As night fell on Black Mountain, the glow of New Vegas kept Hank company while he crouched on a high peak watching the frantic pack of deathclaws search for a way to get to him. Idly, he checked his ammo one more time, even though he knew the numbers by heart. Six .308 rounds for his rifle, 34 5.56 AP rounds for his LMG, one frag grenade, and a switchblade accounted for all of his defensive and offensive capability. Might as well be a flyswatter and a butterfly net. Momentarily distracted, he looked back over his shoulder towards the installation atop Black Mountain and imagined he could see the Super mutants that were positioned all over the place.
How many Super mutants, ten? More? Well, it didn't matter because he was trapped against invisible walls that prevented him from sneaking away toward the installation itself, and from edging away along the cliff top towards his right. Invisible freaking walls. How nice, he thought, as he wondered what genius dreamed that one up? A growl drew his attention back to the pack below him, and though it was now too dark to see them, he knew there were at at least 20 of them down there. Some had chased him from the quarry, but more had been waiting at the foot of the mountain. In desperation, he'd climbed up the cliffs until he hit those damned walls, and found himself trapped.
At least he had a full pack of cigarettes, and no reason whatsoever to save them for the future he knew he didn't have. Eventually he arrived at the only real decision possible. When the sun came up, he would work his way down the cliff firing his rifle, then switch to the LMG and try to fight his way out, though he knew there was almost no hope at all. Better to die fighting than of old age wondering how people knew freezing birds don't feel sorry for themselves...
RIP Hank... It was a brief, but enjoyably intense battle...
