[b]I was finally in position. I could finally do it. That bastard would pay for his crimes. Every. Last. One. All the murders. All the raids. All the stealing. All the slaving. All the... All the other things I don't want to think about. What he's done to Alice, what he's done to the NCR... What he's done... To me. All of the things, he would pay! I'd kill him! He stood there, all smug in his metal, Roman-style armor with the spikes on the shoulders. His metal, red-plumed helmet with the weird beard on the bottom. His ballistic fist was on, and I knew it's name. Caesar's Weight. If I wasn't trying to stay silent, I'd laugh. Caesar was dead. The Courier who helped us so much in the Mojave killed him. If I ever found that Courier, I'd give him a goddamned medal. The men that the Legate had killed with that weapon was hundreds, maybe thousands. The weapon on his back, a red gauss rifle with painted-on skulls wearing NCR helmets was haunting to me. He's shot me and many others hundreds of times with it. Far as I know, I'm the only survivor of a direct hit. Everyone else was torn to shreds. I was lucky I had reinforced my armor for my first assault on the Legate's previous camp, back in Denver. I try to forget that day, but I can't. No matter what. I look at him through my scope, settling on his red hunting revolver. He stole it from a Ranger, Ranger Thomas, I think. I'll get that gun back, and bring it to his grave back in California, the Boneyard, specifically. His wife'll be happy to know I killed the Legate. And that's what I was gonna do. Kill him. He was polishing his large, scrap metal sword. I was lucky he was out at his little hideaway, a small house just outside Dojoville. I took aim at him through my silenced, .308 sniper rifle. I'd left my .50 MG rifle back at my room in the Dojo, with Alice. I looked at him through the scope, point it at the middle of his chest, and pull the trigger. It was as if everything was in slow-motion. I saw the bullet travel through the air, heard the whistle, heard the squelch as it barreled into the Legate's chest. It was like I'd just taken a dose of Ultrajet. The Legate fell out of his chair, off the porch of the house. I knew he wasn't dead yet, though. It'd take a lot more than that to kill him. A damn lot more. I put my rifle back on my back, and unholstered my Riot Shotgun from my hip. I load it a barrel of fletchette rounds, just slightly armor piercing. I sprint up to the porch, my brown coat rustling against my NCR Ranger Combat Armor, the two-headed bear of the NCR on both shoulders. My Ranger number, 86, was painted on my chest. I had jeans, reinforced by a ballistic weave, rustling against themselves. My brown boots pounded the dust, all the way up to the steps. I had to play this safe, or the Legate would kill me. I knew he had AP rounds already loaded. He always did. I'd been monitoring him for the past few weeks. I slink around the side of the dusty, wooden porch, right into where the Legate would be at. And there he was. He was standing up, and had his ballistic fist raised, ready to strike. Too bad for him I knew a technique, one where o could knock him down with a shotgun blast. I squeezed the trigger around seven times, knocking him down, and also punching a few holes in his armor. I put a foot on his chest, and put the shotgun on his elbow.[/b] "Time to die, you murdering psychopath. I'm going to make you suffer. I took out your guards hours ago. You have no help here." [b]I pulled the trigger, blowing blood, shards of bone, and pieces of flesh fly everywhere. The Legate screams, hot blood streaming from his newly-created stump. He held it into the air, yelling out in pain. I moved the shotgun barrel to his hand, and forced it to the ground. The Legate was no longer screaming, but still clearly in pain. I pull the trigger, blowing his entire hand off, sending it in a couple hundred directions. More hot blood. I was happy about this. He deserved it. He deserved everything I was about to do to him. It was then I felt a heat approaching my back, then a searing pain, and I'm sent flying forwards. I land several feet ahead, and I know my back is bleeding. Not fatal, but it'll scar and hurt like hell. I climb back up from the ground, and look back. It was the Cursor. I knew nothing but his face. He wore Praetorian Guard armor. I pulled my revolver from my hip. I took aim, and bang. He was dead. Head popped like a water balloon. I walk back over to the Legate, who had been injected with a stimpack, probably by the Cursor. The later Cursor, that is. I holster my revolver, and retrieve my shotgun. I walk back over to the Legate, still bleeding from my back. I put the shotgun to his left knee. I pull the trigger. Say goodbye to your left leg, you bastard. Did the same to the right. I put the shotgun to his chest, right where his heart is. I pull the trigger twice. Blood spurts everywhere, coating my front in a red rain. I knew he was dead. I had basically exploded his heart. I then pull the barrel to his head, and pull the trigger many, many times. I'd reloaded twice when I stopped. There was now a red puddle where his head was. I put away my shotgun, and began my trek to the Dojo. I was bleeding more and more as a walked, and breathing began a hard task. Half the way up the stairs, I coughed blood. I walked the rest of the way, exhausted and bleeding. I collapsed just inside the gates, too tired and too little blood to continue. My vision began to blur... I knew I needed help...[/b] [spoiler]Open.[/spoiler]