Westside was a rough place, but Six had seen worse. A walled-off community on the edge of New Vegas, it was a haven for those who wanted to live free of NCR oversight but still be close enough to the Strip to scrape by.
Six, Boone, Rebecca, Roger, and Raul moved through the narrow streets, drawing a few wary glances from the locals. Westside wasn't exactly hostile, but strangers asking too many questions could get themselves into trouble fast.
Six had been through here before and knew the layout well enough. He turned to Boone.
"Keep an eye out. If Dermot and Saint James are involved in this, they won't be happy to see us."
Boone gave a curt nod, his rifle held low but ready.
Rebecca sighed, stretching her arms.
"I hate slavers. Let's just get this over with."
Roger chuckled.
"You and me both, pipsqueak."
They made their way toward one of the old apartment buildings near the edge of the district, where Six had heard the two scavengers were holed up. The place was in bad shape—peeling paint, broken windows, and the faint stench of rot hanging in the air.
Six knocked on the door, but he didn't wait for an answer before pushing it open.
Inside, the room was a mess of old furniture, dirty clothes, and the unmistakable scent of unwashed bodies. Dermot and Saint James sat at a rickety table, sharing a bottle of rotgut whiskey.
Saint James looked up first, his expression turning from surprise to irritation in an instant.
"Who the hell are you?"
Dermot scowled, clearly annoyed at the intrusion.
"You lost or somethin'?"
Six stepped forward, his voice cold.
"We're looking for some missing refugees. Word is, you two might know something about that."
Saint James chuckled, leaning back in his chair.
"Refugees? Ain't my problem."
Rebecca folded her arms.
"See, that's funny, 'cause Parker over at Aerotech says some of them were last seen dealing with you two."
Dermot shifted uncomfortably.
"I don't know what you're talkin' about."
Six glanced at Boone. Boone, without a word, raised his rifle and aimed it square at Dermot's knee.
Roger sighed, shaking his head.
"Fellas, let's not make this difficult. Just tell us what we need to know, and maybe we won't have to redecorate this place with your insides."
Saint James' smirk faltered.
"Alright, alright! No need to get violent."
Dermot wiped the sweat from his brow.
"Look, we might've—uh—moved a few folks. Just passing 'em along, y'know? Some of those refugees had debts, and, well, someone came along willing to pay for 'em."
Six's jaw tightened.
"Who?"
Saint James hesitated.
"Some Omertas. From Gomorrah. They, uh… they like fresh meat for their operations."
Roger's grip on his sword tightened.
"You sold people to the Omertas?"
Dermot raised his hands defensively.
"We just set up the deals! We don't ask questions."
Six exchanged a glance with Boone, then looked back at the two slavers.
"You're done."
Before either of them could react, Boone pulled the trigger.
A single shot rang out, and Saint James slumped over, a clean hole between his eyes.
Dermot shrieked, scrambling backward.
"Wait! Wait! I can help! I—"
Roger's sword flashed. A second later, Dermot was clutching his throat, gurgling as he collapsed.
Raul exhaled, spinning his revolver once before holstering it.
"Well, that was messy."
Six ignored the corpses and turned to his team.
"We're heading to Gomorrah. If the Omertas are trafficking slaves, we're going to shut them down."
Roger wiped his blade clean on Dermot's shirt.
"Good. I was hoping we'd get to break something."
Boone simply nodded.
Rebecca smirked.
"This is why I stick with ya chooms. Always making life interesting."
Six holstered his revolver.
"Let's move."
Six exhaled, rubbing his temple as he glanced over the stack of documents, holotapes, and ledgers they had pulled from the slaver hideout. It was enough to damn the Omertas in any honest court—but in New Vegas, under Mr. House's rule, honesty wasn't exactly a given.
Boone crossed his arms.
"You think Parker's gonna do anything with this?"
Six shook his head.
"He's one of the few good ones. But his hands are tied. The best we can do is make enough noise that House has to take notice."
Rebecca scoffed, loading a fresh magazine into her sidearm.
"Or we could just burn Gomorrah to the ground."
Roger smirked.
"Tempting, but a bit messy."
Raul adjusted his hat.
"Messy, yeah. Fun? Absolutely."
Six gave them all a look.
"We do this right. If we go in guns blazing, we give House an excuse to come down on us. We get the NCR involved, we make it a problem House can't ignore."
Boone nodded.
"Then let's make sure Parker has everything he needs."
With that, they made their way toward the New Vegas outskirts, heading for the Westside apartments where Captain Parker was stationed. The streets were still tense, word of the refugee kidnappings spreading like wildfire. People whispered as they passed, some hopeful, others scared.
Parker was outside when they arrived, talking to a pair of concerned settlers. His eyes flicked to Six's group, and he excused himself, stepping forward with a frown.
"Six. What've you got for me?"
Six handed him the stack of evidence.
"Everything. Names, routes, payout records—all of it points back to the Omertas."
Parker's expression darkened as he flipped through the pages.
"Goddammit. Those sick bastards - can't say I'll shed any tears for them."
He let out a breath, shaking his head.
"I knew there was something going on, but this? This is organized trafficking. House won't like this getting out."
Rebecca crossed her arms.
"Good. Let him squirm."
Parker shot her a look but didn't argue. He looked back at Six.
"I'll need time to get this to my superiors. If we push too hard, House might just sweep it under the rug."
Six nodded.
"Then we'll keep the pressure on from the streets. Make sure this doesn't get buried."
Parker sighed, rubbing his temple.
"Be careful, Six. The Omertas don't like loose ends."
Six smirked.
"Neither do I."
Ding!
[Quest Complete: The Coyotes]
[Objective: Collected evidence, you can report back to Captain Parker]
[Reward: Rare Silver-Tier Item Skill The Coyote]
Skill The Coyote:
Passively, the user will start taking in refugees from other factions. The higher the user's fame is, the more the number of refugees will increase and their quality will increase too.
Six blinked as the familiar notification appeared in his vision. A skill? That wasn't something he got every day.
He quickly pulled up the description, reading through it. Refugees from other factions? Quality based on fame? That could be useful—potential allies, workers, even skilled fighters looking for shelter. Given how Goodsprings had been expanding, this was an opportunity to bring in more people under his banner.
Rebecca peered over his shoulder.
"What's the haul this time?"
Six smirked.
"Looks like we'll be getting more guests. The more people know my name, the more refugees will start showing up."
Boone grunted.
"More mouths to feed."
Roger chuckled.
"Or more hands to work."
Six tucked the notification away.
"We'll deal with that later. Right now, we have a casino full of slavers to pay a visit."
Rebecca grinned.
"Now you're talking."
With their next move clear, they set off toward the Strip. It was time to see just how much trouble they could stir up in Gomorrah.