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Passing through the entrance into Camp McCarran, I briskly crossed the flat expanse of gray concrete that extended a few hundred meters until it reached the thick, towering walls topped with swirls of barbed wire.
Watchtowers for guard-posts and sniper nests dotted the walls, and a few white tarpaulin tents had been set up, serving as barracks. They were separated from the main gate I had entered through by a line of trucks.
Some kind of truck repair depot, I figured.
Hanging around the tents were a handful of NCR First Recon soldiers, all donned with their red berets and engaged in chatter with one another, some tending to their rifles and one with glasses and shaky hands repetitively counting out bullets in his palm.
An older looking fella, with bandages around his hands and a limp, stood beside him, while a woman with a shaved head and a sour, dead-behind-the-eyes look on her face stood alongside them, yet looked idle. Alone, even in the midst of other people.
I turned my head to look at her as I walked on past the tents. For whatever reason, she did the same, meeting my gaze in a moment that felt like a minute.
There were bruises all over her neck, poking out from just over her khaki-colored collar. All yellow and brown, partially faded yet indisputably there. Not hickeys. These bruises wrapped around the entirety of her neck, it appeared. There were gaps, though. Finger-marks, like someone had their hands around her throat.
She soon looked away when she'd noticed I'd seen. I think she must have felt that I knew someone had hurt her badly. Hurt her in a way that nobody deserved to be hurt.
'Betsy,' it read on her collar-tag.
I tore my eyes away from her, side-stepping around the right-side of one of the large trucks on the parking lot.
A bunch of NCR Troopers were busy eagerly rifling through the crates, stacked up against the side of the large terminal building, while others -- more important looking ones with clipboards and serious faces -- took note of each individual firearm that had been brought over. Taking inventory.
From between the Troopers, having observed each of them counting out the bounty of firearms, Boone emerged, pacing over towards me until we were side by side with sights set upon the terminal building ahead of us.
"Troopers counted over four-hundred firearms from those supplies you had sent over. A few under one-hundred grenades, mines..." Boone motioned off to the right-hand side where the stacks of crates drifted on behind us with each step. "It's insane, Nevada -- I've never seen that many guns before in my life. Colonel Hsu seems pleased, he's waiting to talk to you and-"
Boone hesitated, stepping in front of me. I stopped in place, seeing him eyeing the empty spot around the collar of my white-button down, then looking back up my face with a puzzled expression.
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Nevada: High Roller (Fallout New Vegas)
Fanfiction"Being shot in the head will teach you two very important things about life. The first thing it teaches you is that you're tempting fate when you take a shortcut on your delivery route through a graveyard. When you're already surrounded by the dea...
