Fallout
Road to Vegas
Prologue
War. War never changes.
Over two hundred years ago, the last great war would be waged. It's casualty was the world.
For generations, nuclear fire and radiation blanketed the land is an age of darkness. Soon after however, life emerged to reclaim the earth.
Some from caves and caverns, towns not hit by missile or bomb. Others from underground shelters named Vaults; scattered throughout what was the United States by the government of old.
With life came new civilizations; some formed from migrating tribes, others by established communities.
In the west, rose the New California Republic. Dedicated to older ideals of Democracy and the rule of law, the Republic expanded its borders far and wide. Yet as the Republic grew, so did her needs.
Scouts were sent into the unknown, where they came upon a gleaming city in the desert. Soon after: a great wall spanning the length of the Colorado River. These were the remains of Vegas and Hoover Dam, left mysteriously unscathed by Chinese warheads centuries ago.
Yet as the Republic moved to claim these lands, they were soon countered by a rival nation: Caesars Legion. Formed from the conquest of 87 tribes far to the east, they too sought the prize that lay before them.
Four years ago, a great battle was fought for possession of the dam. The Republic rose victorious, but only barely. The Legion did not retreat; instead now lie in wait on the Eastern Shores of the Colorado, eager for revenge.
Through it all, the New Vegas Strip remains open for business. Under the rule of its mysterious leader, Mr. House, they too prepare for the coming storm.
You are a courier. Employed by the Mojave Express based out Primm, you were to deliver a mysterious package to the Strip. Yet, fates have turned for the worst.
My head felt like someone had stuck pliers in my brain and had shook it in its enclosed confounds. My ribs were aching, as were my arms and legs and my wrists felt like they were being scraped by ropes or something. Overall, I felt like crap.
"You got what you were after, so pay up," said a rough, hardened voice close by.
"You're crying in the rain, pally," said another, but this voice was cultured, a city voice. I opened my eye and saw three men; two I could see were wearing the uniform or atleast what looked like that of the Great Khans. But the third man was wearing a checkered suit and was, as I suspected, a city boy. He wasn't tanned and had an overdone gelled black hair that had mats of sand in several places. But it was his eyes that were the most peculiar; holding me in a sort of snake trance, which sent shivers down my spine. I then tried wiggling my hands free of my bonds. No luck.
"Guess who's waking up over here!" said one of the Khans. The city boy looked at me and pulled out a cigarette, which he lighted, took a whiff of, and then smashed it under his dress shoes. My gut told me exactly what was going to happen next and it made me feel cold.
"Time to cash out."
"Would you just get it over with?" a Khan asked, annoyed by the delay in my execution.
"Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in face, but I ain't a fink, dig?" he spat back. He then turned his back to me, and pulled out from his pocket a poker chip, platinum in color and held it in my face. I remembered it was part of the package I was delivering. Well, armies are sent to die for worse reasons.
"Sorry you got twisted up in this scene." said the city boy, almost apologetically, as he put the chip back into his pocket. Then he drew something that made me catch my breath; it was an ornate engraved Browning Automatic Pistol, with the Virgin Mother beautifully painted on its grip written on its side. Funny, how when in death I noticed its rare craftsmanship. He continued:
"From where you're kneeling it must seem like an 18-carat run of bad luck. But, truth is...the game was rigged from the start."
Then he pointed the pistol in my face. My eye was not on the instrument of death held before me, however, but on its deliverer's eyes. I stared deep into them, holding them in a stare that visibly unnerved him. I then spoke, my voice deep like the bass of a thunderstorm:
"Don't miss. If you do, I'll come for you."
He was taken aback by my declaration. His pistol hand wavered. Then there was a flash. I hit the ground, but I felt no pain. I didn't even feel my head hit the loose Mojave soil.
For a brief second, I looked up. Up at my killer who looked a thousand miles away. Then was another flash, and my mind went blank. Soon after… there was only darkness.