Chapter Text
The Mojave stretched endlessly before them, the sun bleeding out over the horizon, drenching the sands in hues of molten orange and crimson. Carmen crouched behind a rusted-out highway barrier, her sniper rifle balanced against her knee, and her NCR Black Ranger helmet tucked under her arm.
Beside her, Boone knelt in silence, his rifle aimed into the fading light, the shadow of his beret casting a hard line over his expression.
“Tracks,” Boone said, his voice low, sharp as glass. “Eastbound. He’s light on his feet. Two—maybe three others with him.”
Carmen let out a slow breath, her fingers drumming against the stock of her rifle. “We're finally catching up.”
The tension in her voice was palpable, threaded with something sharp and restless.
Her brown eyes swept over the distant horizon, narrowing against the sinking sun. They were getting close—she could feel it, like a storm building in the air.
The Malpais Legate.
Caesar’s warhound. The man who had made chaos and atrocity into an art form in the east—and now, he was here, tangled in the ruins of the Mojave like a venomous snake refusing to die.
Carmen adjusted the rifle strap over her shoulder and stood. Her voice was low but steady, dripping with conviction.
“That man is a walking catastrophe. Every day he’s out here breathing is a day Vegas gets closer to falling back into chaos. I’ve worked too damn hard to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Boone tilted his head slightly, his mouth a hard line. “He’s not just a threat to Vegas. You’ve seen the tribes he’s been pulling into the Legion’s orbit. The crazy old man needs to leave them the hell alone. Slavery, death, war—it’s all he knows.”
Carmen nodded tightly, her jaw set. “Vegas needs the Dam. The NCR needs the Dam. And if he’s still out here, still breathing… all of it’s hanging by a thread.”
She hoisted her rifle, the weight familiar in her hands, and adjusted the strap of her armor. “No half-measures. No mistakes. We put him down.”
Boone simply nodded, falling into step beside her as they moved eastward across the cracked asphalt of an old pre-war highway.
The sun had almost disappeared by the time they spotted movement on a distant ridge. The Mojave was awash in shades of deep violet and bruised gold, the stars beginning to wake in the sky above.
Carmen dropped to one knee, her sniper rifle coming up against her shoulder as Boone mirrored her movements beside her.
A lone figure stood on the ridge, silhouetted against the twilight sky. He stood bathed in moonlight, wearing a crisp white shirt rolled up to his elbows, tucked neatly into faded blue jeans that fit snugly against his lean frame. Over the shirt, a black leather vest clung to his chest, worn but well-kept, every stitch speaking to years of use and care. His belt, adorned with a silver buckle, held twin pistols holstered low on his hips, and well-worn cowboy boots crunched faintly against the rocky ledge as he shifted his weight.
His face was uncovered, sharp angles carved from stone and softened only by the faintest lines of age and wear. His sharp blue eyes—icy, clear, and unnervingly steady—pierced through the distance and met hers through the scope with startling precision, as though he could see her staring back.
His dark hair, touched faintly with gray at the temples, framed his face in slightly tousled waves that brushed against the collar of his shirt.
He looked composed. Confident. Unshakable.
And Carmen realized with a sinking feeling in her chest that he had seen her coming long before she’d taken aim. Carmen sucked in a sharp breath, her finger curling over the trigger as she aimed. Her crosshairs settled over his chest, her breathing steady and controlled.
“I’ve got him,” she muttered under her breath, her heart beating out of her chest.
“Take the shot, Carmen,” Boone said softly, his voice tight.
The trigger pressed beneath her finger—
And in a single motion, Joshua stepped to the side, his body twisting just before she fired.
The rifle cracked, the sound splitting the silence, and the bullet struck the rocky ridge where he’d been standing not even a second ago.
“Shit!” she hissed, ejecting the spent cartridge and chambering another round.
The crack of Carmen’s rifle still echoed faintly across the ridgeline as dust settled around the spot where Joshua Graham had been standing. Boone was already scanning the terrain through his scope, his sharp gaze cutting through the twilight shadows.
“He’s gone,” Boone said flatly, lowering his rifle. “He’s gone.”
But Carmen’s stomach twisted as she stared down the scope again, the metallic tang of adrenaline sharp in her mouth. Something didn’t sit right. The way he had moved, the timing—Joshua wasn’t running. He wasn’t hiding.
Her finger hovered over the trigger again as her eyes flicked over the ridgeline, searching for any hint of movement. And then she saw it—just beyond the edge of her scope. Flickers of movement in the deepening shadows below the ridge.
Her blood ran cold.
“Wait,” she hissed, her voice sharp. “Where are the other guys that were with him?”
Boone tensed beside her, his head snapping up.
Carmen ripped her eye away from the scope, her sharp brown gaze scanning the terrain below. And that’s when she saw them—Legionaries, half-hidden by shadows, slipping down the rocks like vipers.
They weren’t running away. They were circling back.
“Oh, shit,” Carmen cursed under her breath, her rifle snapping up in one fluid motion.
“Ambush!” Boone barked, already lining up his first shot.
The canyon erupted with chaos. Carmen’s rifle cracked, the sharp recoil slamming into her shoulder as one Legionary fell backward, clutching his chest. Boone fired a shot just over her shoulder, dropping another figure trying to scramble up a nearby boulder.
“Left!” Boone growled.
Carmen swung her rifle and fired, another Legionary crumpling to the ground. But they kept coming—shadowy figures emerging from the rocks, glinting blades and drawn bows catching the faint moonlight.
“That’s more than two, Boone!” Carmen yelled at Boone over the gunfire when she saw the sheer number of them.
“They’re trying to pin us!” She shouted again, ducking low as a bullet hissed past her head.
Boone didn’t respond, his focus locked on his next target. Carmen dropped her rifle and yanked her pistol from her hip, popping off two quick shots and taking down a Legionary who had gotten too close.
They moved like clockwork—her shots sharp and fast, Boone’s covering her blind spots with deadly precision. But the canyon was tight, and they had little room to maneuver.
Carmen could feel sweat trickling down her spine beneath her NCR armor, her pulse roaring in her ears as she ejected her spent magazine and slammed in a fresh one.
“Boone! We’ve gotta move!” she barked, her voice tight with urgency.
He nodded sharply, and they began backing up toward higher ground, firing as they moved.
When the dust finally settled, the canyon was silent again. A handful of Legion bodies lay scattered across the rocks, their crimson banners stained with fresh blood. The faint metallic scent of gunpowder lingered in the night air.
Carmen let out a shaky breath, her chest rising and falling heavily as she holstered her pistol. Her hands were trembling slightly from the adrenaline crash, and her ears still rang faintly from the gunfire.
Boone stood nearby, his rifle still raised as he scanned the ridge for any stragglers.
Satisfied that they were alone, Carmen reached up and unlatched the clasp on her NCR helmet. With a sharp twist, she pulled it off, letting her long, dark braid spill out from where it had been tucked beneath the heavy headgear.
The cool night air hit her sweat-dampened face, and she sighed deeply, her head tipping back for a brief moment as she closed her eyes.
“Fuck,” she muttered, her voice raw and tight.
She brought her rifle back up, her scope snapping back to the ridge where Joshua had been standing only minutes ago. Her sharp brown eyes scanned every inch of it, searching for any sign of him—a flicker of movement, a shadow, something.
But the ridge was empty. Silent.
Joshua was gone.
“Fuck,” she said again, her voice sharper this time. “We lost him.”
Boone lowered his rifle, his shoulders tight with tension.
Carmen’s jaw clenched, her grip tightening on her rifle as she fought back the bitter frustration bubbling up inside her.
She’d had him. Dead to rights. And yet…
“He knew,” she said bitterly, her voice shaking slightly. “That bastard knew I was going to shoot. He knew exactly where I was aiming.”
Boone adjusted his grip on his rifle, his head tilting slightly. “He’s toying with us.”
Carmen exhaled sharply, running a gloved hand through the loose strands of hair framing her face. The anger in her chest was sharp, hot—but underneath it sat something colder.
Fear.
Not fear of dying—she’d faced death so many times it barely registered anymore. But fear of what Joshua Graham could do if he wasn’t stopped. What he could destroy.
She turned her head, her brown eyes locking onto Boone’s through the faint light of the stars above. “We can’t let him slip away again..”
Boone nodded slowly, his jaw tight. “We’ll get him, Carmen.”
But Carmen wasn’t so sure.
Joshua Graham was a ghost—an unyielding, untouchable legend draped in crimson and shadows.
And as the two of them stood there, staring out into the dark canyon below, Carmen couldn’t shake the feeling that the real hunt was only just beginning.
“Come on,” she said finally, her voice low and steady. “We need to regroup. Plan our next move.”
Boone fell into step beside her, the two of them disappearing into the shadows of the canyon as the desert wind carried away the scent of smoke and blood.