Chapter 1: Good Morning, Goodsprings!

Doc Mitchell pulled the final stitch through and began to tie it off. The poor bastard. The bullet had gone clean through the side of their skull, scraping off the outside of the temporal lobe. Not enough for lasting damage, but the hearing of the patient would be impaired on their right side for some time until the brain repaired itself.

The sound of Victor's voice startled him. "Hey pardner, do y'all think they'll still be kickin' tomorrow?"

"I don't know"

Doc Mitchell sat beside the bed, reading his notes. It had been a week, and they still hadn't woken up. He'd changed the bandages to avoid infection, but there'd been no sign of consciousness returning anytime soon. Victor had returned to his shack, apparently waiting for the patient. Doc Mitchell had no idea who they were. Their clothes were covered in blood when Victor brought them in and all they had on them was a small satchel. A 10mm with some ammo, a hunting knife, some Rad-X and a note. It was opened but he felt it inappropriate to look at his patient's belongings. He sighed and put down his notes, looking over to the bed. Not much he could do now. A soft groan came from the patient. What? They'd made no noise so far. He reached over and put his hand on theirs. They twitched and grasped the doctor's fingers. Progress!

He started to talk to the patient softly. "Hello? Are you awake?"

The light was harsh. Something was holding her arms down, stopping her from sitting up.

"Woah! Take it easy!"

Doc Mitchell slowly helped her sit up.

"Just a moment, sleepyhead. Let me get these bandages off."

Nausea overwhelmed her and she lurched forward, doc catching her just in time.

"You've been out awhile" He grunted. "you gotta take it easy!"

She wavered as her vision blurred.

Her voice cracked "Wh- m- I-?"

Unwinding the bandages, Doc Mitchell began to explain. It sounded like a fever dream.

Something that never really happened.

"Do you remember your name?"

She shook her head.

"Well, let's see if you can walk, at least."

Holding her by the elbows, Doc Mitchell helped her stand, legs still shaking. He helped her sit back down on the bed.

"Do you understand what happened?"

She nodded, still wavering.

"Can you speak?"

She cleared her throat. "I think so."

Doc Mitchell stood up and smirked.

"Well, you're alive, and you can speak. Looks like you've got some cognitive function too."

He reached over to his desk.

"Here, take a look."

She focused on the mirror held before her. A large, gnarled scar ran from her temple to just past her ear. The bruising made her temple look like a squashed mutfruit. She smacked her lips. "How long have I been out?"

Doc Mitchell thought on this for a moment. "I think it best for us to finish checking your noggin is still, well, a noggin."

He stood and passed her some basic underwear.

"Here. You might need these."

Looking down she noticed that she was naked but for a medical gown. Embarrassment rose on her cheeks and she snatched the underwear from the doctor. He shook his head and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Doc Mitchell shuffled the papers on his clipboard and looked up. "Are you ready?"

She nodded.

"So, this here is a psychological evaluation. We're gonna run through this and check your clocks are still ticking. Or at least still there. All right. I'm gonna say a word. I want you to say the first thing that comes to mind… Dog."

"Bone."

"House."

"...Home? No, uh…. lock?"

Doc Mitchell raised an eyebrow. "Night."

"Day."

"Bandit."

"Uh, I'm not getting anything… I'm really not sure."

He shook his head. "Let's stop for the moment. Here." He reached for the satchel behind his seat, searching for the note. "You should read this."

She took it cautiously. It was… orders? Mojave Express. What was it about that name? Something clicked.

"I'm a courier!" She exclaimed, excited at this new information.

Doc Mitchell nodded. "I'd guessed as much, but I thought I should let you get to your own conclusions."

Her excitement faded as she began to feel lost. "So, what now? I don't even know my name."

Doc Mitchell considered this. "Perhaps just 'The Courier' would do? It's not a name, but a title is alright until you figure out who you were. What were you delivering?"

The Courier scanned the note. "A casino chip, I think. Something to get shot over, at least." She folded up the note and passed it back to Doc Mitchell. "Are we going to continue the test?"

He shrugged. "I guess if you want to, I was just gonna show you some Rorschach pictures and see what you said." He paused. "But you seem pretty fit for someone who just got shot in the head last week. Do you want your satchel?"

The Courier nodded. "Yes please, better check nothing is missing. Not that I'd know it was."

Doc Mitchell chuckled. "Don't worry, there's nothing in there of interest to me."

Taking out the tarnished 10mm pistol the Courier inspected it. Nothing special. She checked the magazine and reloaded it with the extra rounds laying about in her bag. Placing it beside her she dug further into the bag. Her hand closed around a leather strap, and upon further inspection it was a thigh holster with a hunting knife still in it. The largely serrated blade had a few nicks and scratches, and had obviously seen some wear. Fingering the grip of the blade she placed it along with holster with the gun beside her. The Doctor cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I know you don't remember anything, but as far as I can see, you were going to Vegas."

The Courier's eyes narrowed. "And how do you figure that?"

He stood up. "What yokel's gonna know you're carrying something valuable enough to get shot over?"

He had a point. Who in hell's name would know she was a courier? Standing up, the doctor put aside his clipboard and placed a blue and yellow jumpsuit upon the Courier's lap as she lingered deep in thought. She looked down. A vault jumpsuit?

"I'll be back in a moment." The doctor left her alone. Inspecting the jumpsuit she noticed the number on the back. 21. Blackjack. There was once a Vault in Vegas, this much she knew. But this was a women's jumpsuit, and Doc Mitchell wasn't nearly that petite. He returned with what looked like an enormous wristband. His voice cracked slightly as he spoke. "This here is a PipBoy. You might've noticed, the suit ain't my size. It was my wife's. This thing might just help you get yourself back on track." He passed her the PipBoy and placed it gently in her hands.

"Thank you, Doctor."

He nodded. "Call me Doc. And… you're welcome."

A half hour later the Courier was changed and looked, in Doc Mitchell's opinion, like a bonafide Vault Dweller.

"I'm surprised I scrubbed up at all!" She laughed. The Doctor gave her a sad smile. "I'm.. glad it fits. I've got no use for that now, so you're better off wearing it. Your clothes were in no fit state to be worn again." He sighed. "I gotta start cleaning up the clinic, do you mind giving me a hand?" The Courier nodded and they got to work.