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“…cos every girl’s crazy ‘bout a sharp dressed man!”
The voice of the Iron Python rang out loud and clear across the Mojave Wasteland, echoing in the emptiness. It was twilight in the desert, the sun having just dipped below the horizon to the west, and the night sky was tinged purple in its absence.
KG (or “The Iron Python”, as he had come to be known in the Mojave) stepped out from the wooden door embedded in the rock face and into the little dusty clearing. The reason for the python’s delight was not that he was back in the sand, or that his favourite old world song had come onto his Pip-Boy radio, but at what he was wearing.
KG was decked out in perhaps the coolest outfit he had ever worn, or indeed seen, in the Wasteland. The most immediately obvious facet of KG’s new dress sense was a long, greenish-brown trenchcoat. It made him look bigger, KG thought, it billowed impressively in the Wasteland wind, whilst still keeping him warm, and, importantly, it made him look extremely cool¬.
He had also put on some matching dark green-coloured light Kevlar armour underneath the coat, so that there would be some protective substance to his new style. Across this, he wore a bandolier of 45/70 Gov’t bullets, to go with a recently acquired new gun of his…
On his head, the python wore a very distinctive helmeted arrangement; a brown, hard helmet on top of a rather intimidating face-mask with red shades in the eye-holes.
For bottoms, a pair of sandblasted jeans, with additional ammo pouches on the front. Finally, a pair of sturdy, no-nonsense boots protected his feet from the omnipresent sands.
Turning to his left from the safehouse door, KG proceeded into the rocky outcrop that surrounded the safehouse, acting as a natural camouflage that hid it from prying eyes. He crossed through the small, almost tunnel-like rock formation, and out into the arid desert beyond.
Even though the world had been completely annihilated by a nuclear war, the sight of the vast Mojave Desert was still utterly breath-taking. Dropping down the cliff-face in front of him, KG couldn’t help but marvel at the natural wonder all around him. The size, the scale, the deafening silence…
CLOMP-CLOMP-CLOMP
As he walked to the top of a small sand dune, the aforementioned silence was broken by a loud and obnoxious metallic thumping, repeating over and over like…
Footsteps.
Years of experience living in the Wasteland kicked in as KG immediately crouched down to avoid being seen. If he knew one thing, it was that metallic footsteps usually heralded trouble. The old freeway was nearby, and the footsteps were definitely hitting on a solid surface; maybe it was coming from there.
Making as little noise as possible, The Iron Python, in his new gear, slipped down the opposite side of the dune as quickly and as quietly as possible, headed towards the freeway and the source of the noise.
Drawing near, the python hid behind a rock at the edge of the freeway, and cautiously poked his head out from the side of it to see who was causing all the racket.
“Oh cock!” he whispered under his breath; trooping down the highway, and clad head-to-toe in silver armour, was a member of the Brotherhood of Steel.
Putting it mildly, KG had a little bit of history with the Brotherhood, and all of it was bad.
He couldn’t help that, when Colonel Moore of the NCR had asked him to “determine the fate of the Brotherhood” by gaining entry to the Hidden Valley Bunker, he had done so not by simply asking, but by swiping a keycard from a Brotherhood paladin and sneaking in.
And he was similarly blameless for the fact that the Brotherhood had some top quality laser weaponry that he had nicked so he could sell it to the Van Graffs…
…And then he had got caught when his Stealth Boy ran out of juice.
And then he had to absolutely leg it out of the Hidden Valley, whilst clutching as much laser weaponry as he could hold, with a thousand green lasers flying over his head and shoulders. He ended up telling Moore that they were a pile of grumpy bastards and weren’t likely to co-operate.
And now, here, far from the Hidden Valley, was a lone Brotherhood paladin, stomping down the broken tarmac towards New Vegas!
“HAAAAVVEE IIIITT!!!” cried the Iron Python, flying towards the steel suit at full chat. Before the paladin could even turn around, KG had met him in a full on tackle and they had tumbled off of the old freeway and onto the sand.
The paladin had been caught completely off-guard by the attack. Before he could even register what was happening, he was on his back with the Iron Python on top of him.
“Look, mate!” KG shouted, taking advantage of the stunned steel man and straddling him to keep him down. “I couldn’t help nicking yer guns! They were well nice and I got a pretty penny from the Van Graffs f’r ‘em!”
It was at that point that both KG and the Brotherhood Paladin had the same idea: maybe showing some weaponry will help to give me an edge in this situation.
Acting upon this, KG reached into his shoulder holster to retrieve his new gun, and the paladin retrieved his own weapon, and they both pointed into each other’s faces.
KG was very surprised to find that the weapon pointed into his face was not a laser rifle, or even a power fist, but a .45 pistol. Not only that, but KG recognised the damn thing!
“Whoa, haud on! I ken that gun!”
No sooner had those words left his mouth than the Brotherhood of Steel paladin pulled his gun back from the python’s face.
Reaching up to his head, the paladin slowly took off his helmet to reveal an extremely familiar, light-green and white, round reptilian face. As the bangaa lifted his helmet clear of his head, four dreadlocks fell into the sand about the side of his head.
“And I know that voice!” he said, squinting up at the NCR Ranger atop him. “That isn’t KG, is it?”
Putting his revolver away, KG took off his new helmet, his long, raven-coloured hair falling around his evergreen-and-cream face.
“Fucking hell!” exclaimed KG, hastily dismounting his the bangaa and offering a hand to his friend. “Fuck ye doing out here, dressed as a Brotherhoodie?”
“Well,” Carmine explained Carmine, accepting the Iron Python’s proffered hand and getting up off of the desert floor. “That may be a product of me being a member of the Brotherhood!”
“What?” KG frowned, shocked, as Carmine picked up his metal helmet off of the sand. “Why?”
“Because I identify with them!” he said, clearing the sand out of his helmet.
“And they have that totally badass ‘Lyon’s Pride’ squad!” Carmine enthused. “They’re like your NCR Rangers.”
“So, ye were heading to NV?” KG said, gesturing behind him to the neon brilliance of the awaiting New Vegas.
“Indeed I was,” said Carmine. “I was going to tell Siege that I’ve finally completed my power armour training!”
“Oh Lordy!” exclaimed KG. “You’re still seeing him? Mr “I’m a badass bounty-hunter”? Is he still on that shite?”
“Yes, in the same way that you’re still on that ‘collecting unique weapons’ horseshit! You don’t even use half of them!” Carmine argued, defending his boyfriend.
“Och, whatever! Just because my gear’s cooler!” The Iron Python waved off Carmine’s insult. “Here’s what I’m away to NV fae!”
And he fished a picture from the inside pocket of his trenchcoat and gave it to Carmine.
The picture consisted of two occupants; a red vixen and a green female hedgehog. They were both naked, and were facing each other, their magnificent breasts smushed together. In between their breasts was a freshly opened bottle of Sunset Sarsaparilla, the foam spilling suggestively out of the bottle and wetting the surface of those beautiful melons.
It was an incredibly erotic picture, and it was capped off by the following enticing writing at the bottom:
“Hurry back!”
“Oof!” said Carmine, handing the picture back to KG, whose grin could have housed a slice of watermelon.
“Remember when you tried recording that thing for Radio New Vegas?”
Carmine sighed at the resurfacing memory. “Don’t I just…”
-----------------------------------
Carmine sat down in front of the microphone. He was the correct distance away from the mike for optimum sound quality. The script was propped up on a sheet music stand next to it for reference, even though Carmine knew the whole thing off by heart.
"Unconfirmed reports say NCR's general Lee Oliver may have uprooted from his post at Camp McCarran in order to be present at Hoover Dam. NCR sources have said that holding the dam against Caesar's Le-."
CLONK-CLONK-CLONK
“ ‘Ere, Carmine, ye in there?”
Carmine stopped immediately, unable to process what had just happened. There had been 3 VERY loud knocks upon the door of his recording studio. He would have to record his lines all over again. Damn it…
He had no time to ruminate on this, however, as the perpetrator opened the door and in strode KG, the Iron Python, completely uninvited.
“I knew ye’d be in here!” he announced. “Listen I needed to ask ye a thi… what’s all this?” He gestured to Carmine’s equipment.
Carmine closed his eyes, and counted to ten in his head. It didn’t work.
“Can you read?” he asked, his voice dangerously level.
“I have been known to do that. Why?”
“I’m not convinced, because if you could, you’d have seen the big, fuck-off red sign that says “RECORDING”!
KG’s face fell immediately upon hearing this. Quickly, the python backed out of the room and looked up at the wall. There was indeed a flickering red light that said “RECORDING”.
As KG re-entered, with a deservingly sheepish expression on his face. “Oh cock.”
Carmine continued. “So, um, yeah, I’m trying to record some samples for Mr New Vegas to see if he’ll take me on! So if I could ask you to SHIT OFF for half an hour…?”
KG was out of the room before Carmine had finished. Carmine sighed, and gathered up his script.
“Right, here we go again…”
---------------------------------------
“You never did get that job, eh?”
“Well, you didn’t help!”
The stories and memories of friends and times gone by kept on coming forth, keeping the pair occupied as they traversed the highway to New Vegas: The time that KG tried to juggle grenades in Freeside; the expression on Carmine’s face the first time he had encountered a Deathclaw; the epic time that the two of them had explored the Sunset Sarsaparilla building and drank themselves into a stupor…
And they remembered all of the incredible characters they had ever met in the Mojave: Zedd and Concorde, the two brothers who owned the general store in Freeside; Doom, the aspiring Followers of the Apocalypse doctor; and Siege Longshot, the mysterious bounty-hunter, whom Carmine had taken quite the shine to…
These tales continued until the two reptiles were almost inside New Vegas. KG was just starting another tale…
“Well, from what I heard, oor lad Doom’s earned himsel’ a proper Followers o’ the Apocalypse lab coat! He’s fair deli-”
“Wait!” said Carmine suddenly, interrupting his friend and halting in the middle of the road.
“We’ve been surrounded!” Carmine whispered. Those weird tentacles/dreadlocks on the side of his head were actually sensitive ears, and right now they were detecting movement all around the two of them.
“Oh cock!” KG breathed. Instinctively, his pink forked tongue darted out of his mouth, and on the desert winds he tasted a most unattractive scent. He instantly regretted this action, as the taste of over 20 different types of chemical drugs hit his tongue simultaneously.
“Eurgh, that’s pure minging!” the python gagged, covering his mouth to stop any more of the unpleasant odours touching his tongue. He turned around to face Carmine, whose hand was on the handle of A Light. “It’s the fuckin’ Fiends!”
At that precise moment, the aforementioned Fiends made themselves known. From out of the dark desert, they came from all directions. The Fiends were known throughout the Mojave Wasteland as a large group of psychopaths who attacked whoever they saw fit, whilst being completely off of their heads on just about any and every kind of drugs they could get their hands on.
“Goddammit!” Carmine sighed, pulling out his .45 pistol and pointing it at a small group of the approaching Fiends. KG followed suit, getting out the Ranger Sequoia and aiming all eighteen inches of it in the opposite direction.
“RIGHT, ye bunch of fuckin’ smackheads!” The Iron Python called out to the encircling Fiends, his voice ringing through the desert. “If ye’s back away now, me and my mate here’ll be on our way and we won’t shoot ye’s all through yer bastard heads. Deal?”
The Fiend leader, identifiable by both his larger skull hat and the fact that he was at least half a foot taller than any other than the others, let out a rasping bark of a derisive laugh. “Hah! And waste the tip-off we got from Caesar himself about wasting the NCR’s greatest ally? No deal, NCR man!”
“Suit yourselves, then!” said Carmine, pulling the hammer back on his .45. “Do we collect helmets or heads and helmets?”
“I’ll take their guns!” KG replied, cocking back his own hammer.
“GET THEM!” the Fiend leader screamed.
And the lights from their weapons rivalled the lights of New Vegas itself…