Raul, my friend.

At the age of twenty-five I found myself in Las Vegas with a friend that I had met while touring Nevada's Black Mountain. Already suffering from a fractured limb for which I had no painkillers, we attempted to hitchhike the forty minute drive back to the city, but due to my new companion's appearance, folks were reluctant to pick us up. Raul was an older Mexican fella, though you'd never be able to tell by the severe burns that marked his face. I knew his story. His life, much like mine at that point in the game, was not easy. We walked for nearly seven hours and The Mojave was very unforgiving. By the time we reached the city I was being told that I was dying of thirst.

Surrounded by the thoughts of death and dehydration we came upon the outskirts of town. Already struggling to survive I was quickly bombarded by petty thugs who wanted to extort me for money. I refused their requests for my currency and they immediately took to violence. Fighting back would have surely caused my own demise. I was in no condition to brawl. I needed water or I was going to bite the dust. And then it happened. Raul pulled out a six-shooter and fired several shots. The gang took off running. I don't know if he hit anyone or if he was even aiming for them, for their sake I hope he didn't. I'd never thought of myself as malicious...at least not then...

Several more shots rang out. I watched as Raul turned around and tucked the pistol back into his belt line. He didn't say anything. I didn't say anything. Down the way, my eyes caught a vendor. I limped my way to it and bought some water. Raul followed closely behind.

We spent the night at a shady hotel just off the strip. I gambled some in the lounge downstairs. Raul just watched and made little quips here and there. He had the potential to be a grumpy old man, but managed to stay in good spirits considering what had happened earlier in the day. I was still reeling from it. I would be reeling from it for some time.

Towards the end of the night I had a decent payout from a one armed bandit. I figured it was a good time to cash out. Raul seemed to agree and we went back to the room to sleep. As soon as my head hit the pillow it was lights out. The last thing I recall was Raul staring out the window, and when I awoke it appeared like he hadn't moved at all. Almost as if he had spent the entire night awake, keeping watch.

The next few weeks Raul and I spent more time touring the Nevada and the Mojave checking out famous landmarks and architecture. I made other friends along the way, but none so trustworthy as Raul. If I was in a jam, Raul could get me out. If he was in a jam, I could get him out. He wasn't afraid to ask me if what I was doing was a good idea. We had each others backs in a place where you seldom found loyalty. But I didn't yet know the extent of my loyalty to my friend, Raul.

Finally, after weeks of dodging the main drag, I decided I wanted to go and win some real money at the tables on the strip. Raul would accompany me and watch as he usually did when I gambled. Everything seemed fine with me that day. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

We got to the strip and the first thing we noticed among the regular denizens of prostitutes and tourists was the amount of military personnel. There must have been fifteen fully dressed officers walking around with rifles and pistols. Some of them even had grenades! I thought this was kind of out of the ordinary because this is the Vegas strip, not the Gaza strip, right? Anyways, we just keep on our way. We hit up one of the casinos, I play some cards, make a couple of bad calls, and just like that I'm down to my last few hundred. Screw it, I think to myself, I'll put it all on red. I walk over to the roulette table and put it all on red. "Boss, you really think that's a good idea?", Raul asks me for the umpteenth time. I don't say anything and just go with it.

Luck was with me that day. I was able to bank ten thousand chips and score a high roller suite before the casino brass threatened to beat the piss out of me. They kicked us out and barred us for life. I didn't care. I was ten grand richer. It was turning out to be a really good day for us.

It was late in the afternoon when we stepped outside the casino. Military police officers still crowded the streets. Raul and I were just going to grab some water and food before we went out again on the Mojave. We walked down the street past some military men and women crowded along the corner. Raul trailed behind me slightly. I turned around to see where he was at. When I looked back I could see he was trying to get around one of the men in uniform, and then that officer said something that forever changed my life.

"They let ghouls into the strip now?", referring to Raul's appearance. Raul said nothing in return. I saw red.

To this day, I don't know why I did it. I'd never been one to try and be on the wrong side of the law, but I'd never been one to stay on the right side of it either. I preferred a neutral stance. Now, I'd heard people make comments about Raul's appearance before, but never from a man of the law. Raul was a man who had saved my life on several occasions. A man who I had grown to respect and admire. A man who lived a life much tougher than yours or mine. I wasn't going to tolerate it. Not today.

I walked up to the officer and before he had a chance to react I had already pulled an assault rifle from my pack and targeted his head. I shot him in the face twenty-six times before he hit the ground. There wasn't much left of his dome after that. I then turned my attention to the two other officers standing with him. They had pulled their weapons from their holsters and had begun firing on me. I swapped out my assault rifle for some grenades and started battering them. Pieces of the soldiers went flying everywhere. Next to nothing was left. One of the perks of using grenades.

Meanwhile, Raul had already pulled out his piece and was firing on some military down the way. He didn't need me to tell him what to do. I ran for cover and positioned myself behind the steps of the casino we just got kicked out of. I was looking through my arsenal when I remembered I had a mini-gun with several thousand bullets. I heaved it out of my bag and went heavy on the trigger. Bodies started falling over. People were screaming. Things were exploding. What seemed like hours of pure chaos was little more than thirty seconds. The battle was over, but only I remained standing.

As the smoked cleared I was able to account for the dead. In the end, thirty-six people lost their lives that day. Scattered amongst the dead, my best friend, Raul. He lay lifeless between the decapitated head of a tourist and the severed leg of a strip prostitute. He had likely died by my hand. I was a fool. I had killed my own friend while trying to defend his disfigurement from a pompous military police officer. Tears streamed down my cheeks. This wasn't my intention. I turned away to loot the dead for whatever weapons and caps they had on them.

"Petro Chico boy! Petro Chico boy is here after my chicharrones!" It was Raul! He wasn't dead! He was just knocked out from the blasts! My tears of sadness turned to tears of joy. My best friend wasn't dead and we could once again explore the wasteland together. We trekked the Mojave for many weeks, until one day I got tired of hearing the same old shit from Raul and I told him to take a hike. I was sad to see him go.

I had several more companions in the weeks to follow. I think I was actually dating that girl from the Brotherhood of Steel for a bit. She had a really great personality. Super smart and techy. None came close to Raul, though. He'll go down in history as the greatest companion ever. Except for Fawkes. Fawkes was the shit.

The End.

-tysonoff

I like to make things. Film, music, photography and written works. I game a little in my spare time. I'd like to think I have a sense of humour. I still don't fully understand Steemit, but I'm trying to learn.