My Kingdom of Rubble

The Committee that held the city of New Vegas together consisted of Marjorie and Mortimer from the White Glove Society, Swank and Tommy Torini from the Chairmen, Cachino from the Omertas, Yes Man, who was appointed the bookkeeper and accountant for New Vegas, The King and Pacer from the Kings, Francine and James Garret from the Atomic Wrangler, Julia Farkas and Ignacio Rivas from the Follower's of the Apocalypse, and Elder McNamara and Paladin Hardin from the Brotherhood of Steel. Though some of the members may still hold hostile views of other ambassadors, this Committee runs like a well-oiled machine, ensuring that the city of New Vegas and the surrounding areas of the Mojave Wasteland are relatively safe and prosperous.

After the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, Ozzy began negotiating with these factions in the hopes that they may band together to not only sustain the Mojave, but to bring order to the hellish wasteland. Remembering all of the good deeds that Ozzy had done for them, but also recalling that Ozzy joined the ranks of the Legion, they at first denied his request. It was at this point that Ozzy revealed his grand plan to these individuals, who were swept away by how creative and devious this strategy was. Although they were weary of the Courier and his plans, they agreed. Thus, the First Committee of New Vegas had been formed.

That was six years ago. In that time, the Committee fulfilled its purpose ten fold. Trade routes had been opened with neighboring areas, nests of the deadliest creatures that the Wasteland had to offer had been cleared out and secured, and relations within the committee, though tense at times, had improved immensely. As successful as the Committee had become, they all recognized that Ozzy was the leader of this coalition, and most of what they had accomplished would not be possible without him.

Needless to say that when Ozzy broke the news that he would be leaving them for a time, their reaction was less than pleasant.

What started as the usual business reports and troop movement soon descended into frantic yelling and screaming at Ozzy, from most of the members from the Committee. Questions varied from 'Are you out of your mind?' to 'What the hell are we going to do? This place will burn without you here!' All of these questions were answered in a calm fashion, convincing the members that what Ozzy would hopefully find at this Enclave base would do great things for the Mojave, such as strengthening its defensive capabilities to selling the objects for a hefty sum of caps.

Despite having mixed emotions concerning the Courier's absence, the Committee assured Ozzy that the city and its surrounding area was in good hands. They adjourned in the high hopes that New Vegas would sustain itself in the Courier's absence, and Ozzy felt a little better knowing that New Vegas wouldn't fall into complete anarchy whilst he was away.

Equipped with his battle gear that consisted of a unique semi automatic rifle called 'This Machine' strapped to the left side of his back, a broad machete strapped to the right side of his back, an intricately detailed revolver named Mysterious Magnum lying in his right hip holster, an intimidating blue bowie knife given the name Blood Nap on his left holster, a backup 12.7 MM pistol strapped to his right leg, numerous hand grenades across his torso, a nice little straight razor christened 'Figaro' hidden inside his left boot for close and personal affairs, and all the ammunition he could ask for. His outfit consisted of a set of elite riot gear that Ozzy pried off a corpse in The Divide, but with the long trench coat replaced with the Courier's Duster, the proud emblem of the Legion bull emblazoned on the back. On his head, Ozzy wore the First Recon beret that a certain friend of his gave to him as a gift, and a pair aviator glasses nestled on his face to protect his eyes from the harsh Mojave sun.

Now eight days into his journey to Oregon, with the mild sun directly overhead, the Courier reflected on that day in the meeting room. Had he made the right decision in leaving his city in the hands of his competent Committee, but whose members could possibly overthrow his government and plunge New Vegas into a downward spiral of death and destruction? He did not know the answer to that, but if Ozzy had to put his money on anything, it was that the government he established could sustain itself for a little while without his presence.

Plus, I've got the Securitrons programmed to unload on anyone who might challenge my rule. It'll be ok.

Bullshit. You won't have a city to come back to.

Ozzy felt that same sharp pain in his head whenever He spoke. Whenever Ozzy thought that the situation was hopeless, whenever he knew that he was outgunned or outnumbered and had no possible way of winning, he always had one ace up his sleeve. Something that nobody, not Caesar, not President Kimball, not half of the Legion, NCR, Nightkin, not anyone, would count on.

Goat. His other half.

Where Ozzy was a rational thinker, a clever tactician, and a generally calm person, Goat was the polar opposite of that. Whereas Ozzy preferred to dispatch his enemies from a reasonable distance using the signature This Machine and Mysterious Magnum, Goat preferred to dismember his enemies while watching the light drain from their eyes using the broad machete and Blood Nap. When Ozzy left the corpses of his foes to rot and decay in the Wasteland, Goat preferred to send messages to would-be thugs, raiders, and general undesirables by disemboweling, decapitating, and disfiguring the bodies of his fresh kills, leaving their bodies on display in horrific displays of cruelty and inhumanness.

When Ozzy feels that he is not going to make it, Goat comes out to play in a blur of blood and gore, stunning all those who would dare stand against him. After Goat is finished creating modern art with the corpses of his foes, Ozzy comes back in a dazed stupor, praying that Goat did not take the life of someone who did not bring it upon themselves. For a majority of the time, Ozzy is the one in control, but rarely, very rarely, Goat will make an appearance in regular conversation. After profusely apologizing to all of those involved, Ozzy feels humiliated at losing control like that, a situation which has arisen more than is warranted.

Pushing those memories back, Ozzy continued to casually stroll across the battered road which he now found himself upon. Getting lost in ones thoughts out in the middle of the Wasteland is a dangerous activity, one that Ozzy chastised himself for. He lost track of how long he had been walking that day, after making camp at a small outpost of friendly caravaneers the night before. Pulling up his Pip-Boy and scrolling over to the map, he saw that he had plenty of more miles to traverse before reaching the city limits of his objective.

Boardman. The name of the city struck Ozzy as somewhat odd, but nothing more unusual than most of the town names in the Old World. Researching through pre-war books, Ozzy discovered that the military station, dubbed Umatilla Army Depot, had once been an Enclave outpost whose goal was to preserve and create new forms of weaponry for warfare. What those types of weapons were remained a mystery to only the personnel of the outpost, and a few more prominent members of the Enclave. Although he questioned the members of the Remnants as to what secrets Umatilla contained, none of them had ever traveled that far north. Disappointed by this news, the Courier was grateful for what little information he came by.

That was when Ozzy realized he had let himself drift into his own thoughts again. Lightly smacking the side of his head, criticizing himself for being so careless, he saw movement from behind a nearby demolished van. Without hesitation, Ozzy pulled the Mysterious Magnum from his hip, aiming it towards the wreckage. Standing stock still, Ozzy quickly assessed what could have made that movement. It wasn't attacking him, but it seemed as though it was either waiting for him to leave, or preparing to engage the Courier.

The sound of a bullet colliding with the door of a parked car sent Ozzy flying behind cover. It seemed as though he had walked into an ambush without even giving it a second thought. Once again mentally scolding himself for his own idiocy, he leaned out from behind the burnt car he was taking cover behind. He quickly counted five hostiles about thirty feet away from his position, one wielding a rifle while the others either had rusty machetes or tire irons, and wearing clothing that looked like it had been pulled out of a dumpster. Realizing that this was just a rag-tag group of wasteland raiders, Ozzy quickly formulated a plan.

Ozzy sprinted towards the edge of the highway, while laying down suppressive fire towards the sniper. Most rounds collided with either concrete or vehicle doors, but one lucky round managed to blow off one of the raiders fingers, forcing the man to drop his weapon and hold his hand in agony. After the Courier returned fire, the sniper peeked over the car he had taken cover behind, noticing a distinct lack of a man down the road.

Realizing that his next meal had eluded him, for the time being, the sniper stood up along with the rest of the raiders and shouted at the rest of his band. "Alright, this fucker still has to be nearby. If you find him, shout out. If you don't I'll kill you and eat you myself. Now G-!" Before the man could finish his order, a bullet had impacted his skull, sending bits of brain matter out of his head and his body falling limply onto the ground. The raiders around him began to panic, realizing that they may be in over their heads.

"Fuck this, I'm going home!" One turned around and began running towards the open Oregon wilderness, only to be stopped by two rounds impacting his back, sending the man sprawling on the ground. Seeing this, the other raiders threw down their weapons and raised their hands above their heads, praying that their quarry would have mercy on them. Seeing this from his position, Ozzy slung his rifle on his back, and began walking towards the group, while quickly drawing Blood Nap and the Mysterious Magnum from their holsters.

The raider whose finger was now absent from his hand was the first to see the Courier marching towards them, an absence of all emotion present on his face. As he drew closer, the raider cried out. "Listen, man, we were just hungry! We didn't mean for it to go do-" the man was silenced as his throat was sliced open by the bowie knife, blood gushing forth from his neck. As he fell to his knees, he put his hands to his throat in a futile attempt to save his own life. Sadly, it was not enough, and his life ended as images of the Courier flashed before his eyes.

Three down, two to go. Ozzy said to himself while deciding wether or not to waste precious ammunition on these degenerates. As he neared the last two, he stopped just shy of them, pointing the magnum at one and the knife at the other. He scrutinized them, their faces displaying a look of dread that showed how weak-willed they were. Upon seeing this, Ozzy put away his weapons, and adorned his classic salesmen grin.

"Gentleman! You needn't worry, for I am your friend!" He said, which caused the two raiders to trade a nervous look. "Now, don't mistake my intentions: I yearn to kill you both in the most brutal ways I can imagine. As luck would have it, though, you two can help me spread the peace and prosperity that my home town knows and is grateful for. Do you want to know how?" One of the bandits spoke up upon hearing this. "H-how would we do that?" His wavering words indicating that he was terrified of what the man could be intending. "Oh, don't worry." An unsettling grin adorned his face. "You'll both love what I have planned for you."

Ozzy stared at the exhibition he had created for the two bandits. Normally, Goat would be the one that would perform grotesque acts upon his enemies, but Ozzy felt the need to make an example of these two. Specifically, of how they needed to learn that the Courier was one person you were to never oppose.

The two bandits hung from a tree on the side of the road, their hands securely tied over their heads, ensuring that they would not be escaping anytime soon. Their weapons had been confiscated, and their clothing had been done away with, exposing their naked bodies to the harsh conditions. The Courier did not want their suffering to end, however, so he coated their bodies in the freshly extracted meat of their allies. Ozzy hoped that this would attract nearby predators in the area, and their deaths would be chalked up to just more raider antics.

Of course, Ozzy did not want them to die without an audience. With that in mind, he propped up the bodies of their fallen comrades in plain sight of the two, forever reminding them that their friends are, in fact, deceased. Plus, Ozzy felt that they needed to feel the others skin caressing theirs, so with the leftover rope that he found at their encampment, he tied their feet together so they could die being best friends forever.

Upon finishing his inspection of his work, Ozzy spoke to the duo. "Gentlemen, this is where we part ways. You better pray that a passing caravan finds you before a Yao-guai does, or you won't live to see tomorrow." He walked over to the corpse of the now deceased rifle-wielding bandit, adjusting his head so that his lifeless eyes stared directly at the dangling pair. "With that, I bid you adieu." He began walking down the road, until one of the raiders spoke up. "Wait! You can't leave us like this. Please!" The fear in his voice was prevalent, to say the least. Ozzy stopped, willing to hear them out. The other raider chimed in, anger lacing his words,  "Fuck that! If I ever get my hands on you again, I swear to God that I will tear you limb from limb!"

Threat after threat the raider spat at the Courier, and each threat diminished their chances of being rescued. Ozzy turned to the pair, his face a deadpan glare showing just how little he cared for the two men and their predicament. "See, I was just thinking about how this may be too cruel, even for me, but your threats just hardened my resolve." He turned and began walking back down the highway. "Adios, gentlemen." As the noises of pleading and death threats faded into the distance, Ozzy heard a new sound add to the cacophony of sound. A growl, a roar, followed by the screams of the men and the sound of their flesh being torn apart and devoured, made Ozzy feel his lips curl into a wicked smile.

That's one less band of raiders to terrorize caravans. He thought, the screams and growls no longer within hearing range.

I'm overjoyed that you're returning to your baser, crueler instincts.

This brought a frown to Ozzy's face, not wanting to be reminded of this flaw in his character. I know, but no one saw me do it. It may as well have never happened. Hopping over yet another destroyed car, Ozzy continued his mental argument with his worse half.

Oh, perfect. Hide behind peace treaties and false promises, then stab your enemy in the back! You're worse than Lanius, I swear.

That brought a grimace to Ozzy's face. I am nothing like that brute, you understand? I actually try to negotiate with my enemies first. He just kills everything he sees! Plus, I'm ten times smarter than that dipshit could ever hope to be. Spotting a destroyed sign overhead, Ozzy stopped to read it.

BOARDMAN: 100 MILES

PENDELTON: 70 MILES

Sighing, Ozzy continued along the road, hoping to find some decent shelter for the night.

Yeah, you keep thinking that. See how well that works out.

With that final sentiment, Ozzy continued on, just as the sky overhead began to darken.