stripes.
Tears came to Vulpes' eyes. "I'm… sorry… Caesar. I-" Talking after not using his voice for two days and after his throat was filled with jet was painful. "I didn't mean to… get caught. I'm," a sob tore out of his wrecked throat, "sorry, Caesar." Fake-Caesar shrugged and got out of the chair, standing above Vulpes and sneering.
" You think I care about your apology? You failed, so now you're fucking stuck here. Good riddance, Vulpes! Go fuck yourself, " Caesar disappeared in a puff of purple smoke, leaving Vulpes alone, weeping on the floor, pathetic, slowly slipping into unconsciousness.
Convincing the Tops to have an open bar for Camp McCarran soldiers was easy. All the chairman needed to cave was a face-to-face visit with Caesar and then the drinks started flowing. Of course, he was wearing profligate clothes, but as soon as Caesar removed his biker goggles and bandana covering his mouth, Benny went as white as a sheet and became putty in his hands.
The word of free booze spread fast, just as Caesar knew it would.
Caesar left the Strip and walked to McCarran, passing several NCR soldiers that were excitedly going to the Tops. They paid no mind to him, just another faceless Freeside wanderer trying to find somewhere secure to sleep. "Fools," he said under his breath. Caesar picked up the pace when the glowing sign of the military camp came into view. The large sliding door used to guard the camp was open.
The fucking door was open.
The NCR soldiers were already so drunk and tired that they didn't bother to shut the door to the most important camp they had in the Mojave. Caesar scoffed and stepped inside the camp, looking at the communications tower in the distance and making his way toward it.
It was alarming how empty the camp was. There were almost no soldiers patrolling the camp, and the ones that were nodded to him, not knowing that their greatest enemy and their highest bounty was within their walls. Caesar checked his Pip-Boy and frowned.
Only half an hour left until the drinks start costing caps again. Only half an hour left to get his Vulpes out of this hellhole alive.
Coming up to the door of the tower, Caesar tried to open it and saw the broken edge of a key sticking out of the lock. "God damnit," Caesar said. Crouching down and looking at the lock further, he saw a small sliver of metal that didn't snap off and was big enough for him to hold. Pinching his fingers together, Caesar grasped the small section of the key and turned it, making his hand cramp in the process. "Thank god," he groaned when he heard the click in the door, letting him know it was unlocked. He took his thumb and pointer finger off of the key and rubbed the tender skin together in hopes of alleviating the slight pain. Caesar then wasted no time in opening the door and quickly going up the stairs, closing the door behind him quietly.
As soon as he came to the small landing in the tower, his nostrils were filled with the smell of blood and chems. Not yet looking at Vulpes, Caesar took the old video camera that was recording Vulpes' torment and smashed it beneath his heel. Steeling himself, Caesar took in a deep breath and turned around, looking down at his Vulpes.
There he was, laying on the floor, unconscious and bloody. There was a pool of blood beneath his back, as well as the shreds of his profligate clothes. Looking at his chest, Caesar saw bruises, cuts, cigarette burns, and slightly wrinkled skin that only occurred when someone was exposed to radiation. He was covered in track marks and bruises, trailing all the way up from his wrists to his neck. Caesar knelt down next to Vullpes and hastily removed all of the needles that were sticking out of him. Unhooking the IV drip caused Vulpes to stir, and Caesar looked at his face when he made a whine of discomfort.
His face. Oh Christ, his face.
His face was relatively free of major injuries, only sporting a blackening bruise on his cheekbone and a cut on his forehead. What startled Caesar the most was his eyes, specifically the areas around them.
They were shut, not showing Caesar their pain, but they were puffy and red. Vulpes cried. Vulpes, the strongest of his Frumentarii, his right hand, his friend, had cried. Caesar winced as Vulpes' eyes opened and landed on him. Tears slowly started to fall from his eyes, and Caesar fought the urge to brush them away.
"You… came back," Vulpes cried, though trying to remain dignified. "You said that I wasn't worthy, but you're back? You're touching a profligate like me? I don't understand." Vulpes raised his arm and tried to grab Caesar's clothes, grab anything of Caesar to allow himself some form of comfort, settling on his wrist and squeezing it lightly.
Caesar frowned. "Come on, let's get you back to the Fort." Caesar shrugged off the profligate jacket he was wearing and draped it around Vulpes' shoulders as he sat him up. He winced as the rough fabric brushed against his wounded back, whining at the unpleasant sensation.
If asked, nothing that occurs from this point onward ever happened.
Caesar, groaning as he strained his back, picked up Vuples and held him to his chest. His legs were over his left arm while he supported his back with his right. Vulpes winced but stayed quiet. "You have permission to speak, amicus meus ." Vulpes looked intently at Caesar's face as he walked them out of the communication tower and into the open air of Camp McCarran. Not a single soldier looked their way as they left the camp, all of them too drunk and tired to want to investigate the two strangers in their midst.
"The… Tops," Vulpes whispered. "Benny was getting something important. He had," he wheezed, "he hired Khans as support. You've turned green now."
What? Oh, Caesar's eyes landed on the bruise in the fold of Vulpes' elbow. They've been poisoning him for days. He's high out of his fucking mind. Caesar sighed, hefting Vulpes up and getting a better grip on him as they passed the El Rey Motel. "Thank you for telling me, Inculta. You don't need to give a mission report right now." Even at his worst, Vulpes was trying to please him.
Caesar pulled his mask up and his goggles back on, noticing an immediate change in the man he was carrying. He tensed and scowled, turning his head away from Caesar's chest while trying to wriggle from his hold. Caesar frowned and grasped Inculta tighter, cringing internally as he gasped in pain. "Stay still, Vulpes. The more you move, the more it will hurt!"
Vulpes swiveled his head around, looking for something that wasn't there. His eyes landed on Caesar again as he sneered. "Mighty Caesar will flay you, profligate." Caesar blanched, but then remembered Vulpes' expression when he put his mask back on.
Vulpes thought he was a commoner.
Caesar chuckled and hoisted Vulpes up again. "What's so great about this Caesar, huh? He sounds like a weakling," he said. Caesar made sure to pronounce his own name incorrectly to get a reaction out of Vulpes.
"Caesar is the greatest in all the land! He's brought civilization to mongrels, an' burnt down cities of whores." Vulpes' words were starting to slur, and eyes were starting to shut. "I'm the weakling, not Caesar. I got caught."
"You got ambushed, amicus meus ."
"Mighty Caesar would never excuse capture! I'm to be crucified for my insolence to the Legion." Caesar scoffed and held onto Vulpes tighter, scanning the horizon for a place to rest for the remainder of the night.
"You are not to be crucified, Vulpes Inculta. You are going to be thanked by Caesar for your loyalty." He waited for a response but got none. Vulpes was asleep in his arms, his breathing shallow but steady, and his eyes no longer leaking. Caesar sighed and brought them over to an old gas station, setting Vulpes down on a makeshift bedroll and scooting next to him.
As soon as Vulpes was in his right mind, he would command him to forget his moments of gentleness.