[b][color=green][h3]Thomas "Judas" Kelly
Western Oregon, I-5, Northern Frontier[/h3][/color][/b]

Thomas, like many times before, was thinking about the Mojave and specifically the Vegas area. It was his home. Almost everything, good and awful in his life, had happened to him in the ruins of that area. It being such a place of significance for him he often found himself deeply missing it in the times he’d wandered far off. Which for him wasn’t actually that often. As a mercenary he had never truly needed to. Vegas was bursting with work for a man such as him, and the turbulence caused by the war between the NCR and Legion had meant there was always plenty of work to be found in the Mojave too. If there was one thing the NCR had always lacked, it was the means or smarts to properly secure their territory. The holes in security they left were often filled in by mercs and the locals eager to pay them.

As such Thomas was now the furthest from Vegas he’d ever been and despite the nagging feeling of homesickness he was quietly happy in his choice to make the trip. Even walking up the I-10, his rifle in his arms and his eyes scanning possible ambush points among the rusted out vehicles on the road ahead.

He thought back to the night before. Never in his life had he seen such splendor. The Mojave had beauty if you looked for it, but the amazing sights he’d seen recently on this trip didn’t need to be found or thought about. They displayed themselves as self-evidently beautiful. Plants and trees of wondrous green colours, some of which quite literally glowed at night. All his years in the Mojave and the closest thing he’d ever seen to such a thing was the man-made lights of New Vegas. Those lights and sights he couldn’t appreciate in nearly the same way. For where this natural beauty asked nothing of humanity for its presence, Vegas asked for everything. An industry and vision man designed to act as a makeshift siren, the like of which he’d read of in the Odyssey.

The day before they had stopped in Klamath. A community bustling with generations of hunters and trappers. These folk knew a thing or two about their trade and Thomas had thoroughly enjoyed conversing with them on topics such as the local wildlife and terrain. He’d been quite easily persuaded to buy some of their hand-loaded hot rounds, especially after being told of the size and tenacity of some of the beasts further north. Of which he’d never even heard tell of back down south. As such his go to big-game gun, the Glock 29 tucked into its holster on the small of his back was now loaded up with +P 10mm rounds. A few well placed shots with those would be enough to drop a Bighorner Bull, as was the intent. He also couldn’t help but buy a small tub of coffee as soon as he heard tell of it in the general store. The lady asked a damn near extortionate price but he couldn’t help himself. He’d fallen in love with it over the years. 

Eventually Dr. Sadeghi called out for them to follow her down a trail so they could set up camp for the night. Thomas was personally grateful, even as young as he was, the trek had been a tiring one. His calf muscles were threatening to cramp and his hold of the rifle had gotten a tad lazy, threatening to simply let it hang by its sling. He dragged himself out of his thoughts and followed their leaders instructions, forcing himself to tighten his grip on the rifle and focus on their surroundings. Thankfully the place seemed to be clear and they got to work. Thomas found himself a comfortable looking place for his bedroll and laid it down. He then spent about an hour helping gather some wood for a fire and set up a pot of water to boil, hoping for a cup of coffee. He thought about going over and offering the doc a cup, she’d more than earned one after spearheading their expedition. As he glanced over though he noticed a familiar draw to her face, one that to him seemed to betray thoughts and emotions he often felt himself. Whether he was simply projecting or not immediately became irrelevant. He didn’t have the emotional intellect or confidence to pull her away from whatever it was. He would ask later instead.

As time went on and darkness fell he wearily unclipped his armour and unslung his rifle. He would have liked to keep both on but they were impossible to comfortably lay in. He’d wake up with a back throbbing with pain for the next week. As it was, the risk was worth a good few hours of sleep. Laying the armour pieces and his rifle down next to his bed he climbed onto it himself, taking his Glock out of it’s holster and resting it on his chest, his hat covering it. It was a habit that had saved his life more than once. Slowly, when thoughts finally quit barrelling at him one after the other, he drifted off to sleep.

---

He awoke frightfully to the yelling of the doc, his hand immediately tightening around the grip of his handgun. He shot up, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes, switching the handgun from safe to ready to fire and moving with haste towards the docs side and closer to the fearsome sounding growls. He made sure not to look directly at any of the various light sources on his way over. He knew for sure he’d need some night vision for this. Staring off into the dark he spotted more than a few sets of four yellow eyes, way too far off the ground for his comfort. Raising his handgun up he got into the Chapman stance. Such a stance that would help with the heavy recoil of the +P rounds.

Aiming between four glowing eyes he squeezed the trigger, once, twice, three times. The boom of the handgun echoed explosively in their surroundings. The beast stumbled with a pained whine and dropped, it’s bright eyes falling off into the darkness. Quickly turning again he found another glowing target and corrected his stance and aim, once again squeezing to the sound of a boom followed by a whine. 

[color=green][i]“Six more rounds before reload”.[/i][/color] He thought, hoping that his companions were decent shots.