MARCH TDM

[monstertruckers]

code

After tumbling through shadow you find yourself in a shrouded, ruined garage. It’s full of shattered windows and broken mechanical equipment, with all sorts of sharp edges to watch out for. Between that are strange symbols scrawled into the ground. Outside is cloudy weather and the beginnings of a storm flickering and rumbling.

Beyond the rundown garage is a rundown gas station surrounded by rolling, grassy hills. Close by is a Convoy of vehicles, either parked or driving up to station.

01: SUMMONING CIRCLE

This time the summoning circle and car garage is attached to retro diner, and an old wind turbine, barely still spinning and providing fading power. There’s also a broken radio playing a message about Nirvana and imploring people to head north. In fact, there’s a large amount of broken electric equipment in here and spitting sparks.

A fan circles overhead, stirring those sparks and creating a breeze. Trails of paper are attached to the fan, spinning lazily about. If Drifters choose, they can easily retrieve those paper talismans with little more than a slight static shock. While the paper is tattered and smeared with ink and blood, the following can be made out: “Broken in two […] Nothing to lose-“ “Moon mourns, call her down, ease her pain-“ “Need […] Better vessels from afar. Stronger souls-“ “Imbue with moon sigils, Give blessings of moon, share her pain. Put the ritual right.”

Hard to say what that all means, but it seems to have something to do with the summoning circle here. And there’s lingering power crackling through the building. The sort that makes the lights flash and flicker… And line up eerily with flashes of thunder on the horizon.

02: START UP

New arrivals will have a similar experience to before; a Convoy waiting outside for them, and a collection of vehicles, one of which feels like it belongs to them. The key to the vehicle may already be in the ignition, on the dashboard… It may have even been on their person, ever since they woke up in that garage. Either way, Drifters have the keys to the vehicle now.

…But there’s a few rough edges on these vehicles. Flat tires, cracked windows and mirrors, maybe some stuck doors and locks; all of them requires two pairs of hands and supplies. The garage can take care of the supplies… Now it’s just a matter of finding some extra hands.

03: STORM WARNING

There’s something odd in the sky; it shifts between a dark cloud, and a collection of birds. As the thing draws closer, it clearly becomes a mix of both. Car-sized, dark feathered birds and skeletal avians fly in a thundering flock, and turn the sky stormy in their wake. That alone is bad… But what’s worse is how the shiny chrome of the Convoy and vehicles draws the birds. As they dive towards the ground to snatch at the shiny metal, they pull the storm and bring a tornado with them. The Convoy does its best to anchor to the ground, but lighter vehicles and Drifters might not be so lucky.

The garage and diner takes it worst of all: the electric devices start spitting sparks and can even act as homing beacons for lightning strikes if a Drifter with electric abilities gets too close to them. Any remaining, intact windows shatter as the storm winds pick up, pelting Drifters with razor shards. And water starts pouring in, further shorting electric equipment and soaking anyone to the bone. There’s even a strange droning, siren like noise to warn about the storm and cut into one’s hearing. It’s difficult conditions for anyone caught up in the blow-out.

04: WEATHERING

Once the main force of the storm hits, the following happens:
Diversion: Those with Fast cars can drive away from the station and divert the birds. They’ll want a second Drifter to come along; either to snipe at the pursuing birds, or keep eyes on the terrain! Eventually the birds will tire or get culled enough that the storm disperses.
Updraft: There is the risk of getting swept up in the tornado winds. Damage, injuries… And a particular quirk this storm has. Drifters who spend more than a minute in the storm winds will find that they begin to take on traits from the Harpy monster. These traits increase in potency if the Drifter experiences hunger or violence. As the weather clears and days become calmer, the traits fade.
Downburst: If Drifters get slammed into the ground by the storm, or the dark birds flying about. They may also find themselves drenched with rain. Any injury they take mends quickly, but is replaced with scales, as the Drifters begin to resemble a Naga monster. These changes grow worse if they tell lies, but disperse with the storm.
BIRDS: The birds themselves are vicious: those afflicted with Naga traits are seen as prey, while Harpies are seen as rivals. The birds are deadly, but also clumsy if forced to the ground. The screens on the Convoy recommend crippling the wings before finishing the bird off on the ground.

04: MONSTER SHIFT, NAGA

This month, Drifters will have access to the serpentine Naga. On top of all Naga species traits being available, the following occurs:
+Cold Blooded: the rain and storms can potentially make Naga slow and sluggish, or inclined to sleep or seek out other heat sources to gain energy; this includes basking in body heat from others!
+Water Divert: With their water shaping, Naga can divert falling rain and even ground saturation to make the area or other Drifters more dry. They can also concentrate water into different areas, and can also change water into mist or ice.
+Blue shift: the scales of Naga become more vibrantly blue, or a strange mottled combination of blue and stormy gray, the more intense the rains become. These scale colors can also reflect their moods.
+Extra arms that are painful and disorienting to grow, and can result in coordination issues.
+Scale Pains: Pain and discomfort when scales grow in, as well as fangs or talons!
+Water glide: during floods from the rains, Naga find they can easily traverse deep water as though they were simply walking (or slithering) across it.
+Thermal vision, making it easy to track others in the middle of storms. Vision may also become disorienting, and eyes become slitted.

04: MONSTER SHIFT, HARPY

The storm will bring a second monster this month, in the form of Harpy. On top of all Harpy species traits being active, the following occurs:
+Storm Rider: high agility and capable of flying through the storm winds without hindrance. Even tornadoes can be mastered!
+Feather pains: itching, or full pain when growing feathers or wings. Talons may also be painful when growing from fingers or from feet.
+Wind Affinity: able to shape wind, including diverting the worst of the storm winds, or summon and focus wind into razors.
+Warbling Voice: words may waver and slip into something more songlike, or even a damaging sonic scream if emotions are heightened.
+Height Call: a need to get higher into the air, whether through perching on buildings or the convoy, or through flight. A sense of euphoria as they go higher.
+Nest Building: a compulsion to create a nest out of spare and soft objects, and feeling more safe inside that space.
+Heightened vision like a bird of prey, able to pick out details even at great distance. This may be disorienting at first, as vision becomes telescopic.

05: RAIN, SHINE, OR SALVAGE

Upon culling enough birds, the storm disperses. The monster avians dissolve as they drop into streams of energy, feeding into Drifter Sigils and providing limited healing. And handful remain intact when they hit the ground and can be harvested for meat, feathers, and possibly even talons.

There is one extra problem, in the form of falling debris. After being pulled up into the sky, wreckage (and possibly stray Drifters) are going to drop back down. It’s advised to look out for falling objects and people. It might be possible to salvage something in the form of scrap metal for any vehicle repairs, but such a task requires two.

06: STORM SHOT

The storm can be dispersed in one of two ways. One is waiting the storm out. The second is a battered collection of machines melted into the roof of the garage and gas station. When touched they burn the hands of Drifters, but also fire a jolt of lightning into the storm. One shot lessens the effects of the storm, repeated shots completely disperses the weather.

In the aftermath of the storm, something different rains from the sky in the form of glowing, quicksilver feathers. These feathers can suppress one avian or serpentine trait for a month, and can also drain away any Naga or Harpy changes from the event completely.

Alternately, the feathers will allow Drifters to temporarily access flight for one day. Doing so completely robs the feather of its magic: only one effect can be chosen from a feather.

MICRO ENCOUNTERS:

PLEASE NOTE! These are small bits of set dressing for players to include in threads if they wish, rather than full fledged prompts or events. You may handwave your exploration of these areas, or thread them out.

Windy Days: Preceding the storm are gales of strong winds, enough to stagger Drifters or send them staggering into other people or other vehicles.

Diner Is Served: While the retro diner attached to the garage has only limited food stores, curiously there is a respectable amount of cooking equipment that can be plundered. Portable stoves, pots and pans, spoons, and the like are all available for the taking.

Fading Storm: In the aftermath of the storm, the garage and diner look like they’re on their last legs, barely held up by their shelving. Anyone who wants to try salvaging had better move fast and carefully, before the entire thing comes crashing down.


NAVIGATION || RESERVES || APPLICATIONS

Comments

2/2

[x2bet]

Hey, let’s keep this in the groove, alright...?

[Benny's eyes move from where they're locked onto the nasty scar at his right temple, drop to the other man's grip on his pistol, his own hands frozen at the knot. Ain't no way he can outdraw him on the quick with his piece at his waist, caught out like a sucker with his pants down.]

Smooth moves, like smooth little babies...

[The slim, cool Platinum Chip suddenly burning a hole in where it's been tucked away safely in his pocket and sitting pretty until now, Benny's rattled like twenty shakes of a rattlesnake's tail, but can you blame him? The last time he saw this guy, he was buried six feet under dirt, blood and bits of brains all over his face from getting shot in the head. Twice. Dead as dead can be, and dead men don't tend to tell any tales. And yet here he is, standing cool as a cucumber. Showing up as mysteriously as Benny had appeared here.

Well, maybe three feet at most. Graves are hard work to dig… or make a mailman-shaped hostage dig, and they didn’t have all night, capiche? He winces slightly at the memory as he stays exactly where he is. Here's hoping this courier standing way too close is feeling forgiving today. But as friendly as his tone is, the look in his eyes shows that it's about as friendly as a sleeping deathclaw.]

[lonedanger]

[ The only smooth move Len is executing is the way that he draws his revolver and lets it hang at his side for a long moment, the end of the barrel tapping against the side of his thigh. He's been a patient man for a long time now, the impulsivity of his youth an only slightly distant memory. It doesn't often resurface save for in rare occasions such as this: the urge walk this man a half mile out into the empty land around them and force him to dig his own grave is itching at the back of Len's head.

His concentration narrows to a sharp point and he takes a few steps closer, the space between them winnowing down to nothing. Len privately relishes the minor height advantage, the satisfaction of looking down on someone who once held him at gunpoint, on his knees. ]

What's that old saying?

[ The muzzle of Len's gun skims the damp placket of Benny's shirt, button by button, sliding thinly against his stomach until it taps the grip of the pistol hastily shoved into the waistband of his slacks. Len tips his head in predatory recognition; pearl handles and elegant script, exactly the sort of highbrow purchase one makes when one wants to fit in with a crowd where he doesn't belong. ]

Don't shoot the messenger?

[x2bet]

[Benny swallows hard as he feels the muzzle gently pressing against his stomach. Hardly any better than the feeling of cold steel going tap-tap on his skin, slow and deliberate. One wrong step and his guts are painting the filthy walls. Betrayed by the beautiful Maria at his waist then and now; what a goddamn hell of a position to be in. What kinda world is it coming to when a man can't even trust his own gun?]

Baby, come on! It was nothing personal.

[It bursts out of him, an indignity. What's that other old saying - let bygones be bygones? Just an 18-karat run of bad luck, nothing more, nothing less. But realizing rather abruptly that maybe that isn't the best tack to try right now, Benny tries to keep eye contact with the courier... shit, what was his name? Leo? Theodore? as he tries to smooth it over like buttered bread, keeping the shakes out of his voice at least. Time to do what he does best: talk fast.]

Let's all take a deep breath and a step back, hey? Figure all this out. [His eyes glance down to his pistol despite himself.] Let’s not ah… pull the trigger on any decisions we’d regret now.

[lonedanger]

[ Baby, he says, like they're lovers. It would make Len laugh if Benny Gecko didn't look like the straightest man this side of Vegas, probably dick-deep in Gomorrah's working girls on the regular. It's a nice strategy - might even work for him, sometimes - if not for the very specific, very special history they have together. ]

Nothing personal?

[ Len's teeth flash in a sharp smile, his free hand slipping between them and settling comfortably around the grip of Benny's gun. He holsters his own in the same motion that he draws the other, the weight of it warm and heavy, some Old World design on the pearl grips. Incredibly gaudy and particularly on-brand.

He glances down at it between them, popping the magazine free and counting the bullets. Len tucks the barrel up under his arm, meticulously popping each round out into his hand until the clip is empty, hefting them with a dull jingle for a moment in his palm. ]

Doc pulled two of these outta my skull.

[x2bet]

Fit in your head with room to spare, did it?

[If Benny's sounding particularly catty as he watches Maria get emptied out against his will, a put out expression starting to replace the shock, well... that's just the way the cookie crumbles. Bullets spill into his palm like he's shaking out mentats from the tin, taking some of his hopes of turning the tables with it. Just one should've scrambled his brains like eggs, two clicks of the trigger was to be safe - what rotten damn luck. A little too rotten, and something stinks to high heaven about that whole situation.]

You've got luck like some kinda devil, pal. [It's something Benny wouldn't even believe could happen, if it weren't for the proof in front of his eyes. He can't help but glance up at the scar again, like making sure it's still there. There isn't much room between them in this dark shelter, and Benny swears he can hear every droplet of water dripping at their feet.] How'd some backwater doc even sniff you out under six feet of dirt? Something's not adding up.

[lonedanger]

[ All 9mm, nothing that he can use in the immediate future with the weapons he has at his disposal, but he'd rather have the monopoly on them than let Benny Gecko run around flailing a flashy piece like he owns the place. Len pockets the bullets before sliding the clip into the gun, deftly snapping the slide back to glance down at the single round left in the chamber. One is more than enough. If he gets desperate, maybe he'll use it to off himself. ]

You ever think you just have shit aim?

[ Len quips dryly, pulling the waist of Benny's trousers out with two fingers - just enough space to tuck the pistol back into his pants. He pats the grip for emphasis, relishing the irritation spreading across Benny's face like a bad rash. A sobering thing it must be, confronting the person you thought you'd killed. ]

You didn't bury me deep enough. Weren't the doc that found me, neither. It was a Securitron.

[x2bet]

A securi- of course. How'd I even miss a scrapheap like that on my tail...

[House was onto him from the word go, and the dismay is perceptible. Maybe he'd been too occupied with looking ahead of him for the Courier and managing the frustrations of his little posse dragging on behind him. The whole mess with the Fiends, the Khans bitching and moaning about their washed-out carry-on friend. But growing more confident now that he has Maria tucked tenderly back behind his belt, some of the tension in Benny's shoulders relaxes; prematurely or not, who's to tell? The guy must've taken his gun as a show of force, just to make a statement, but now they're talking. Some people's bark is worse than their bite, am I right? ]

Baby, you got a crazy drop on me. I'll admit it. But listen - with all this?

[He gestures with his chin around them, to their surroundings. But Maria's the only thing on his mind, his eyes calculating. When you're down to your last card, you don't just fold and whimper like a dog. That's when you bet big. Sure, the first and second bullets didn't stick, but maybe third time'll be the charm. He just needs to wait for the right moment, and his awkward little problem goes away.]

We’re in a new place, with a bunch of freaks and flying monkeys. Let’s leave the Mojave problems in the Mojave. Let bygones be bygones, right? I mean, look at you - you're walkin' and talkin' just fine, it barely even touched your good looks. No harm, no foul. Whadya say to that?

[Benny gives his best, earnest, rube-charming smile.]

[lonedanger]

[ Benny is getting a little too cocky. No doubt reassured by the presence of his gun, by the fact that Len isn't immediately trying to put a new hole in his skull. What he doesn't seem to realize is that the only reason they're talking is because the man has information that Len wants, the sort of information that only someone on the inside can provide. Benny's main fuck-up is assuming that the courier he shot can be assuaged with an easy grin.

He's a cornered animal like this. Won't hesitate to pull one last attempt on Len's life, if he can help it. Must be itching to take advantage of the opportunity. ]

Sure. Yeah.

[ Len leans on his southwestern drawl, hands up in the universal symbol of mea culpa. He puts a friendly foot of space between them, an equally rube-charming smile on his face. ]

Why don't you tell me about that chip first?

[x2bet]

[Jesus, those bullets must've scrambled his brains. Or he was never that bright to begin with. Honestly, Benny thinks it might be B - anyone who chooses to make a living out of baking in the sun to deliver mail or can't find a way out of it has gotta be an idiot. Look at everything Benny did so he didn't have to boot-ride his way around the desert another damn day in his life.]

I figure it'll just be a waste of my time and yours. [He never wastes the opportunity to get a good gloat in.] 'Cause newsflash, sucker - you don't have a lot of it left.

[Emboldened by the distance between them that isn’t very much at all, he reaches down to draw Maria.]

[lonedanger]

[ The thing about people who spend too much time in New Vegas is that they get impatient. They forget what it's like outside of House's concrete walls: the constant threat of Fiends, the encroaching presence of the Legion, the everyday stress of needing ever-decreasing resources. They move too fast, bet too high, go all-in too quickly. Burn the candle at both ends and eventually you get burnt too - plenty of high-rollers have gotten kicked off the Strip and ended up in Freeside's gutters, begging for spare caps and barely scraping by. That's the problem with getting too comfortable in the physical embodiment of the Old World's hubris. You start thinking you're invincible.

Benny reaches for his gun with the confidence of a man who thinks he has the advantage and Len reacts like a rattlesnake. His right hand darts quickly for Benny's wrist, grabbing it tightly before he gets a grip on his pistol, and with his left hand he grabs a fistful of the wet shirt at Benny's shoulder. It isn't a pretty maneuver: swift and sharp as he presses his weight in to pivot the man in place, twisting his dominant arm behind his back as Len crushes him against the corrugated metal wall of the garage. A flare of righteous fury wells up into Len's chest at the fucking audacity. Let bygones be bygones, his ass.

Much less politely he feels over Benny's front with his other hand, confiscating the gun and tossing it somewhere behind him with a loud clatter. The laugh he breathes over Benny's ear lacks the humor Len normally lends it. ]

You've gotten lazy up there in The Tops, Ben.

[ He chides, as though reprimanding a kid for leaving their toys scattered across their bedroom floor. There's a muffled jingle of metal as he unbuckles Benny's belt, yanking the strip of leather free loop by loop. ]

Why don't you try answerin' that question, before you really piss me off?

[x2bet]

[The would-be mark turns out to be sharper than a tack, his tanned hand fisting his shirt and almost ripping him off his feet at the same time his grip squeezes his wrist. It's like getting jumped by a sleeping nightstalker, sudden and ferocious. Hard not to feel like jaws aren't closing in on him, a little huffed laugh around a mouth full of Benny's flesh.]

How about you lie down and stay dead, you bum?

[The wind punched out of him, Benny wheezes with his cheek against the wall, trying to jerk back and check him with his shoulder. But hell - there's nowhere to go, not from that husky voice in his ear. Wingtip shoes with slick soles don't get much grip on a wet floor, and he's a rough rider to buck. Struggling harder only puts more strain on his elbow, and Benny makes a pained noise as a particularly spirited lurch sends a shooting pain right into his shoulder, feels something pull and give under his skin. Then the other man's getting Benny's buckle one-handedly undone quicker than a Gomorrah girl on jet, the hell?]

Hey! [Benny snaps, feeling every little snag on the thread of his slack's belt loops on the scales of his luxurious tanned golden gecko hide belt as it gets pulled away from him.] Hands off the merchandise, you perv!

cw for readers: blood / mutilation

[lonedanger]

[ Vegas makes people soft. Fat cats sitting up there in their suites, looking down on everybody else like they're not all the same meat for the same inevitable grinder. As far as he's concerned, the Families are just dressing up in costumes, wearing the remnants of a dead world. ]

I wouldn't worry, sweetheart. You're not my type.

[ It's an assurance that would come across as kind, were it not for the way Len begins looping the pilfered belt around Benny's wrist, one end through the buckle, pulling it tight and secure. He moves without thinking twice about it, having spent too many nights contemplating what he might do when he finally caught up to his erstwhile killer. Never settled on any particular plan, never decided whether it might be better to return the favor of two bullets in his skull or make him live with the shame of being thrown from the heights of his tower.

A glance behind him and the trajectory is decided without a second guess. Wrapping the end of the belt around his fist, Len steps back and jerks Benny along behind him, forcefully tugging him to the flat top of a wide, metal tool chest. One sharp tug puts it between them and Len stretches that soft hand tight, drawing his knife.

He isn't typically so Byzantine in his methods, and it's been years since he indulged in the kind of messy wet work that started his career. It's evident, though, that consequences mean nothing to a man habitually shielded by his ability to pay for protection. Len taps the flat of his blade against the backs of Benny's knuckles and tightens his grip to avoid the squirming. The edge hovering over the base of a too-weak trigger finger, Len makes sincere if pitiless eye contact - ]

Lady Luck fucked you.

[ -before the resounding crunch of a Bowie knife through flesh and bone breaks the thin air between them, and Benny's severed finger rests in a pool of his own blood. ]

[x2bet]

[Benny's always thought of himself as a lucky guy. Sure felt like he was swinging hand-in-hand with Lady Luck after the House rolled into town. Swear he could feel her hand on his elbow whenever he shrugged on his jacket in the morning, fixing his tie for him, winking whenever he sparked up his lucky lighter. But luck doesn't make itself - you seize an opportunity at every chance you get, and rig the odds if it don't look right. Fortune favors the bold, right?

But that fickle broad fucked, him, yeah. Went off and left him to find a new man, and he didn't even know she was cheating on him until it was time to pay the bills. Guess she liked the look of that loser lying in a grave and put all her bets on him.

Those hands in those golden handcuffs aren't calloused. Looking at his eyes, a flash of memory comes -Leonard! That's his name. His mouth automatically starts looking for the magic words that'll let him be: Look, baby, listen, Leonard, you don't have to do this we can- but there's no time as the other man slices his finger like a goddamn piece of salami. And that's what it looks like, lying there on the table - a piece of meat. But that's his finger.

Benny, to his credit, does not scream. But there's barely any time to do it, anyway. He bites down on his tongue, whimpering and choking on his spit - fuck!

What is WRONG with this freak? He heaves a little, seeing the finger twitch on top of the tool chest.]

Li-listen, baby, [his voice shaky now, blinking back some tears.] Leonard. You don't gotta - gotta do all that. Just take the chip. That's what you want from me, right? Take it!

[lonedanger]

[ That's the thing about banking on something as fickle as luck. You can't trust it to have your back once the cards are on the table. It's a pity that Benny had to learn that the hard way.

Plenty of folk have told Len that revenge isn't worth the effort, that he might as well start digging two graves. Suppose that sort of sentiment would have a stronger impact on him if he hadn't already dug his own, because there's immense satisfaction wrought from the pain on Benny's face, the growing horror as he realizes that something he once relied upon is no longer available to him. He taps the dull edge of the knife against Benny's middle finger, tightening the strap and lowering his voice to something gentle, soothing. ]

Hey now, don't start cryin', Ben. Look at me.

[ The man is babbling, scrambling for purchase on a wall without chinks in which to hook his remaining fingernails. Len slaps the flat of his blade against one of Benny's cheeks. ]

Look at me. Tell me what it is, first. Why'd you try to kill me for it? What does it do?

[x2bet]

[The warm, wet edge of that steel is difficult to ignore laying against his cheekbone, but the other man's words still somehow cuts even deeper and drags him from his floundering water. Voice low and slow like the slide of a skinning knife, digging under the skin with a fistful ready to strip it away. Compelled to look, Benny's gaze finds itself darting to his face. "Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face. But I ain't a fink, dig?" Looking into those flinty brown eyes, and not for the first time, Benny finds himself regretting some of the things he's said out loud.]

Why?

[Benny, formerly known as Gecko, lets out a half-hiccup of an incredulous laugh, insulted too. It's the last nail in just how clueless this cat is, what kind of big-leagues he's been unwittingly dragged into. What a question. What a damn question.]

You were holdin' Vegas in your hand, and you didn't even know it. You were just some courier. Some dirt-dusty gopher!

[That's the long and short of it. He had it, and Benny needed it. But desperate to keep the rest of his digits - and his life - and finding no purchase with his remaining nine, he starts singing like a canary in hopes that his song's sweet enough to let him live.]

I - look, House spent hundreds of thousands of caps looking for this piece of platinum. He wants it bad. It's the House edge, his trump card he's been wanting to play this entire time. It's data, what's in it. And I - I know it has to do with his army of securitrons. He's gonna use it to pull the rug out from everyone when the time's right. The NCR, the Legion... The whole Mojave will be his.

[Benny watches Leonard's face for any hint of which way the wind is blowing, but he's got a hell of a poker face. Anything to fill the silence as if it'll keep out other thoughts from the man's head, he begins to sing even sweeter.]

You can take it from House. You can run Vegas from the top of the Lucky 38, [he urges, a sheen of sweat on the back of his neck.] No more walking across the desert for scraps and caps, how's that idea? But only the right instrument can make that platinum sing. It's a proprietary format, one-of-a-kind. I can bring you backstage, baby. Make you the star of the show! Just you wait until we get back, dig? You can even hold onto it right now if you like...

[lonedanger]

[ Lady Luck must have fucked both of them. That's the trouble with being somebody's middleman, with being the messenger. He was the sap tasked with carting somebody else's weapon across the Mojave and he paid the price for it, in spades. It doesn't escape him that it isn't all that dissimilar from what he carried into the Divide, all those years ago - the only difference is that this time he was the one to end up proverbially six feet under. Benny was too impatient to put a bullet in his skull before he could finish digging.

It all comes down to power.

House wants to control the Strip, the White Glove Society wants to control the Strip, the Omertas want to control the Strip, the Chairmen want to control the Strip. As it turns out, Benny is the only one willing to expend the effort to get his hands dirty to do so, which is something Len would admire if it hadn't come at the cost of his own life. It's an easy thing to become enamored with the scale of regional domination and stop seeing the smaller parts of that sum; the people sacrificed on the altar of progress. At the end of the day, they aren't all that different from the NCR, the Legion.

Benny keeps talking but it's all hot air, the last ditch effort of a man who knows he's in dire straits. Were Len a man of fewer scruples, if he had any kind of latent desire for the influence and reach of his own philosophy, he might be persuaded by such an offer. Wordlessly, he wipes the blade clean on Benny's shoulder, smearing red over the checkered fabric, before sheathing it at his hip. ]

If I want it, I'll find you.

[ He then takes the man's jaw in his hand, holding him stiff and tight, the proximity intimate. ]

This is an opportunity to reflect on your past decisions. So I suggest you reflect. I see you peddling your bullshit to anybody else, I'll make you curse the first kiss your momma gave you. Comprende?