[color=00aeef][u][b]New Vegas - The Lucky 38 Hotel and Casino[/b][/u][/color]

The meeting had been an auspicious one. Two former friends and colleges, relics of a bygone age, meeting once again after all these years. Thomas strode out of the Lucky 38 with Cait in tow feeling as if he’d stepped into the past and was once more returning to his own time. With the knowledge and clarity he needed to enact his plan for this new world. 

As he left, he was met with whispers and surprised glances from the Strip’s denizens. Many wondering who the stranger who’d entered the Lucky 38 was, and why House had deemed him worthy of meeting: when so few had ever been given such an opportunity. But they all soon shrugged their shoulders and went back to their business and vices. What had passed between them, what secrets and knowledge might have been shared, would be known only to them. 

“I think we can afford one final night here in Vegas,” Thomas said as he turned to Cait, “Afterwards, we should be able to return to Boston.”

“I suppose we won’t be out much,” Cait replied. Her thoughts immediately turned to what she knew Thomas was probably already considering. The two disguised Coursers accompanying them would undoubtedly agree as well. 

“Correct. We should keep a low profile. Entering the Lucky 38 no doubt drew some unwanted attention to us. I’ve asked House to provide us with one of his Securitrons for added protection as well, just as a precaution. And he has in turn asked The White Gloves to furnish us with accommodations for the night and to tighten security on the premises. Officially, the cover will be that we’re a wealthy NCR industrialist and his wife looking to establish relations with Vegas and the Free Economic Zone.”

“No half-measures, as always,” Cait sighed, “I’ll just be glad when we can get back home. Never thought I’d miss the sight of egg-heads in white coats but all I want to do is sit on the balcony with a cup of coffee and watch the lights dim on the Concourse.”

“We’ll be back before you know it. We just need to wait for the necessary preparation for our return journey to be finished. Its not exactly easy. Meanwhile, let's enjoy the lights and sounds of Vegas one last time. I expect we shouldn’t be back for awhile after tonight. We’ve got so much work to do when we return….” 

[u][b][color=ed1c24]Legate Aurelius, Siege of Indianapolis[/color][/b][/u] 

The landing gear of the vertibird touched down in the first secure open location Lancer Sergeant Robert Kyle could find. Aurlieus and the Praetorians who’d accompanied him immediately disembarked and The Legate gave Kyle a thankful nod.

“Vale,” He said, “Mars be with you.”

Kyle did not reply, but gave a salute in response, he immediately renengaged the rotary blades and lifted back up into the air. He could not delay. His flight path would take him back to Brotherhood forward command. He was expecting new orders to be coming down soon. 

Aurelius, meanwhile, turned his attention to cleaning up the mess at hand. His Praetorians easily procured horses and The Legate and his retinue immediately remounted. With the banner of Caesar once more held aloft, the Legionaries took heart and cheered. Aurelius wasted no time and immediately set to work organizing the counter-attack. He raced back and forth through the streets and into ranks of the Legionaries, overseeing commands personally and extolling men to greater feats of valor and sacrifice in the name of bloody Mars and mighty Caesar. With the surprise impetus of the Cult’s ambush now gone, the discipline and stern battle-rhythm of the Legion began to win out.  With the counter-offensive now in full force, Aurellius gathered his men and began a final push,

“To Vulpes!” The Legate cried, drawing his Gladius and charging forward surrounded by his Praetorians and veteran Legionaries. He cut down Cultists left and right as they surged forward, breaking through their now disordered ranks. Man and mutant beast alike fell with the dark name of their unholy patron on their lips as the Legion steel sliced through them. 

Silently and fervently, he sent up a prayer to Mars and even to the God of the New Canaanites for his old friend and comrade to still be alive, trapped as he was in the thick of the fighting: ambushed by the Cult’s monstrous leader. He had faith in Vulpes ability and tenacity to survive even in the most dire of circumstances, but he was now intimately familiar with just how devious and dangerous this Cult could be. Nothing could be certain. 

[color=39b54a][u][b]A Malign Fog - Somewhere off the Coast of New England[/b][/u][/color]

A horn blared, and the fog began to roll in. The sky took on a sickly green hue, and the atmosphere was charged, as if in the midst of a lighting storm. The taste of metal was felt on every tongue. 

A fleet of ships tore through the haze, and the massive rusted guns began firing. The small seaside town they had come to claim was torn apart as shells crashed through walls and collapsed roofs. Fires spread and the townspeople cried in terror. 

The pirates came ashore then, several heavily armed ghouls led a horde of half-ferals onto the beach. The wretched creatures had barely enough sentience to hold a weapon, but well enough to follow the orders of their captains. 

They began looting the town, carrying off any who fell into their clutches and killing any who resisted in any orgy of violence. Those who were carted off were the unfortunate ones, doomed to a short life of slavery and radiation sickness or led to the bowels of the ships to be turned into half-ferals themselves. 

Those that escaped would spread the tale of the Tattered Fleet to any who would listen. Begging and pleading for someone to help them and warning any towns in their path that they could very well be next.