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[center] [i][b][url=https://thumbs.gfycat.com/AliveCrispAntarcticfurseal-size_restricted.gif] [b]The Good Times [/b][/url]that never last, even in the City of Sin[/b][/i] [/center]
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An honest man had no business being in the city of sin, and if anything, Red Wheel was an honest man. He never had felt comfortable around people, and never had he seen so many mingle at one place. He felt a thousand eyes on him at once, the loud noises around him made him feel small and the constant laughter from all sides seemed so wickedly mocking. The blood rider of the road-chief might tower high, above his two companions, yet be felt very distant from them, as he walked behind them, far from their laughter and joking. Thunderbird, great road-captain of the 80s was roaring drunk, clinging to the shoulder of the equally drunk Shout-Thunders, who’s hands missed the backside of a passing gambler, who turned and gave him the finger. Turning her head at him, the woman hurried her step, as Red Wheel just kept on walking. The booze never had the amusing effect on him, that it had on other men. It made him just slower, be it in reaction or wit, so he never understood the desire of other men to get drunken. And here, everyone was drunk, loud and wicked. He turned his nose at a passing whore, her breasts exposed to the night sky, as she tried to lay her arms around him. Without a word, he pushed her away, before closing up to his two friends, ignoring the woman's curses behind him. 

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[center][[b]Six hours before[/b]][/center]
Even the taste of the steak, that so perfectly laid before him on a plate, seemed off. None of the three 80s had any skill in the usage of fork and knife, and so they awkwardly cut the meat in front of them, before, in a moment when no waiter was looking, began to dig in with their hands, just like they had always done on the road, and their ancestors once had, and still did in the halls of the painted host and freckled maid, high above on the eternal highway. The taste was deep, the spices burned his tongue and even the blood of the brahmin tasted too clean and slick. A cold shiver ran down Red Wheels back, as he placed the meat back on the table, and looked away, yet it was Thunderbirds clear voice, that finally ripped him from his thoughts. [b]"You dont like the women, you dont like the shows, you dont like the booze and you dont like the meat...highway above, why the fuck did I even bring you? Whole world wants to see Vegas and I can haggle them to let me bring two lads with me, and all you do is look like someone pissed on your bike. Is there anything you grim fuck enjoy here?"[/b] Red wheel looked at Thunderbird, the tall, sunburned man, with the broken nose, and deep green eyes, who´s hair had been bound in braids, while he wore a suit that gave him such a fitting look for Vegas, that for a moment, Red Wheel wondered if there was a place, this man would ever be out of place. [i]"...your company.."[/i] He wanted to say, but instead just grunted and reached for the salt. [b]"That boxing match was nice.."[/b] he grumbled, returning to his steak after giving it some salt, trying to wash away the clean and slick taste from it, and somewhat neutralize the spice. 



[b]"Yeah, but you sucker placed your bet on the losing fighter. Told you that ghoul had fighting eyes."[/b] Shout-thunder took the steak up once more, but this time, a masked waiter came close. [b]"My good sir, may I please humbly ask, that you are following the adequate etiquette of this place? For our tribal guests, we do provide guidance on how to..."[/b] For a moment, it looked like Shout-thunder was about to throw the steak into the waiters face. A smile grew on Red-Wheels face, for he would love nothing more, then beat up some of these slick mask wearing folks, reminding them on what the true world was like, outside these walls, where the highways were long and free. He felt his blood boil, but then Thunderbird already had his hand on his companions arm, and stopped him with a stern look. Turing to the waiter, he gave him a disarming smile, and send him off with a wave. [b]"Just use the fucking fork and knife lads...ain't that hard! Besides, when weren't you handy with the knife, blood-brother?"[/b] Shout-Thunder nodded shortly, and for a few seconds, Red Wheel felt such emberassment over the fact, that he would have almost ruined the evening for Thunderbird. He had talked about Vegas, ever since he had heard of it, and now, before they would ride along the highway, to the east, he had wanted to see this place with his own eyes. 

[b]"One day, I will bring my sons to this place. All of them. And they will eat in here like proper civilized folk."[/b] Thunderbird once more picked up the fork and knife, and cut the meat gently. [b]"Gonna come in here, Thunderfoot in one hand, Thunderstone in the other...and I will tell them, about the time that their oil-uncles sat here with me."[/b] Shout-Thunder snorted over that. [b]"You better keep the visits to the Gomorrah to yourself, blood-brother. Or to that redhead of yours. Fiery temper that one."[/b] Once more, Red Wheel felt the envy inside him. He hated that red haired slut, that Thunderbird had taken during a raid, and become so infatuated with. She didn't appreciate him, she loved that Brat Thunderfoot, not him. Why could Thunderbird not see the snake at his side? And why didn't he hear when he was warning her about her. But he always just said, that it was his way about women, and his general dislike of them, that spoke, not the naturally true intuition he had about her...and that brat Thunderfoot. [b]"You know that I like them fiery brother. Gives me something to live for, besides your depressing company, blood-brothers. And something to come home to, once we have seen the east. For we will ride, brothers! Every Chapta-housa we visit, I shall speak. I shall bring forth all the prospects and form a might chapter...for let me tell you, I came here with you, as a Road-Captain. But when I will visit this place one day with my sons, I will do so as a road-king!"[/b] Red-Wheel couldn't help but feel the fire burning inside him. He would follow Thunderbird to the end of the world, and beyond it. For he truly was the kind of leader, old stories told about, worthy of the name of the conqueror of the I90, legendary Thunderbull.  

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Leaning against the wall, Red Wheel let out a sigh, as the sound of puking assaulted his ears. Shout-Thunder was laughing, like the mindless goon he was. [b]"I fucking...told ya...you cant stomach..all that booze...[/b] Far in the distant, the sun was rising, yet this damn city, still wasnt asleep. Nobody here seemed to sleep, as all was unnatural and wicked in this blood place. Red-wheel hated it so much. [b]"I...i gonna...gonna bring...thunderstone...and thuunnderfooot here! And...and Redhair...w--we gpmma..watch the showss in the Tops! And we gonna eat ICE cream!"[/b] Stumbling, Thunderbird pushed Shout-Thunder to the side, clutching the sides of Red-wheel. [b]"YOU...BLOOD BROTHER..will come with us! And scare..all them off who wish to harm my sons! You...me...and SHOUTA..THUNDA..."[/b] The mentioned blood brother just grunted, as he leaned against the wall blinking and groaning. [b]"Promise that you will protect my sons...when we all go back to vegas, brother...when we all go back to Vegas.." [/b]

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[center] [i][b][url=https://66.media.tumblr.com/80f6236a4f7c554fef5ea1427f8f01b6/tumblr_nywvd4gc4p1ruazzko1_500.png] [b] Red Wheel [/b][/url] Road Captain of the Orphans of California - Today, long after the good times [/b][/i] [/center]
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Killing scorpions was easier, then to kill the vermin of the same name. Jet had burned through them, harder than the NCR had done. How they could have remained in Nevada, was a mystery to Red Wheel. The ash and fire of the place, burned in his nose, as he looked at what had become the normal sight for him these days. Another camp, burned and looted, to be sacked fully by his men. Not that the scorpions, or Vipers or Fiends or Khan remnants in the regions had much of anything left. Vegas had bled Nevada dry, turning it into a place of wandering tribes, fearful of the city of light, that always seemed to loom at the night sky. 

Red Wheel climbed off his bike, as he held onto his warclub, the smell of death, blood and piss, becoming so attached to the name of Nevada for him, that he hardly could smell it anymore. Turning to his left, he could see his Sergant-atta-armsa approaching. Back his days, he would have been hardly old enough to count as a true Mem-bar warrior, but these days, old men like him were rare, and the young were so prevalent, that Red Wheel felt like residue from a long gone time, even though he was hardly near his 40s. [b]"We took 20 captives worth taking, Road-Captain! Food for maybe a week, and engine-blood for four days! We lost two prospects in the assault.."[/b] It felt like he had heard this news countless times. Reports of a raid, the loot made, and the losses suffered. For him, it meant little more, then being able to endure a week more of this. A week more of raiding another shitty village or camp and of nights that seemed so endless, filled with cold rage against the bear to the west, fear for the city of light in the south and guilt for they who had been left behind in the west. [b]"Load them up! We're going to see to it that we trade the captives for further gas and ammo. Kill the rest of the captives. And make sure that the lads don't touch the jet or women." [/b] 

Walking through the ruins of the camp, Red Wheel had hardly any thoughts for the fallen, be they Scorpions or 80s. So many good men had died in Thunderbirds war against the NCR, what did these losses mean compared to them? He had long given up to hope to see them again on the eternal highway. Hope itself had become a thing of the past, as duty to the chapter was all that remained for him, now that he, who had given his life light and hope, had died. The good days were over. The hard days of the past were over. These, where the days of shit, trapped in Nevada, too weak to face the bear again, too proud to return home and too bitter to bend the knee to the legion. Nevada, once a place of hope, had become a cage, for the 80s of the west to perish in. Yes, they had come with strength and fury upon the scorpions and vipers and all the other scum, but Red Wheel had not the will or charisma of Thunderbird. He led, because he had been the last one standing, the last one willing to ride west. Shout-Thunder had taken his men and road east, but Red-Wheel would not forget, or forgive. They had taken his light from this world, and they would pay...or, so he had thought. For years, he now was trapped in the cage of Nevada, and for years, this was his life. Indeed, this was the time of shit.

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Once more, the road trembled under the hundreds of bikes of Red Wheels road chapter. Once more, they were riding north, away from the city of lights. Rumors had it of an untouched town near the NCR border, but still outside their protection. Red Wheel would go there, and if luck would be on his side, the NCR would have some of its soldiers there. Not enough to fend them off, but still enough to give him a taste of revenge against them. 
Being the road captain, he rode a few hundred meters before his lads, along a broken highway. It was his place to lead them, to guide them and to protect them. But he no longer could promise them glorious victories, or gasoline to keep their engines running. All he could promise them, was that he would not turn his back on California. That he would stay in Nevada, ready to fall upon the NCR when the day to repay came. Yet it had not come yet, and each passing day, made it seem like it would never come. What was there left for Red Wheel to do? He had given up on the 80s that had fled to the ruins of Salt-Lake City, bowing before the Bull and his protection. For an 80 did not kneel! Redhair was now leading them, and Red-Wheel still regretted that he had not strangled that witch long ago. But he had not, for he had been to heartbroken over the death of his light, his friend...his blood brother. He still could hear his laughter in the wind, his howl when he gave the red bike the final push. But he was dead, hanged in front of a roaring crowd in Shady Sands. 

He wished he still had the will, to hope that he would one day see him again, on the eternal highway, where they could ride together, eternal and free. But he no longer had these illusions. All he had were memories and a choking desire for revenge that became more unlikely with each passing day. Once more, Red Wheel increased the speed of his bike, hoping that at least in speed, he could escape it all, be it just a few passing minutes.