So....this was a new experience. Henry Sullivan took a long, satisfied drag on the cigarette as he sat heavily on the heap of metal he guessed used to be a car. It was hard to tell with how mangled most of the scrap in this area was. Must have been stuff caught in the shockwave of one of the bombs when they fell over 200 years ago. He didn't have time to ponder the former state of his seat right now, though. Right now he was more concerned about just what the hell the damn thing that had attacked him was.

It'd been short, not much bigger than a dog. It looked a bit like a kid, in shape. But it had been...black. Inky black, like a shadow. And the eyes...they glowed gold and bright as a Glowing One. It'd taken buckshot like a champ, and the only thing that seemed to hurt it was the...thing in his hand. He guessed it was some kind of sword, but sure as hell not like the katanas that he'd seen those Yakuza boys carrying. It looked evil, but...it felt right, for some reason, in his hand. It'd just sort of appeared during the fight, right in time to catch the sucker in the chest. It'd gone up in smoke after that. And this was coming after all that crazy shit that was going on in New Vegas and the rest of the Mojave. 

So now the wastelander sat and smoked, trying to figure out just what the hell was going on. He had the feeling that he wasn't going to like the answer. 

"Hell...guess the Good Lord does work in mysterious ways..."