Marcus Renault awoke slowly as the sun peeked over the horizon and shined onto the mirror that Renault uses as an alarm clock. He set it so the mirror faces the horizon and shines the sun directly into his eyes as it crests the horizon, something he regrets every morning. He sat up and yawned loudly before standing and doing his morning stretches. Before the war his girlfriend had been big into gymnastics and he found that being limber was a great boon in combat as well. As he was stretching his hamstrings a man barged through the door and stood at attention in the doorway. “What?” Renault demanded angrily. “The Senate has decided that you and Lenix will be flying to New Vegas in the P-60 fighter craft to participate in the First American Conference. Planes are being prepped as we speak. Lenix is waiting for you in the mess hall.” The man promptly spun on his heel and walked away as Renault pulled on a plain white T-shirt and black cargo pants under a black trench coat and quickly finished his stretches. Why does it have to be me? Can't they just send Lenix and be done with it? Renault thought to himself as he stepped out of his room deep inside the bunkers buried under the massive fortress that was Fallback Alcatraz. This base has had stood up to any invasion since before the Great War and this conference could possibly determine whether it must weather another. When the others had awoken early seventy years in the past they told him they had found the base in ruins, the seawall crumbling and many of the fortifications destroyed or irradiated beyond salvage. Today, the base is reminiscent of its prewar glory with artillery and troops manning the battlements once again. Renault finally reached the mouth of the bunker complex and nodded to the gate guard stationed in his booth who then pressed a few buttons and turned a key on a big panel which sounded the door alarm. It was loud and abrasive as Renault waited for the large steel door not unlike a vault door to slide out of its place. It made a high pitched squealing sound as steel the steel door pulled into the room and rolled out of the way to reveal blinding sunshine and a blast of sweltering, humid sea air struck Renault like a wall. Instantly he started to sweat as he walked through a courtyard that was outside of the bunker doors to see a platoon of infantry training drill. They marched in perfect unison around the courtyard but stopped to salute him as he strode past. He noticed they all wore the skull patch of the 8th Infantry Battalion. The 8th. Fine men. They fought hard under my command during the War for Hoover Dam. He saluted them back and continued on his way. He saw many artillery pieces sitting pointed out to sea, though he could barely remember the last time they were used. Renault could smell the mess hall before he saw it, it had the familiar aroma of cooking meat and the sound of animated chatter that was associated with good food and good friends. The mess hall was a squat single story building that was made of concrete with a corrugated metal roof that gently curved like a parentheses mark. Renault strode in and immediately saw John Lenix sitting at the officer table eating a slice of bacon with french toast sitting on his plate. The man was in his mid fifties with silver hair and wearing a simple gray suit without a tie. The mess hall was about half full of men eating and joking while the unlucky boys who got kitchen duty were still back there cooking. Everyone in the military got a ration card every month with enough dots for three meals a day for 32 days a month as part of their pay. Every time they came in for a meal they would get one dot punched out and got that meal. Anyone who wanted more food than they had dots would pay for the food in caps. Renault got himself his breakfast and sat next to Lenix at the table and began to scarf his food down. “You should enjoy your food while you can kid. When war breaks out again food will be scarce and you'll miss the taste of a good slice of Brahmin bacon.” “ We don't have time to waste enjoying our food Lenix, we can’t be late for that convention. Besides, how are you so sure that War will break out again?” “We've been selling weapons by the crateload and our Infiltrators have been reporting massive buildups of troops and supplies, especially by the NCR and the Legion.” “So? We’ve done it too but we aren't looking to pick a fight with anyone.” Lenix sighed heavily and finished his food before setting his plate in the dish sink and washing his hands. Renault hurriedly did the same and followed the older man as he walked towards the hangar. The four P-60 fighter-bombers were beautiful and sleek as they taxied out onto the runway, their rumbling engines dominating the air. Each plane generally carried six .50 caliber machine guns and a pair of one hundred pound bombs but today was different. Each plane has a crew of two men but today each one had a pilot and a passenger, a Republican Guard without power armor and an Infiltrator rode the escort planes along with the delegates in the other two planes. Renault and Lenix boarded different planes and taxied onto the runway as well when the onboard radio crackled to life. “Delegation this is Control Tower, youre wearing drop tanks to make sure you have enough fuel to get there. You have clearance to take off when ready. Good flying guys.” The six hour flight was dull and boring, Renault had no contact with anyone but the crew of the four P-60 aircraft until they were near McCarran airport. “ McCarran Control Tower, Angels of War delegation requesting permission to land.” “Angels of War delegation, this is McCarran Control tower. You are cleared to land.” Renault and Lenix dismounted along with their companion Republican Guard and Infiltrator after they landed and told the pilots to stay with the planes and refuel them before being greeted by a securitron with the cartoon face of a soldier. “Welcome to New Vegas Commander Lenix and Lieutenant-” Renault cut the machine off. “Major Renault. I was promoted.” The machine’s face blinked into an embarrassed expression for a moment before reverting back to its original face. “Major Renault. You must be here for the American Convention. It is being held inside the Ultra Luxe Gourmand. Follow me please.” The two soldiers looked at each other before motioning for their companions to follow and accompanied the machine to the monorail. Lenix was fascinated by the monorail, but Renault just sat back and waited as he had ridden monorails many times before the Great War. It was a simple mode of transportation to him. Upon arriving at the strip the delegation was asked to disarm much to the discomfort and annoyance of the Republican Guard. As the delegation walked towards the Ultra Luxe Renault turned and talked to his two companions. “Guardsman I need you to find the representative of the New Texas Confederation and tell him I need to meet with him after the main conference. You, Infiltrator, I need you to go gather intel however you deem best.” Both men nodded and peeled off. The guardsman went into the Ultra Luxe while the Infiltrator walked towards a group of people standing on the street. Renault and Lenix looked each other in the eye “Ready old man?” “Always.” The two men talked up to the desk and told the receptionist who they were and collected their bag before accompanying a masked waiter to the room in which the conference was being held. Renault dismissed the waiter before he could introduce them to the crowd of frighteningly powerful men and women sitting in front of them, preferring to simply sit in their booth and open the bottle of scotch they received in their bag. Renault took one swig straight from the bottle before making a sour face and handing the bottle to the older man and swallowing. “This jet fuel is shit.” “This isn't jet fuel, Marcus.” “It tastes like it.” “Shut it kid. Don't offend the host.” Renault grumbled under his breath a little before quieting down. They two men surveyed the room and recognized few people among the crowd. They instantly recognized the Legion delegates as they had fought against these very men five rears prior during the War of Hoover Dam. Renault lost a very good friend during the final battle, cut down by the Legion’s legate. The only other people they recognized was the heads of the Van Graffs, Salvatore and Gloria Van Graff. They knew of the Van Graffs only as they were the reason they couldn't gain traction in the energy weapons market. Renault saw a young, pale girl who seemed like some of the NCR’s de facto nobility had gotten lost and wound up here. Flanking her was a massive man wearing a black trench coat and gloves. His gaze rested on the girl for but a moment before it was drawn to her companion. The man had noticed his look and was staring him down with a look of pure malice. Renault felt something in the back of his mind telling him to look away and that something wasn't right about these people, but he forced himself to meet his stare unflinchingly and unafraid. Renault’s composure held firm for the first ten seconds but then the feeling of unease started to grow. Renault was about to look away but luckily the girl nudged the man and started talking to him, causing him to break their stare. Renault looked over the girl one more time before looking down at his table. Something is very wrong with those people, I can feel it. I should stop looking at people. Renault sat back in his booth and tuned out, preferring to dwell in his memories of the world before the war.