A/N #1 – Disclaimer: I own nothing of the game Fallout: New Vegas, not anything to do with the Fallout series. It belongs to Bethesda and Obsidian games, but thanks to the series for giving me such awesome ideas.
A/N #2 –Summary: It all started with a small chip and a simple delivery. But life is never simple considering that his game rigged from the start. Trapped in a deathbed atop a cemetery in the Mojave, a shallow grave, this is where his rebirth begins; creating the man whose decisions will either enslave or free the inhabitants of the Mojave wasteland. Follow him as he tries to uncover his past while coping with the events of the present but as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat.
Prologue
War…War never changes…
The rest of Mojave express's building was empty except for Nash, a fan spinning idly above the new patron that had walked or rather rolled into the Courier outpost. The main room was small, wallpaper peeling like cracked skin while hundreds of years of neglect showed its colors. Chairs rested against the wall opposite the counter but the robot balanced on one wheel made no such move towards them.
On the screen that displayed the machines face rested the cocky smile of a cowboy in his rattan black hat. After exchanging words with the southern accented robot, the man behind the counter scratched the fuzz he had left on top of his head that hardly constituted hair.
"Six Packages?" Jonathan Nash asked, his old features on his sun tanned skin scrunching up like an old leather belt. The man was getting up in his years but he had to double check that he had heard the robot correctly. Nash stood behind the counter, one elbow resting on the dilapidated wood and the other hand scratching information down about the requested deliveries. He was a bit shocked at the large request but even more so by the compensation that would be given to the couriers when their job was completed.
No one in the Mojave had that many caps except for big shots in the New Vegas Strip. Turning around for a moment he pushed around old mechanical parts and nick-knacks sat with paper tags attached by wire, scrawl all over with the legibility of chicken scratch. Each one waiting for a courier to return and deliver it to its prospective owner.
The robot handed over six small boxes wrapped tightly in old paper and tied with what looked a lot like worn shoe string. In the wasteland it wasn't really the presentation so long as you got the goods. Each had a label but Nash's eyes only caught the names of three packages before having to look back to the Robot cowboy. There was Dice, a chess piece, and a gambling chip; such a strange array of simple objects made the job odd but since they weren't weapons or messages it saved him a lot of headache worrying about the couriers getting picked off.
"That everything?" Nash asked assigning the last courier before going over to the Vikki and Vance Casino where most of the couriers rested. The Robot tipped it's large body and screen a bit before looking back up at the man.
"Thank you kindly Partner, I believe that's it. Make sure that these make it to their destination and I have no qualms with returning your kind favor." Nash snorted and chuckled to himself, this wasn't a favor, it was just business. With that the robot spun around, opened the door, and left without another word. Nash sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, placing the packages behind the counter, he walked out of the building and across the battered and broken street to the Casino.
Pushing on the double doors, a few heads at the slot machines turned. Many smiled some just grunted a gruff hello; after getting around to the remaining couriers downing whiskey and Big Horner meat he just had one last courier.
"Ulysses, got a job for you." The Jamaican looking man with dark brown skin, chocolate dreads , and a scruffy beard and mustache. The man blinked and clapped his hand tightly with Nash, they both released each other's grip and sat down. No one spoke as they listened to the radio singing it's songs from centuries past. Each dulcet note was met with the tap of a foot or a snap of a finger by the men, it was a moment of respite from the harsh world outside the old casino.
"So what kinda job are we talking about?" Ulysses asked, taking his second shot of vodka for the day. Nash tugged a small manual sized book from his breast pocket and set it bef
ore the courier, his fingers dancing over the edges of the pages till he reached the order page that the robot had made. Ulysses traced the page with his finger mouthing the words as he read the words. At the bottom of the prospective courier list the man paused, his eyes growing wide then narrowing sharply as he read the name over and over again.
His eyebrows fell together as he sat back, lightly shaking his head and murmuring under his breath things that Nash couldn't quite catch. Taking a deep breath, Ulysses sat forward again and rested his elbows on the table, his fingers steepled before his mouth. Nash tilted his head, obviously the other had been surprised by the name or rather shocked. Even his dark skin seemed to pale as he watched the man's hazel eyes.
"Nash, I want you to be honest…that name…under Courier Six, it that for real? I mean is that guy really alive and kicking?" Ulysses seemed highly skeptical and glanced down at the book with nervous eyes. Nash frowned for a moment but soon hid the expression.
"Course he is, I don't keep dead men on my payroll." The other man nodded and stood, pushing in his seat slowly so it wouldn't grind across the dirty floor.
"I'm gonna have to turn you down on this one old friend," he murmured, eyes lost in thought. Nash sat back and let out a whistle.
"You sure? It's real good money and if you get everything squared there's a bonus for you." Ulysses shook his head, still staring off into space.
"Yes, I'm sure. Let Courier Six take the package in my stead. He can…handle it." With that Ulysses turned and walked out, passing Primm Slim (The Protectron Guide with a cowboy hat on his head sensor) on his way through the door. Nash's aged eyes followed after him, suspicion and confusion bubbling in his gut as he headed over to one of the Bar stools, A young man with short, spiky black hair that only hung to the bottom of his ear sat and tinkered with an old 9 millimeter pistol. His eyes were a sharp charcoal that seemed clearer than water in the Mojave.
"Courier?" he asked, not remembering the kids name from the booklet and not all too thrilled about tugging it out to thumb the pages and find a name he'd probably forget in the next few minutes. The man stopped disassembling the weapon and swapping parts to look at Nash.
"I've got a job for you, delivering a chip."
The long stretch of the I-15 was lonely enough without the whipping dust and rolling tumbleweeds. The courier continued walking, his pack slung lazily over his shoulder as he examined the box he had been given to deliver, the box itself was no bigger than a deck of cards. Curiously he turned the box over and over between his fingers, tugging off the shoe string and paper covering.
He was just on the outskirts of Goodsprings, a quaint little hovel of a town with their only main attraction a bar and a semi-working pool table. He didn't mind the place, It was a lot safer sleeping in town than it was along the north stretch of the I-15 where Khans, Raiders, Cazadors and Radscorpians owned the land.
His sharp eyes flicked from the town and back to the box, it was a simple off white and dirt stained box with an easy to remove cover. Unconsciously, he checked around, if the head of the Mojave express knew he was peeking in on the package it could mean the end of his job. A shiver tremored up his spine, while he didn't want to lose his job he just wanted to know.
What was so tiny but so important that it would mean a payment of 2000 caps, that'd be enough money to get you in the Vegas strip. With the boxes top discarded, his glance rested upon something that in his mind was anti-climatic.
"A chip?" he grumbled in a smooth baritone. "A simple gambling chip?" he tossed the box in his pack and played with the simple chip. It's design was unusual with the golden numbers 38 on one side and a tall well lit tower on the other side. 38? Did that mean the Lucky 38 casino? He sighed and tucked the object in his leather armor's pants pocket, leave it to some nut to make him walk all the way from Primm to New Vegas just to deliver a single gambling experience.
The sky above began to darken as he made his way through the town and to Trudy's well known bar, two men in leather bikers jackets sat on opposing sides of the door while two other goons rested on the porch. Easy Pete, a tender old man with a beard as white as snow, was nowhere to be seen.
"Looky here boys," a man with an orange Mohawk and green bandana teased, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest. His buddy, a black man with the same green bandana and a long mustache, on the other side of the door chimed in. Trying to sound as smart as their half whit boss making him the second in command.
"Hehe, yea boys! Looky here! Listen loser," the second in command stood from leaning on the building and walked uncomfortably close to the courier and sneered in his face. "Our boss wants something you have bug!" he jeered and poked his dirty fingers in the courier's chest but the man didn't move nor dignify them with anything. Bored, the leader flicked his hand to one of the other unnamed lackeys who came from behind the courier and bashed him across the back of the head with a shovel.
The man didn't even shout, he was unconscious before his face even hit the dirt. The group of Khans circled like vultures until a man with a checkered suit stepped between them and parted their ranks. If anyone were to compare the checkered suit man to someone it'd be Bugsy Siegel from the kick start Vegas of the past.
"Gloves over his hands, tie his wrists and ankles." He commanded calmly crouching next to the unconscious body, he reached into the man's pocket and tugged out the chip with the golden 38 emblazoned on it. A wide smile spread across his face as he stood and began walking towards the Goodsprings Cemetery.
"Up this way," he motioned towards the graves at the top of the large hill. "We'll dig him a grave and they'll never know that he's new." The leader and his second of the Khan's quickly grabbed the body and followed after the checkered suit man, the remaining men sitting around the bar to stop anyone from interfering or getting to inquisitive.
At the top of the hill, the man with the checkered suit flicked out his Zippo lighter and snapped a flame to life to light the cigarette pinched between his teeth. "Can you dig any slower?" he growled the man in the shallow grave no more than three feet deep but big enough to fit a body into. The shovel clinked into the rocks and dirt as the Khan digging stuck the tool in the ground and glared.
"Why don't you dig then?" Another of the Khans stepped between the two and held up his hands.
"Hey the graves deep enough, he'll be dead and no one's gonna care about this nameless asshole anyways!" Tempers simmered for a few more moments before they all calmed and waited for the man to wake, the Khans didn't understand why the man in the suit didn't just shoot and bury him. All he said was it was a gentleman's way to die, the Khan's rolled their eyes at each other and waited jolting when the courier stirred.
His head was pounding, heart throbbing loudly in his ears as blood pulsed wildly through his veins trying to hurriedly bring him back to life. As his eyes rolled around in their sockets, the courier got his orientation and starred at his attackers and soon to be murderers. He shivered a bit, there was no law in the Mojave and no one to care about him; no family, friends, significant other even though he'd had his fair share of interests. The Khan leader of the group turned to the man in the suit and growled.
"You got what you came for, so pay up!" The courier tugged at the gloves and ropes tightly hooked around his wrists.
"Your crying in the rain pally," the suit man snorted with a smirk on his face. Looking to their prisoner he sucked in another puff on his cigarette, eyes glowing brightly. The courier looked up in time to see him toss the nicotine stick and snuff it out under his boot.
"Time to cash out," the suited man said, almost tired. The second in command Khan threw his arms out to the side and snapped.
"Will you get it over with?" The courier began to shake a bit looking between the beefy Khans that were probably high on psycho and the New Vegas man in the black and white suit. Mr. Suit as the courier now called him, held up a finger and hissed through his teeth at the Khan his blue eyes sparkling as they met with the courier's charcoal hues.
"Maybe Khans kill people without looking in the eye, but I ain't a fink, dig?" he said dropping his hand and reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He tugged out the chip and pinched it between his pointer finger and thumb. "You've made your last run kid, sorry you got twisted up in this scene." He frowned as if almost sorrowful for what was about to happen next, his hand replacing the chip and instead coming out with a silver shining weapon in his grasp. The courier gasped a bit but held his tongue, he had enough dignity not to plead for his life when they made it evidently clear they were going to kill him.
Mr. Suit continued on speaking as he looked over the beautifully engraved pistol. "From where you're sitting it must look like an 18 karat run of bad luck," he leveled the pistol on the courier's forehead and mouthed something that his eyes didn't catch, too busy focused on the gun. The Khans smiled and one rubbed his palms, finally happy to be rid of their prisoner.
"Truth is," Mr. Suit said in a sigh, "The game was rigged from the start." A Flash of white and orange light engulfed the Courier's view as the bullet sped towards him and penetrated his skull. His body slumped back, no longer struggling against the restraints. The Khan's quickly dumped the body in the whole and began tossing dirt over his still breathing form, blood pouring from the wound on his head and caking with the dirt around his face. Satisfied, Mr. Suit and the rest of the Khan's took off out of Goodsprings, eager to leave all their mess behind while they moved for a place with a greater chance of anonymity.
Yet even under the dirt of the shallow grave the Courier was still alive, barley but he clung desperately to life while a large black shape moved to the haphazardly buried body. A light flickered over the fresh turned earth and mechanical three pronged claws grabbed a hand that still protruded from the dirt. The Robot tugged and wheeled back, dragging the almost lifeless body out. Quickly he took the man into his arms and rolled down the hill, balancing on his one wheel. The screen with the face of a cowboy wearing a rattan hat looking towards the doctor's house, the Courier would be safe there.
A/N #3- Please review and let me know what you think of this, I'm hoping to make this a very big series that spans all the entire campaign of the game and even side quests too. Depending on the reception of the prologue will determine how fast I get Chapter 1 out.