Prologue:
October 12, 2281
Nicolette frowned as she started to wake up, but soon became aware of the uncomfortable feeling in her mouth and around her wrists. Faintly she recalled a gunfight and then an explosion... Her eyes widened in realization; she had tripped a mine, and now Benny had her and the Chip.
It was now or never; she tried to pull out of her captors' grasp, but when she felt the blunt force against her head she stopped. She was in too much pain to resist. That bomb had really done a number on her. Her whole body was wracked with a dull, throbbing pain that seemed only to grow worse with each step.
After what seemed like an endless amount of walking, they finally stopped. One glance at the wooden markers told her exactly where they were; a graveyard. One of the Khans pushed her to her knees and pulled the gag down, hissing in her ear, "Make a sound, and I slit your throat."
"Don't worry 'bout it. Nobody to hear it anyway," she sighed and looked at the view before her, "Except the bugs." She watched the glimmering lights of New Vegas in the distance, glittering like tiny gems. At least she had a great view.
"You put up quite the fight," Benny chuckled, and crouched before her, grazing the back of his hand across her cheek, a look of regret and sorrow flashing briefly across his features. He sighed and rested his forehead against hers and smiled wryly. In a hushed whisper he said, "I'm sorry it had to end like this, Nikki." He cleared his throat, rose above her and wolf-whistled, "Real shame that bomb took you out."
"Stuff it, Benny," she seethed, narrowing her eyes at him, "Just get it over with already." To think that she had cared for this man, that she had trusted him. It just proved that the Mojave was nothing but a festering pit of Cazadore larvae.
"Now, now, Nicolette, that isn't any way to talk..." he sighed and loaded his gun, "Damn shame that we have to put you out, Kitty." He paced in front of her; in one hand he held the Platinum Chip, in the other he held his gun, "But... we can't let you live with the knowledge you have."
Nicolette only narrowed her eyes as she glared at him coldly. She knew the risks of being a Courier. You always made more enemies than friends. Look at the Divide; at what her inconsiderate actions had caused. Truthfully, she was glad that she was going to die, to finally receive the judgement she had coming for years. She held what little of her composure she had left and stared into the distance, glancing at the Mojave one last time.
Something soft tickled her neck and cheeks, and with a simple glance she noted that her hair had finally fallen out of the bun she had sloppily tied it into. She relaxed and faced Benny, finally happy to face her judgement.
Benny pulled out a pair shades and covered his eyes, hiding his true feelings from the rest of the world. She heard the familiar click of the safety pin being released, and then the cold sting of the barrel of the gun against her forehead, "Goodbye, Kitty." The sound of a single gunshot resonated through the air and everything went black. But she wasn't dead. She could still faintly hear Benny's voice in the distance, could still feel the rough surface of the ground as his henchmen dragged her into the shallow grave they had dug, could still smell the fresh dirt as it slammed against her as she was buried.
She tried to move her arms, to call out to Benny to finish the job, but her feeble attempts failed. Something in the back of her mind clawed its way through, and consumed her; fear. She was going to be buried alive, unable to call out for help or claw her way out. Karma was a real bitch; she deserved to die like this, to pay for what she did...
Yet still she cursed him, the man who had shot her... For a moment she panicked, and tried to recall his name. No matter how hard she tried to think, the name of the man that had shot her slipped from her grasp each time. She recalled it beginning with a B, but that was it. A heavy guilt weighed down on her, and yet she couldn't recall what she had done to have felt this way. Faintly she recalled a poker chip and explosions, but their meanings escaped her. Why couldn't she remember? The fear that gripped at her chest was no longer the fear of dying; it was the fear of forgetting. Slowly, as if watching a film in reverse, her memories filed by and disappeared one by one.
And as she felt herself slowly slip into the cold embrace of unconsciousness, she vaguely registered the feeling of being scooped up into someone's arms. Was this the end for her?
Jenovah wasn't the adventurous or curious type; in fact, unless he was told to do something, he would gladly spend his time reading pre-war books, or what little of them he could. So why he had decided to stroll through town in the middle of the night was a mystery to him. He just had this nagging feeling that something was about to happen, something that he needed to see.
When he heard a muffled grunt and hushed whispers, he moved closer; despite the larger part of his mind that told him to leave. He saw four figures in the darkness; five men and one woman. The woman was clearly their prisoner, as she was the only one bound and gagged. Four of the other men looked dishelved, and both wore the Khans symbol on their jackets. The fifth man was well-dressed in his white checkered blazer, his eyes troubled. From his accent it was clear that the fifth man came from Vegas; it was a rare and tell-tale accent out in these parts.
The woman struggled in a feeble attempt to free herself, but when one of the Khans hit her with the butt of his gun, she fell silent and stopped resisting. As if it had dawned on her that she was stuck, and too weak to fight. Her expression was pained, and if he looked carefully enough, he could see a nasty road rash on her whole right side.
The sight made Jenovah's chest tighten, and he had to try his best not to call out to the men to leave the woman alone. He silenced himself, took a deep breath and followed them up the steep hill that lead to the graveyard. It took all his might not to scream out when he felt the cold, metallic hand on his shoulder.
"What are you doing out here at this wee hour, Jen?" the cowboy face was a welcome sight. Jenovah sighed in relief and placed an index finger on his own lips, signalling for Victor to quiet down.
He pointed towards the top of the hill, and the disappearing figures, then spoke in a hushed tone, "I saw three men take someone up there. Two of 'em were definitely Khans... the other one had a Vegas accent. I think they're planning on killing the girl."
Victor fell silent and nodded, silently moving up the hill with Jenovah. While he moved in closer, Victor stayed out of sight, waiting for the men to leave. As Jenovah neared the group, he could discern some of their chatter.
"...put up quite the fight," the man in the tuxedo said, crouching down before the woman and grazing his hand over her cheek, whispering something to her, then rose and wolf-whistled, "Real shame that bomb knocked you out."
"Stuff it, Benny," the woman seethed, her glare sent shivers all over Jenovah's body, "Just get it over with already."
"Now, now, Nicolette, that isn't any way to talk..." Benny, as he had been called, sighed and loaded his gun, "Damn shame we have to kill you, Kitty." He paced in front of her, in one hand he held his gun, in the other he held a small, circular object, "But... we can't let you live with the knowledge you have."
The woman didn't resist or plead, she stared coldly at Benny and a look of contempt crossed her face, as if she wanted to die. Her crimson locks fell loosely from the messy bun it had been pulled into and framed her face perfectly. Her iridescent green eyes swam with guilt, anger and joy. Jenovah found himself enraptured at her courage and her beauty; never had he met anyone like her.
Benny aimed his gun at her head and fired, "Goodbye, Kitty." Jenovah stifled his gasp and watched in horror as the other two dragged her into a shallow grave and tossed her in, gradually covering her. Benny looked at the circular object in his hand and sighed, "Damnit, Nicolette... why'd it have to be you..."
It took the four Khans no less than two minutes to cover the woman's body. They turned towards Benny and sighed. The dark haired one pat Benny's shoulder almost sympathetically, "Sorry 'bout the girl, but she chose the wrong team. At least she's dead. Won't suffer much."
Benny shrugged the man's hand off and walked back down the hill, his eyes hidden behind his shades, "Still doesn't change my feelings for her..."
Their voices vanished into the distance, and once their shapes were gone, both Jenovah and Victor rushed towards the shallow grave, digging it up as fast as they could. Even though Benny had shot her in the head, an always fatal wound, something forced Jenovah to continue, that she was still somehow alive. As soon as he could wrap his arms underneath her, he scooped her up into his arms and hurried towards Doc Mitchell's place, Victor hot on his heels.
Never had he run as fast as he had that day, with the red head clinging to her life. He stopped outside the doctor's house and kicked at the door with such fervour that he feared if Mitchell didn't open it soon, he would kick it down.
A muffled grunt came from the other side, followed by thundering footsteps, "What in the blazes are you thinking!? It's the middle of the night! And stop kicking! My door can't handle that much!" To say that the old man sounded furious would be the understatement of the millennia. The door swung open, revealing the red-faced Doc Mitchell, "What the hell, Jeno-"
"Help her!" Jenovah was surprised by the urgent and panicky tone of his own voice. He looked down at the woman's unconscious form and stepped into the front door, whether the doctor wanted him to or not.
Doc Mitchell's red face turned ashen and serious. He took the limp form from Jenovah and rushed her to the back of the house, towing Jenovah along, "How long ago?"
"Three... Four minutes at most," he answered, his eyes stuck on the pooling crimson that did not match her hair. If it weren't for the blood, he would have thought she was sleeping.
"Probably saved her life," the doctor muttered and placed her down on the medical bed. With swift and deft hands he stripped her down to her undergarments, wasting no time to clean the wound, "She's still bleeding... good... Get out!" While he kicked Jenovah with one leg, he pulled his other into the medical garb, preparing to operate.
And with one final glance at her dying form, Jenovah left, sitting on the front porch and waiting for any news. Time seemed to slow down, and he lost track of time, merely staring at the sky. He watched as it went from dark indigo, to mauve, to crimson, peach and finally, cyan. It wasn't until Doc Mitchell pulled him out of his thoughts that he realized just how long he had been staring at the sky. He faced the doctor and sighed in relief at the look on his face.
"She'll live..." Mitchell began, trailing off for a moment, "...but I won't know the full extent of the damage done to her mind until she wakes up... if she wakes up."
Had he taken too long to save her? What if he had acted sooner, would she have come out unscathed? He was a yellow-bellied coward, and if she didn't make it because of his cowardice, he would regret it for the rest of his life.
