Inspired by "The Wildcard"

Disclaimer: I don't own Mass Effect or Fallout: New Vegas

Prologue: A home lost

Entrance to the Divide, Mojave Wasteland, Year 2281 A.D.

The arid winds of the Divide followed the lone man as he stepped back into the Mojave wasteland. He stopped at the entrance of the canyon and took off his helmet. Breathing deeply, he looked out into the wasteland. The air was cleaner here which wasn't surprising since the Divide was the site of a past nuclear attack. He had needed to use the riot gear helmet's air filters to be able to breath in the irradiated canyon. Running a hand through his messy black hair, the man strolled over to a nearby abandoned pre-war car. He jumped up on the hood and sat down, watching the sunset. To the west, the lights of Primm and the nearby NCR camp began to flicker into existence as the setting sun slipped behind the mountains. In the distance, he could just barely make out the outline of the two giant statues that loomed over the Mojave Outpost. A few young geckos ran across the highway, their shrill cries echoing across the wasteland as they search for an animal or unwary traveler to hunt. A sigh escaped the man as he watched darkness fall upon the Mojave.

"Another dead end, just like Benny was," he muttered bitterly. "The wasteland's safe now, hopefully for good this time, but Ulysses didn't know anything about my past. I thought he was stalking me or something." Unconsciously, he brought his right hand to the side of his head, rubbing the cratered scar that the gunshot wound had left. His messy hair covered most of the scar, but a few tendril-like marks ran down his forehead. These marks had been left by the stitches that Doctor Mitchel had used to patch him up.

"Maybe I just need a break right now. Saving the Mojave twice in three months is tiring," the man mused. "I can track down leads on my past later." With this thought in his mind, he fished out the transporter to Big Mountain.


Hidden both the descending darkness and the giant sign that stood opposite of the Nevada Highway Patrol Station, a lone figure breathed in and out steadily as he finally sighted the profile of his target. The annoymous tip had been a long shot, but after a week of stakeout it had paid off in spades. Finally, the Wasteland would learn that even so called 'heroes' paid the ultimate price when they invoked the wrath of the Legion. Slowly, he centered his crosshairs of his rifle's scope on the man's torso. "For the Caesar, you son of a bitch," the assassin murmured. As the figure pulled out something, he exhaled and squeezed the trigger.


As he activated the transporter, a rifle shot cracked out, nicking the device. The energy emitted from the transporter crackled ominously. Suddenly bolts of energy flew out, igniting the car's engine. An instant later, a giant explosion echoed across the wasteland. The assassin ran over, looking for a body. He found nothing but the remains of a car and a strange broken device that might have been a toy gun. The Courier was gone from the Mojave wasteland, never to be seen again.