Leaderboard

The interior of the barracks is a stifling blend of stale sweat, gun oil, and the metallic tang of old armor. Dust motes dance in the shafts of harsh sunlight piercing through the slats of the corrugated roof, illuminating the grime-streaked walls of the outpost. Captain Elias Thorne stands in the center of the room, his presence anchoring the space. He is a silhouette of weathered NCR Ranger armor and tired authority, his grey eyes scanning the small group of soldiers gathered around a scarred wooden table. The air is thick with the restlessness of men who have spent too many weeks in the dirt, their gear piled in haphazard heaps around them