[u][b]The King - Lucky 38 Hotel & Casino[/b][/u]

[i]You know what to do.[/i] Robert House’s words reverberated through the corridors of the King’s mind as he straightened his tie and gazed into his own hypnotic blue eyes in the mirror. He looked different. House had torn the ‘greaser’ gene out of him. Donning a sharp grey suit and a fedora, he now looked the part of a gentleman. The image unsettled him and simultaneously filled him with a distinct sort of confidence. The Kings had metamorphized under Robert’s watch, and so had he.

The King took a deep breath and fixed himself a glass of ice before filling it with brandy for the road – the extremely taxing, two-or-so minute walk that it took to get to the Ultra Luxe. Whether he liked it or not, this was his home now. He wasn’t going to bring an entourage. Just himself. He took the elevator down to the Lucky 38 lobby.
	
“I know it’ll be a good’n!” hollered a familiar robotic voice, bellowing from the dark expanse of the Lucky 38’s lounge. The King turned around and locked eyes with the always-unsettling digital image of ‘Victor’, a jolly cowboy personality that Mr. House had crafted.
	
“I…I hope so,” muttered the King under his breath. He couldn’t continue to look at the screen. The concept of Robert’s creepy array of handcrafted robotic personalities made him shiver. He had learned early on that ‘Jane’, House’s personal ‘assistant’, was fashioned after a woman whom had enthralled his affections before the war. He wondered who Victor was based off…A long-dead movie star, perhaps, who now lived on through Robert’s unsettling perpetuation of his image. The King wondered, when the right day came and he took his leave from the world, if House would fashion one for him too – an exaggerated, embellished image of his face. A lost ghost for House to add to his collection. [i]Enough.[/i] He had a meeting to attend.
	
“I’m sure it will. Nothin’ beats the charm of good ol’ Mr. House, eh?!” Victor clapped his steel claws against his own hull and chuckled.
	
“Uh huh…” hollered the King unconvincingly as he swung open the massive door to the Lucky 38 and became one with the splendor-ridden street of the Strip. 


[b][u]Ultra-Luxe Resort & Casino[/u][/b]

Upon arriving at the Ultra Luxe, the King was nodded at by the various white glove employees. He was calm. Even in this creepy-ass casino he was dwelling in his own stomping grounds. He made a beeline for the Gourmand and calmly walked inside. He reached into his pocket and retrieved his pocket-watch. He was early – very early. In addition, the table had already been colonized by a few early-birds. The Legion, NCR, and Brotherhood of Steel had all already shown up. [i]Typical. [/i]
	
As The King made his way to his assigned seat at the table, a securitron began to bellow. “Please welcome…the representative of the F.Z.M…The…King!” The King covered his face with his palm and deeply sighed as he sat down at the table. Back at the Elvis School of Impersonation, he lived for this sort of shit. But now he had become a different animal, one that dressed, talked, and perceived a lot more like Robert House. 

[i]That[/i] was a scary thought – The King himself becoming the physical manifestation of Mr. House. He wouldn’t let it happen. Never. His mind raced and attempted to distract itself from the sheer amount of power that already rested at this table. He straightened his hat, took off his coat, set it on the chair, and slowly slipped onto its cushion. He was as ready as he could be.