The War Bus rolled to a halt, its suspension hissing as the dust settled around it on the cracked, forgotten stretch of Highway 93. The sun cast long shadows across the desert, the heat warping the air into mirage-like shimmer.
The charred remains of wagons and Brahmin skeletons told the tale before anyone even stepped outside.
Another sacked caravan.
Six stood at the edge of the debris field, scanning it with the soft glow of his Eyes of the Spirit. Behind him, Boone moved with disciplined caution, rifle sweeping the ridgeline. Rex growled low, ears twitching, before darting forward into a heap of scorched crates.
"Six."
Roger called out, crouching near a pair of bodies slumped against a half-melted metal barricade.
"These two—they've got Van Graff tattoos. Thugs. No mistaking it."
Six stepped over, boots crunching the broken glass of shattered energy cells.
"They're packing plasma weapons."
Roger added, pulling back a blackened coat sleeve.
"Got tagged in the crossfire maybe—but they weren't the targets. They were the attackers."
A sharp bark rang out from Rex, who pawed insistently at a corpse pinned under a broken Brahmin yoke. Six moved quickly, shifting the debris with a wave of energy. The body beneath bore the distinctive red armband of the Crimson Caravan.
Boone swore under his breath.
Cassidy approached last. The second she saw the insignias—both Van Graff and Crimson Caravan together—her breath hitched.
"No…"
She whispered.
She stepped forward, past Rex, past the others, and stared down at the burned-out remains of the caravan wreckage. A similar sight like that of the Durable Dunn Caravan. Her father's company.
The realization hit her like a gut punch.
"This was us. This was my route. My family's route."
She knelt, trembling, eyes tracing the twisted metal and bloodstained dirt.
"I thought... I thought it was raiders. Just random scum. But those sons of bitches—"
She spun on her heel, face blazing with fury.
"It was the Van Graffs and the Crimson Caravan! THEY TORCHED US!"
She threw her hat to the ground, fists clenched so tight her knuckles turned white.
"They set us up. Killed my family. Burned our name out of the Mojave. And all for what? A better trade deal? Control of the damn Freeside energy market?!"
No one interrupted.
Even Boone stayed silent.
Six finally stepped closer, voice even.
"This confirms it. They weren't rivals. They were partners. Took out your company together to eliminate competition."
Cass's eyes shimmered, rage and grief mingling.
"Alice McLafferty. Gloria Van Graff. Those two snakes plotted this. And they've been sitting pretty in Freeside and the Crimson offices like nothing ever happened."
Six didn't respond at first. Then he looked to Boone, to Roger, to Rex, and then back to Cassidy.
"You want justice?"
He asked, his voice cold now.
"Then we give it to them. Not just revenge. A message."
Cassidy looked up, breath shallow, expression unreadable.
"No more caravans vanish. No more families get buried under politics and power grabs."
Six turned to the War Bus, where the crew waited, silently watching.
"We burn them down."
Boone gave a slow nod.
"You lead the way."
Cass picked up her hat, dusted it off, and slammed it back on her head.
"Then let's put the Crimson Caravan and the Van Graffs out of business."
Six looked eastward—toward New Vegas, toward Freeside.
Where the guilty still slept peacefully.
Not for long.
_______________________________________________
The War Bus roared to life as dusk settled in, its engine growling as it sped down the highway toward Freeside, the city of sin—and soon, the city of reckoning. The broken neon signs above the streets flickered defiantly against the encroaching night.
However, this evening, the usual chaos was subdued. The Kings had cleared the streets, posted scouts, and restrained their typical swagger to witness history unfold.
Six and crew were processing the carnage they'd just uncovered in their own way, Six had sent a message ahead—no one interfered. Not the NCR, not the King himself, not even the Followers. This was going to be loud, fast, and final.
Silver Rush stood like a fortress in the middle of Freeside. Reinforced doors, barred windows, guards packing energy weapons like they were candy. The Van Graffs' pride and joy. But pride made them complacent. And they didn't expect Six's crew rolling in like judgment day.
The War Bus skidded to a stop with a screech of brakes and hiss of steam, its turrets already deploying as Six stepped out, cowboy hat on, coat flapping in the wind. Cassidy was right behind him, gaze fixed ahead, shotgun in hand, rage boiling off her like heat from a forge. This wasn't just about revenge; it was about making the bastards pay for everything they had taken from her.
As they neared the Van Graffs' Silver Rush, Six leaned over to Rebecca.
"Let the Kings handle the streets."
He said quietly.
"We don't need a bloodbath here."
Rebecca nodded, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the horizon.
"Understood, big guy. Those chooms will keep the place clean. We just need to finish what we start."
Boone took high ground, setting up overwatch on a building across the street. Roger took point near the front entrance, sword in hand. Rex growled low, almost excited, and ED-E chorus in his battle music.
Six turned to the others, voice low and firm.
"No mercy. No survivors."
He activated a signal beacon on his Pip-Boy. A second later, a dozen B1 Battle Droids dropped from cloaking mode along the street—silent, still, awaiting command.
Then Six gave the nod.
The air was thick with the smell of hot metal and ionized air, the unmistakable scent of plasma weapons. Cassidy led the charge, her eyes sharp and determined as she stepped out into the dusty, cracked street, her fingers tight around her shotgun.
"Time to burn these assholes out."
Rebecca muttered under her breath, her voice a cold promise.
The world exploded.
Roger's flying slash blew the front doors clean off their hinges, shattered metal spraying inward.
Entering the Silver Rush, the iconic neon lights flickered above, casting a sickly glow across the showroom. The Van Graff's lavish establishment looked the same as always, but the tension in the air was palpable.
The energy weapons lined up in glass cases, each more deadly than the last, gleamed under the dim lights, waiting for the next customer foolish enough to pay for their poison.