Silence.
A suffocating, bone-chilling presence filled the air. The crowd instinctively stepped back. The NCR soldiers, trained men hardened by war, felt their stomachs drop as the temperature around them seemed to plummet.
Six was holding Rebecca in his arms, his expression unreadable. But his eyes...
His eyes burned with something primal.
At the moment a murderous aura all over his body made everyone feel chilled, even if they just looked at him.
Then—
Crack!
A gunshot rang out. A panicked soldier had pulled the trigger.
Six barely moved.
Two fingers, wrapped in his Armament Haki, caught the bullet mid-air. He held it between his fingers, the metal hissing from the sheer pressure being exerted on it. A wisp of smoke curled from the projectile as he flicked it to the ground.
The soldier who fired the shot went pale, his knees buckling before he collapsed, shaking violently.
Six took a slow, measured breath. Then, finally, he spoke.
"Bring the papers. I'll sign them. And give me your name, Corporal."
His voice was ice, sharp and cold.
"Once I get to Camp McCarran, I'll be looking into whether this is actually NCR policy. And if I find out you're scamming me..."
Reynolds hesitated, but Six's reputation spoke louder than any threat. With a scowl, he stomped off. A few minutes later, another soldier nervously approached with the paperwork and a pen.
Six signed it without another word, dropped the required caps, and waited as they returned with what looked like a flimsy certification of ownership.
It was ridiculous. A glorified, overcomplicated tax for existing.
But for now, the NCR's attention was off him. And that was good enough.
As the War Bus rolled forward once more, Rebecca muttered under her breath, rubbing the sore spot on her head.
"Bastards."
Six nodded.
"Yeah."
They left the 188 Trading Post behind, the echoes of their confrontation lingering in the cold desert air.
As Six stowed away the so-called certification, he couldn't help but scoff under his breath. The NCR had always prided itself on being the beacon of law and order in the Mojave, but the cracks were showing—greedy officers, power-hungry bureaucrats, and now, apparently, a vehicle registration racket.
Rebecca, rubbing the sore spot on her head where she'd been struck, grumbled.
"That bastard is lucky you kept your cool. I was two seconds from unloading on him."
Six gave her a sideways glance.
"I know. But right now, we don't need to make enemies when we've already got enough people gunning for us."
His voice was even, but the sheer force of his presence still lingered in the air.
Boone, still perched in the sidecar, exhaled through his nose.
"The NCR's getting desperate. That's what this is. They need supplies, vehicles, tech—anything to keep their hold on the Mojave. And we just drove up in the biggest, meanest machine they've ever seen."
Raul chuckled dryly.
"Yeah, and instead of negotiating, their first instinct is to shake us down. Real smooth operators."
As the War Bus rumbled forward, leaving the 188 Trading Post behind, Six kept his gaze forward but his mind was already moving three steps ahead. The NCR's attitude had changed, and if they were willing to pull this stunt on him, a known supplier, then what were they doing to the smaller traders who had no muscle to back them up?
"We'll need to keep an eye on this."
Six muttered, mostly to himself.
"If the NCR's getting this bold, it won't be long before they start stepping on toes they shouldn't."
Rebecca smirked, crossing her arms.
"Sounds like someone's thinking of making a move."
Six didn't answer immediately. But as the War Bus picked up speed, kicking up a flurry of dust and snow behind it, a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"We'll see."
was all he said.
As soon as Six ended the radio call with Colonel Cassandra Moore, he let out a deep sigh, gripping the steering wheel tight enough that his knuckles turned white. The NCR had finally pushed too far.
First, they tried to take what was his, then they laid hands on Rebecca—who was pregnant—and now he found out it was all orchestrated by some bureaucratic scumbags back in Shady Sands who didn't like that they didn't get to control his subway?
Rebecca, still rubbing her sore temple, shot him a side glance.
"So? What's the damage?"
Six's jaw clenched.
"Captain Ronald Curtis from Camp McCarran. He's the one who sent those soldiers. And it wasn't just them—this came straight from NCR brass back in Shady Sands. They don't like that we own the subway. They think they should control it."
Rebecca scoffed.
"Of course, they do. Let me guess, they want to slap taxes on it? Charge people extra while pretending it's for their 'security'?"
Six nodded.
"Probably. But I'm done playing nice."
He pulled out his Pip-Boy, switching to his business contacts.
"I just told Moore: until the ones responsible are removed from their positions, I'm hiking up the price of every single product I sell to the NCR. Food? Ammunition? Medicine? They're paying double. Maybe even triple."
Rebecca smirked.
"That's gonna hurt."
"Exactly."
Raul chuckled from the back.
"Damn, boss, you're really twisting the knife, huh?"
Boone, silent until now, finally spoke.
"Good. If they're gonna act like raiders, they deserve to be treated like them."
His voice was cold, firm.
"But you know this isn't over, right? They're not gonna take this lying down."
Six nodded.
"I know. But I don't think Moore will, either. She took it real personally when she found out Rebecca was pregnant. She's old-school military—stuff like this doesn't fly with her. If I had to guess? Curtis and his friends are already in trouble."
Rebecca leaned back in her seat, grinning.
"So, what now?"
Six smirked.
"Now? We watch the NCR squirm."
As the War Bus thundered down the icy road, Six knew that soon, the Republic would learn a hard lesson—messing with the VI Family came with a cost.