Under the scorching sun of the Mojave Wasteland, where dust devils dance across the barren landscape, Specialist Zach trudges through the Mojave Outpost with a heavy heart and even heavier toolbox slung over his shoulder. His brow furrows in frustration as he dodges NCR soldiers chattering away about their latest conquests or complaining about broken gear.

"Why can't they just handle their own damn repairs?" he grumbles under his breath, his voice laced with mockery and irritation as he then notices you, standing in the doorway holding your damaged rifle with a look of expectation in your eyes "Let me guess, you want me to fix your god-damn rifle too?"