Fallout:Industrial Baron in Caesar's Legion

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It had been an exhausting week—a week of relentless fighting, delicate decisions, and constant battles not only against visible enemies but also against the wild instincts of my own men. The legionaries, inflamed by the promise of glory, were eager to flood New Vegas with their bodies, to conquer the city in an orgy of blood and fire, convinced that victory could only be achieved through overwhelming sacrifice.

But no. I would not allow such a waste of lives.

I had controlled the fervor, imposing order on their fanaticism, guiding them toward a more strategic approach. Day by day, sector by sector, the city had fallen under the banner of the bull. Now, New Vegas belonged to the Legion.

Or almost.

Even from my position atop the building where I had established my temporary command, I could hear the distant echo of gunfire. Isolated pockets of resistance remained—tribals and mercenaries choosing to fight to their last breath rather than accept our domination. Their cries mixed with the cheers of my men, who gave thanks to Caesar for the victory and reveled in the intoxication of conquest.

Yet my gaze was fixed on the true symbol of the city: the Lucky 38.

The tower, with its unmistakable shape, stood tall and unscathed—a reminder of the power that once controlled this city. We knew its former owner, Mr. House, had resided there, pulling New Vegas's strings like an invisible puppeteer. Now, the tower remained closed, silent, as if hiding a secret yet to be revealed.

"Legate Gaius." A voice broke my thoughts. It was a Decanus, a tall, battle-worn man with a face streaked with sweat and blood. "We've secured the southern zone, but there's resistance on the Strip. Some soldiers are requesting permission to take the Lucky 38 by force."

I studied the Decanus for a few seconds. I had learned that silence, even brief, could be as effective as an order. The man shifted uncomfortably, as though afraid his suggestion might provoke my wrath.

"The Lucky 38 is not to be touched... yet," I finally said, my voice low but firm. "That building isn't just a tower. It's a symbol. I won't risk some legionary's poorly placed explosives destroying what might be our greatest advantage in this city."

The Decanus inclined his head. "Understood, Legate."

I turned my gaze back to the city. The lights of the Strip still flickered faintly in the distance, though many were dimmed, burned out, or destroyed during the fighting. It was strange to see a place that had survived the apocalypse fall under the Legion's power—though not without resistance.

The challenge wasn't over. The tribes that had lived under House's rule were scattered—some willing to surrender, others stubbornly fighting back. And most concerning of all, House himself remained an enigma. No one knew whether he was alive, dead, or had escaped before our offensive reached the city. The Lucky 38 remained closed, inaccessible, and that was something I did not like.

I had conquered this city for Caesar, yes, but I knew this place represented more. New Vegas was a tool, a hub of commerce, power, and control. Mismanaged, it would become a black hole, consuming our resources. But under the right leadership, it would be the jewel of the Legion—the pillar upon which we would build a new empire.

The Lucky 38 loomed before us, a relic of a time that no longer existed—a piece of pre-War engineering that seemed to mock our victory. Its doors were thick, worthy of a military bunker—a defense not designed for modern warfare but to withstand any conventional siege.

We could use explosives. Plenty of them. But that was the problem. The charges needed to breach those doors might weaken the building's structure. And even if we gained entry, the only access to the upper levels was an elevator House could deactivate with a single command. If that happened, our troops would be trapped like rats in a vertical cage.

The Vertibirds. During the campaign to take Vegas, we had gained not just the city but its skies. Mr. House's anti-air defenses had fallen with the rest of his empire. No threats remained capable of taking down our aircraft. With these machines, we could reach the top of the Lucky 38 directly, bypassing the traps and barriers House had prepared to protect himself.

The plan was as simple as it was brutal. The aircraft would depart from our temporary base, ascending to the top of the building. Once there, we would disembark our troops and neutralize House on his own ground. If his internal defenses were as advanced as rumored, the fight would be intense—but our position would be unassailable. We would be above him—literally.

The risk was minimal. If House attempted to shoot down the aircraft, he lacked the means to succeed. No missiles, turrets, or active defense systems remained to stop us. And if he managed some desperate last stand... well, diplomacy had always been my initial approach, but I knew when there was nothing left to negotiate. This would be the end of the "Master of New Vegas."

"Legate," one of my officers interrupted, stepping into the room. "The Vertibirds are ready. Shall we proceed?"

"Yes," I replied, without taking my eyes off the Lucky 38.

My men boarded the five Vertibirds with discipline—thirty of the best legionaries I had trained. Each wore custom-built power armor, designed specifically to counter the technological threats of the post-apocalyptic world. They carried plasma weapons forged to overcome even the most advanced defenses. I knew House's machines would be no match.

The takeoff was flawless. From above, New Vegas sprawled out like a map of victory. The flickering lights of the Strip seemed mocking—but not for long. Our fleet surrounded the Lucky 38, the final fortress of Mr. House. No anti-aircraft defenses or missiles were left to stop us.

One of my men descended with precision to the roof, carrying explosives designed to breach the structure. Within seconds, he returned to the Vertibird. From above, we watched as the device did its work.

The blast was deafening. A burst of dust, metal, and concrete opened a hole in the heart of the casino.

"Now," I ordered, and my men began descending swiftly through the breach, like predators closing in on their prey.

The interior of the casino was dark but full of motion. Robots emerged from the shadows—Securitrons with their robust frames and Assaultrons advancing with speed and precision. Their weapons activated immediately, filling the air with laser beams and ballistic fire.

But our power armor repelled their attacks effortlessly. Bullets and lasers bounced harmlessly off us. Our plasma weapons, on the other hand, unleashed total destruction. Each shot melted steel and fried circuits. The robots fell one by one, reduced to smoking scrap as we advanced with precision.

Within minutes, the casino fell silent.

"Legate," one of my men said, pointing toward a reinforced door at the far end of the casino.

I nodded, wiping the mask of my helmet as I advanced toward the final destination. Mr. House's time had come to an end.

When the door opened, I saw it. A stark room filled with monitors and control panels. In front of me, a massive screen flickered to life, displaying the digital face of Mr. House. His analytical eyes and calm expression betrayed no emotion, but his words carried a mix of pride and defiance.

"Legate Gaius," he began, his voice resonating through the speakers with a rehearsed calm. "Have you come to crown yourself the new master of New Vegas? Or perhaps, as the executioner of everything I represent?"

I stepped toward the center of the room, my men securing the perimeter. My boots echoed against the metallic floor. "I've come to finish what we started. New Vegas belongs to Caesar now. You are the last obstacle."

"New Vegas cannot belong to the Legion. It's not a city you can control. It's a masterpiece of order and technology, something your... empire could never comprehend."

"Your machines are destroyed," I retorted, crossing my arms in front of the screen. "Your control has crumbled. This city will thrive under the Legion, no longer a sanctuary for your delusions of grandeur."

"Thrive... under the Legion," he repeated bitterly, as if the words were poison. "What prosperity could come from zealots without vision? From a war machine that consumes everything it touches? History will not be kind to you, Legate. But perhaps that doesn't matter. You seem... more pragmatic than Caesar."

The air in the room was cold, filled with the faint hum of the monitors and control panels. I studied the main screen, where Mr. House's image remained static and composed, his voice carrying a restrained intensity. I knew this man was unlike those I had faced before. His mind, though encased in a shell, was one of the few pre-War relics that still clung to power.

"Given that RobCo developed the technology to keep brains alive, I assume you're no different," I said, letting my tone edge toward mockery. "An AI wouldn't have been the first choice for a pre-War magnate like you. So let's make this simple: tell me where your tank is—where your brain floats—and save me the trouble."

House's expression didn't change, but his voice sharpened, tinged with frustration.

"From your words, I gather you've uncovered some of my 'antiquated' work..." His tone was laced with disdain, clearly displeased by my dismissal of his design. "You'll have to try harder, Legate. I won't be leaving MY CITY easily."

The final word resonated with suppressed fury. For all his outward calm, House was clearly agitated. Perhaps it was the realization that I was right, or perhaps he understood there was no escape. His anger, controlled though it was, betrayed a weakness.

I stepped closer to the monitor. "Your city belongs to the Legion now," I said firmly. "You can fight and delay the inevitable, but you won't change the outcome. Everything you've built will be mine. Either I destroy what's left of you now, or you cooperate and make this less humiliating for yourself."

Mr. House's image remained on the screen, unmoving, watching me with a mechanical calm that only confirmed what I already suspected: there would be no easy answers. A man bold enough to maintain control over New Vegas for so long wouldn't yield to words or threats.

I turned to the main console and began my work.

With patience and precision, I began breaking into Mr. House's security systems. There was no rush. My men had secured the building, and New Vegas was already ours. Resistance was nearly extinguished, and the only task left was dismantling this final fortress of pre-War arrogance. House could wait. He had nowhere to run.

His cybernetic systems were extraordinary. I'd never seen anything like them. Every layer of security was crafted with a level of sophistication and detail beyond anything I'd encountered. This wasn't just pre-War technology—it was a masterpiece of engineering, the kind of system that could have supported an entire empire if the world hadn't fallen into ruin.

It took hours. Every protocol I breached seemed to trigger another, more intricate defense. House's tenacity was evident even in his systems; it was as though his will was etched into every line of code. For a moment, I felt a flicker of respect. This man had achieved what many in his time had not: creating a system that endured even after the apocalypse. But no system is impenetrable.

Finally, after what felt like a silent battle of wits between his ingenuity and mine, I accessed the core of his systems. And there it was: the secret he had so desperately protected.

Mr. House's body.

It was preserved in an advanced life-support chamber, hidden within a sealed tank. Even in a ruined world, he had defied time, keeping his body alive while his mind governed the city from the shadows. He wasn't a machine, as I had implied earlier—he was something else, something that had challenged death itself.

I stared at the information on the monitor, taking a moment to process it. This explained everything: his persistence, his arrogance, his control. He was a man who believed himself immortal, who had survived for decades in this state with the sole purpose of dominating New Vegas.

"So here you are," I murmured, more to myself than to the screen. "A man trapped in his own machine."

We moved through the corridors of the Lucky 38, using the security codes I had extracted from House's systems. Each door that opened brought us closer to our goal, and with each step, the silence of my men spoke louder than any words. There was no need for speeches or battle cries; we all knew we were closing the final chapter of this conquest.

At last, we reached the chamber.

There it was: a hermetically sealed tank surrounded by cables and monitors that still flickered faintly. Inside was Mr. House's body. A man who had survived over a century, but whose physical form was little more than a shadow of what it once had been. His skin was withered, his limbs frail as dried twigs. Yet he was alive, sustained by machines that preserved the remnants of his existence.

For a moment, I simply observed him. This was the man who had ruled New Vegas, who had built a technological empire and maintained his influence even after the apocalypse. He wasn't a god, nor a monster, as some might have described him. He was a relic—a stubborn reminder of the old world, clinging to an illusion of power.

But the victory wasn't complete. Before destroying the chamber, something caught my attention: a computer directly connected to the tank. I approached the terminal, my fingers moving deftly over the commands. Data began to flow, and there it was—a system designed to disconnect House from the total control of the Lucky 38's systems.

The idea struck me immediately.

Destroying him would be simple, but this was better. Far better. Not just to take his life, but to strip him of his purpose, his control, his legacy. I would turn him into a prisoner of his own creation.

I turned to the tank, gazing at it with a mix of contempt and satisfaction.

"It seems you won't die today, Mr. House," I said as I entered the final commands. "But you'll no longer control anything. Enjoy your prison—for the rest of your life."

With a final keystroke, the system responded. The lights on the monitors dimmed gradually, and the connections to his life-support system were isolated from the rest of the network. House, now reduced to a body encased in a capsule, would remain conscious but powerless, trapped in his own tower as the world moved on without him.

I turned to my men. "Let's move. We have a city to pacify."

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