The Rangers gathered in the center of Higgs Village as the artificial sun reached its morning peak. They stood in disciplined ranks, well-rested and eyes sharp, the early morning light glinting off their polished Riot Gear. Amelia moved through the lines with practiced authority, dividing the force into three specialized teams based on the tactical sectors Case had partitioned.
The Main Core Group, a ten-man elite squad, was assigned to the X-2 Sector. Their mission was a systematic sweep: mopping up any unseen or uncontrolled robots within the Y-17 Medical Facility, clearing the lobotomites from The Cuckoo's Nest, and securing the X-7A "Left Field" Artillery Launch. Once the sector was neutralized, they were to dig in and wait for further orders from the Sink.
The Second Group, also ten strong, was tasked with the X-8 Sector. This was the "dirty work" of the mountain. They were to clear the X-7B "Boom Town" Target Zone, the Z-9 Crotalus DNA Preservation Lab, the Hazmat Testing Ground, and the nightmare-inducing cazadore-ridden Z-14 Pepsinae Lab. Their final objective was to secure the Securitron De-construction Plant—a vital asset for growing the mechanical army.
The Third Team remained at Higgs Village as a rapid-response reinforcement unit, ready to pivot to whichever sector met the heaviest resistance.
Case, meanwhile, had sent out the broadcast signal. At the motorpool directly in front of the X-2 Antenna Array, the ground shook as a mechanical legion assembled. It was a sight that would have made a pre-war General weep with pride: twenty-five Sentry Bots, thirty Protectrons, and fifty Mister Handys and their variants, all idling in a terrifyingly perfect "Stand-By" mode.
As Case looked out over the sea of steel, a stray thought crossed his mind—a flicker of fourth-wall-breaking irony. He wondered why the Courier, in the stories he remembered, had never just demanded these codes.
Maybe it wasn't in the script, or maybe the "game" would have been too easy with an army at your back. But here, in the harsh reality of the Big Empty, "easy" was exactly what he needed to keep his people alive.
Despite the power at his fingertips, Case wasn't a fool. He knew the Think Tank was a collection of brilliant, ego-driven minds that could turn on a dime if they felt their "research" was being threatened.
To mitigate the risk, he moved through the motorpool in full diligence. He manually deactivated the unneeded units, physically pulling their fusion cores and power cells. He left only the essentials operational, ensuring that if Zero or Klein tried to reclaim the network, they wouldn't have an entire legion already standing in his living room.
As Case finished pulling the final redundant fusion core, the first squad arrived at the motorpool. It was always a sight to behold, seeing the rangers in their black armor and duster moving to your direction.
Corbin looked over the deactivated husks and then at the shimmering mechanical line still standing at attention. "Alright, Boss. Give us the word. Which of these tin cans are coming with us?"
Case didn't even look up from his Pip-Boy. He tapped a few keys, broadcasting a localized voice-command frequency. "Unit activation: Authorization Eagle-Zero-One."
"Three Mister Gutsys, two Mister Orderlys, three Protectrons, and one Sentry Bot," Case recited, the machines flanking him like a royal guard. He looked at the ghoul. "That should be enough to secure the Y-17 perimeter and the Cuckoo's Nest, right?"
Corbin let out a raspy, dry chuckle, adjusting the strap of his marksman carbine. "Enough? Mate, with that much firepower in the vanguard, we could take over the whole damn Mojave. Most raider gangs would break and run just seeing a Sentry Bot's silhouette on the horizon."
Case handed Corbin a small, handheld transmitter—a specialized "slave" unit hard-linked to his Pip-Boy. "They're slaved to your IFF now, Corbin. If you point, they shoot. If you stay still, they guard. Just try not to get in front of the Sentry Bot when those Gatling lasers start spinning up."
"Understood," Corbin nodded, signaling his squad to move out. "We'll have the X-2 sector locked down by nightfall. See you at the debrief."
The group departed on foot, the heavy thud of the Sentry Bot's wheels leading the way. The Protectrons followed, flanking the Rangers to provide a wall of steel, while the Mister Handys hovered alongside the troops, their sensors scanning the perimeter. They headed straight for the X-2 Antenna Array, the nearest landmark on the horizon.
Case watched them go, doing a mental tally of the remaining threats. Since he now held the master codes for the facility's main security grid, the X-2 station should—in theory—already be neutralized. Most of the facility's standard bots were now under his thumb. However, he knew the "uncontrolled" variables remained: the Securitrons, the Cyberdogs, and Mobius's endless swarms of Robo-Scorpions.
The standing order for the Rangers was clear: any machine not broadcasting the new Ranger-Zero signature was to be considered hostile and dismantled on sight. As the dust settled behind Corbin's squad, Case realized the "clean-up" was going to be less of a war and more of a systematic execution of anything still loyal to the Forbidden Zone.
As Case stood pondering the tactical map, the sound of heavy treads and rhythmic marching announced the arrival of the second squad. Markus led the way, his massive T-60 Power Armor making him look like a steel titan, a high-speed minigun resting easily in his grip. Following him were the rest of the Rangers, including Milla. She had traded her Ranger makeshift armor, aka plate carrier, for a suit of Combat Armor, Reinforced Mark 2—the same high-spec plating Case wore. Behind them, the APC's engine idled with a low, guttural growl.
"Case, what do you have in store for me?" Milla asked, her arms crossed over her chest piece.
"Authorization Eagle-Zero-Two," Case commanded.
The pavement groaned as two Sentry Bots detached from the line and rolled toward them, their red sensors pulsing in sync with five Protectrons that clattered into a defensive perimeter around the APC.
"You guys are going up against Cazadores," Case explained, his voice turning serious. "The Protectrons and Markus will absorb most of the physical attacks. When those things swarm, you stay behind the steel. Let the bots take the stings." He paused, glancing at the data on his Pip-Boy. "There are also rogue Securitrons in the area. They're fast and they hit hard. Don't let them flank you."
Markus let out a metallic chuckle, the sound muffled and digitized by his T-60 helmet. "Reminds me of the old days. Nicely done, Case. You sure you won't tag along? You're gonna miss all the fun, you know."
Case looked at the army he had built in a single night—the perfect blend of Old World machinery and New World grit. "I'll have to coordinate all of this, Markus. If the Think Tank tries to pull a fast one with the override, I need to be at the CIU terminal to shut them down. Besides, I will have a bird's eye view from over there," Case pointed his hand at the sink sitting on top of the dome.
"Alright, thanks for the tools, Case. Now, let the adults take it from here," Markus quipped, the mechanical whir of his armor servos punctuating the remark.
The second squad moved with the practiced efficiency of a veteran unit. Markus clambered into the rear of the APC, the heavy vehicle dipping slightly under the massive weight of the T-60 suit. Milla followed him in, checking the straps on her helmet one last time before the hatch hissed shut. The Rangers who couldn't fit inside took up positions alongside the vehicle, their rifles held at low-ready.
The APC lurched forward, turning right at the Higgs Village gates. The two Sentry Bots took point, their heavy treads crunching the gravel as they transitioned into a wide combat diamond formation around the armored transport. The Protectrons brought up the rear, their laser actuators clicking as they scanned the jagged ridgelines for any sign of Cazador wings.
Case stood at the motorpool, watching the dust cloud settle. The silence that followed was heavy. He felt like an actual commander, despite his age. It felt weird, but good at the same time.
"Case, this is Jacob. I need you up here, over," Jacob said.
Case turned his head, looking up at the smaller, isolated dome perched atop the massive central structure of the Think Tank. Jacob was waving his hand, the radio in his hand, seemingly disturbed about the situation.
"This is Case. Roger that. I'm on my way, Major," he replied, clipping the radio back to his belt.