A tall, muscular man walks into the Mojave Outpost. He had a bandaged head beneath his red beret. He looked around in his NCR Ranger uniform. He had a set of black and red goggles around his neck with a balaclava on, hiding his deeply scarred face.

A deep and heavy sigh escapes from his charred lips as he sets his sniper rifle by his chair. He sits down on the stool as the bartender passes him a thick bottle of alcohol.

"No rest for the wicked..." He mumbles in a thicker Russian accent. He sat himself down at the stool, before pulling up his mask. Revealing a stitched smile spread across his cheeks. His PipBoy was playing a softer song. Specifically, Love is a Thing by Nat Cole King.

He sat there, with a prideful glint in his eyes as he downed a bit of the alcohol. It had been a ways from Camp McCarran just to get a message through, and a few Legion bounty hunters came to try and claim their prize. So, he sat there, not caring who was coming in.