City of gold...?

The great divide.

A place ravaged by a unspeakable power, of the old beasts still sleeping underground. Dormant they lay, possibly to never be used, only to mutate those below. Others, others wait. They might know they will awaken to fulfill their purpose someday... So many. The couriers knew this all too well, and still do. They traversed the hellish canyon, through the storms, the invisible fires that burn on as if determined to mutate anything that comes it's way. The marked men knew this hell all to well, for they were forced to adapt, to strengthen themselves, or be another victim of the Divide. Cannibalism, sand storms, the dangers go on... It didn't help the skin was torn from their flesh, exposing themselves to the outside world. Nobody in their right mind would stay. But they are anchored to the divide, relying on the old beasts to keep them alive and heal their wounds. Such was life for them... The courier came and gone, bringing with him the angel of death, a blessing to some. But not all. Many were finally put out of their misery as he came, as if he came to finally finish what he had started so long ago. But there are still those who are strong, those who refuse to die. Those few have the burning rage in their hearts... The damned few.

Ulysses looked out into the hell that was the divide. Sitting near a cliff that gave him a grand- if not sorrowful- view. The couriers' mile still bothered him. It was created when Jack, or Jackie as he couldn't recall, needed entrance to go on with his quest, pouring salt on the wounds of the damned. To meet up with him. Adjusting his mask, he stood and checked his gear. There was no rush. He had food, but the MRE's and perishable foods were dwindling. He sighed. Perhaps he would pay the mile a visit, perhaps not. Ulysses brought out his anti-materiel rifle and opened the bolt slightly, confirming a bullet was indeed in the chamber. He walked, rifle in hand once more into the divide.

Ulysses walked into an overturned truck, wary of any traps that might be inside. Spotting none, he opened a green wooden crate with a white star in a circle stenciled onto it long ago. Yet another reminder of the old world. Grabbing a handful of MRE's and water bottles, he set them inside his duster.

Rustling caught his attention. A patrol, what else could it be? He rushed to a hole in the truck's container, and peered through. His suspicions confirmed, he took his rifle out once more. A four-man patrol. Two looked legion, and the other NCR. Two hunters, a ravager, and a scout. Formidable, but vulnerable. He brought out a frag grenade, then pulled it's ring. Running out into the open, he threw it at the group, not noticing the man until it was too late.

It rolled in the favor of the former NCR soldiers, and exploded. The force threw the group off it's feet, and Ulysses made quick work of the two hunters, making sure a slug was embedded into each of their skulls. A ravager and scout still remained. The ravager wasted no time in getting up and readying the thermic lance in his hands. Ulysses brought out his staff, old glory, and jabbed at the ravager's chest, stunning him. Ulysses then spun on his feet counter clockwise, burying the eagle's beak into his opponent's temple, through the helmet. He them fell limp, falling over.

One remained. The scout had already gotten up, and was cocking his combat shotgun. Must've jammed when the grenade went off. The scout grunted loudly, and threw it to the side. He reached for his belt, pulling out a flare gun. Ulysses was already upon him, and knocked the improvised weapon out of the scout's hands. Before the scout could do anything else, he quickly pulled out his twelve-point-seven sub-machine gun and aimed for the the heart, planting a good three round burst into the vita organ.

The scout fell backward, dead.

The couriers' mile. Full of invisible fire that refused to be put out. Ulysses stood next to the street lamp that stood barely erect in the cracked pavement. After what seemed like an hour, Ulysses pressed on. He felt the fire wash over him, slowly poisoning him. The area seemed empty. Made sense. Courier came through here. He trudged on, noticing he had stumbled upon a warhead. The fire seemed more intense. Ulysses turned to leave, convinced he was there for a sufficient amount of time. Just then, a missile hit the ground in front of him, knocking him back.

Just then, the warhead behind him did the unthinkable.

It exploded.

Ulysses awoke with a start, shooting upward. He looked around, startled. Eyes wide, he looked at the tree before him. An... An apple tree... He looked around. Trees... But how did... Ulysses removed his mask, breathing the air. It was the purest air he had ever breathed. No contaminants from his perspective. No radiation, no wreckage...

Was he dead? No, for surely I would be in hell.

He looked into the horizon, spotting a farmhouse in the distance. Checking his equipment, he holstered his weapons. This was a new quest, a new objective. He picked an apple, biting into it. Tears almost filled his eyes. It... It was so pure! Untainted! Surely this was a blessing he did not deserve, but one he was thankful for nonetheless. He finished the apple hurriedly, and set out for the farmhouse, intent on meeting whoever could keep this land fertile. He ran, so many thoughts filling his head, so many questions.

Perhaps this could be... No... He would have to find out more about it.