Six and his crew entered the Big Horn Saloon, a mix of exhaustion and anticipation evident on their faces. The snow from the Mojave nuclear winter still clung to their clothes after the long trek.
The saloon's atmosphere was eerily quiet, but its rustic charm was a welcome sight. The flickering neon sign provided a rare beacon of comfort amidst the desolation of the wasteland.
As they made their way to the bar, the raucous sounds of laughter and the clinking of glasses from workers and travelers filled the air.
Ike, the owner, stood behind the bar polishing a glass with a rag that looked like it had seen better days. He lifted his gaze as they entered, scanning them with a wary but practiced eye.
He greeted them with a nod, sizing them up as they entered. His eyes flicked to Six's military Elite riot gear and the familiar swagger of the crew. The tension in the air was palpable, but Ike had seen it all before.
"Well, look what we got here. The NCR's finest."
Ike commented with a dry chuckle.
"You folks gonna settle in for a drink, or is this just another one of those 'good ol' military boys' making a scene?"
"We're not NCR, our gear is better."
Mentioned Rebecca
"Well, ain't this a sight."
Ike muttered, setting the glass down.
"Well since you ain't NCR, so I suppose you're welcome to stay."
Six raised an eyebrow and took a seat at the bar, he appreciated the bluntness but felt the undertone.
"Trouble with the NCR? Cause we're only here to drink, not start trouble. Just need a place to rest for a bit."
Ike gave a shrug, though his eyes still flicked nervously to the door, as if expecting a confrontation. He poured them all drinks before leaning in closer, lowering his voice.
"You know, the workers around here—they don't much like the military. Too many fights, too many broken noses. Had to start turning the NCR boys away. 'Less they want another night of ruckus."
Six took the drink in his hand, eyes scanning the room. A handful of regulars sat in the corner, eyeing them warily. A silence passed over the saloon before Ike spoke again.
"Since that pack of Deathclaws moved into Quarry Junction and shut down the limestone quarry, the cement workers from the Old Cement Works ain't been around much."
Ike continued, his tone lowering further.
"Most of 'em packed up and left, leaving me here all by my lonesome. Business has been bad, but hell, it's a living."
Rebecca leaned against the bar, taking in the dusty bottles lined up behind Ike.
"So, not many customers, huh? How the hell do you stay in business?"
Roger couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Ike. The old man was just trying to survive, much like everyone else out here.
"Sounds like you've had your fair share of problems. The Deathclaws causing trouble for a lot of people around here?"
Ike grimaced and nodded, looking out toward the window as if the monstrous creatures were just beyond the horizon.
"Yeah, them bastards have been moving through, making everything worse. Shutting down the quarry hit the workers hard, and with fewer of 'em around, the town's just been limping along."
He shrugged.
"But I ain't got nowhere better to be."
A heavy silence fell over the group as the weight of Ike's words settled in. Six and crew took a sip of their drinks, their minds turning over the situation. They'd dealt with Deathclaws before, and the thought of them wandering so close to town was concerning. If they weren't dealt with soon, Boulder City might find itself in the same position as other towns—completely abandoned.
Ike glanced at Six, noting his armor and the gear his crew carried.
"You look like the sort that deals with problems. You planning on doin' something about them Deathclaws?"
Six exchanged a look with Rebecca, then glanced over at Boone, who remained silent but attentive.
"Maybe."
Six said, tapping his fingers on the wooden bar.
"Depends. What's in it for me?"
Ike let out a dry chuckle.
"Heh. Figures. Can't say I got much to offer, but if Quarry Junction opens up again, Boulder City'll get business back. That means caps. And you'd be the reason for it."
Six smirked.
"So, I clean out the quarry, and suddenly I'm Boulder City's golden boy?"
"Somethin' like that."
Ike said.
"But don't think I'm the only one who'd be grateful. You get that place back up and runnin', and you'll have workers, traders, and maybe even the NCR owing you a favor."
Boone, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke.
"Deathclaws aren't easy to take down. And a pack? That's a damn suicide run unless you have a plan."
Six smiled, tapping the side of his head.
"Good thing I always have a plan."
Six's crew exchanged looks, the decision silently made among them. It was just another part of the wasteland's brutal reality—helping those who couldn't help themselves, all for a bit of reward, or sometimes nothing at all.
Ike smirked, pouring a round of drinks for the group.
"Well then, strangers, consider this one on the house. If you're fixin' to take on a nest of Deathclaws, you're gonna need it."
Six lifted his glass, taking a sip. The whiskey burned, but it tasted like an opportunity.
As the conversation moved to lighter topics, the crew felt the tension of the past few days begin to loosen. They weren't in danger just yet. For now, the Big Horn Saloon would be their temporary refuge from the chaos outside, but it wasn't long before Six's mind wandered back to the looming threat. The Deathclaws were just the first hurdle. There were always more challenges out there, waiting for them.