It was a bright night on the strip, and Gill had just won a fortune. He was a frumpy man from California, with a lucky ace or two up his sleeve...and that's not a metaphor. He was leaving the Tops casino, Arm-full of cash. NCR cash. All in nice little rolls for his trip back to Redding.
His strolls were leading him to the hotel where he had checked in for the night. His steps were excited as he approached the large Vault door on a stick, proudly declaring it was the 21st of its' kind. He ducked into the doorway, trotting past the nice blonde in the suit. He was going to pack his cash away into his brief-case, and head back to California the next day, maybe hiring some muscle in Freeside. Some cheap muscle of course, maybe even just some tough sinew.
As he got through the main hall, past the gambling tables like the ones he had just won big at, he approached the hotel corridors, passing over to room 13, his lucky number and his hotel room. Once inside, he dumped the rolls all over his bed, before passing into the bathroom. Dropping the hat and suit that he thought was dapper looking, he hopped into the tub for the one luxury he couldn't get back home: A fresh water bath. Just one more of these in the morning, followed by a wasteland omelet, and he would book it for Mojave outpost.
As the waters began to wash over his body, he eased himself into the tub, breathing deeply the vapors of the water. As it began to reach his ears, he heard the door to his room open up. He jolted a small bit, rising his head out of the water. Outside were footsteps, going around his room. One pair came close to his bathroom door, but stopped. Slowly, he raised a leg out of the tub, touching it to the cold steel floor. Outside, the intruders were now talking amongst themselves.
"Hey Ren, check out all the dough." Came a high, easy voice. He recognized it from the casino. That must have been his dealer, Stimpson or something.
"Shut up, Stimp. this cats been un-cool, check out this sleeve." That was the mildly Hispanic voice of the floor manager, the rather short fellow who had been watching everyone coming in and out.
"Looks rather dapper, Ren. Ha-ha." A slapping noise followed the laugh, and Gill heard the noise he dreaded. The sound of playing cards hitting the floor.
"Just like I thought, a card carrying cheater! Look at that, more aces than you can shake a stick at. This cats gotta go!"
"Dig." Replied the other, in a hurtful tone of voice. Their steps now were directly outside his bathroom door. Gill had gotten fully up, pulling a satin robe, complimentary of the hotel, around himself. He darted to the other side of the room, but there wasn't an escape route. He had cornered himself in a damn bathroom!
"Oh, Mr. Cheat-eeeeer! We have come for you! A freeeee lesson awaits you out this door!" Came the floor manager, in a sing-song voice.
"yeah, and a clobbering!" Came the other. Another slapping noise.
"Listen, Mr. Cheater, I just wanna talk with you about our policies, and politely take the cash back. Ya hear that, Stimp? Take the cash back to the Tops. I'll have a little talk with Mr. Cheater."
"Uh, okay Ren. But usually you beat people up, don't ya?" Another slap, followed by what sounded like glass breaking. Along with muffled curses.
"Listen, you crazy son-of-a-Bitch! I'm not leaving this bathroom, you hear?" Gills wildly bouncing voice shouted.
"And, and if you keep staying here, my friends won't like it!" Yeah, lie to him. That's all you got Gill, all you got!
"Oh, Alright. I did not mean to offend you and your mighty friends. I guess I'll just be off. You know, special deal at the cock-tail bar and all. I couldn't trouble you to come along now, could I?"
"You most certainly could not!"
"Then, I feel it is necessary to impose." And the door slid open, Ren standing there at five-foot five. Gill was easily two inches taller than him, but he was frightened none-the-less. He had a black, devils goatee, and fiery blue eyes. His suit was a striped white one, with loafers like all the other Tops members. But he wore a Pre-War business hat, signifying his difference from other fellows at the Tops.
"How did you-"
"All the Families on the Strip have a key to the hotel. You gotta when you're dealing with scamps like you." Ren put up his dukes, which were wrapped in thick white strips of boxing tape. Gill tried to run, but Rens fist shot into his left eye, closing it forcibly with a big black swell. His left fist followed, knocking into his right cheek, sending teeth flying out into the tub. Gills' last thought was that he screwed, right when Ren brought his right fist down on top of Gills balding head.
Gill opened his right eye, moaning in pain. His left half was on something cool, and metal, which served to numb the pain there, but his right side felt like it was in a clamp. His arms were tied behind his back, and his legs...well, he couldn't feel his legs. Painfully looking down at them, his saw the right one was bruised and knobby at the knee, while the left one was turning in the wrong direction.
"Oh...Oh god..." Gill quietly said, blood and tears forming at his left, swollen eye.
"Nope. Just your buddy Ren." Gill turned quickly, onto his other side. Ren was standing above him on a metal rail, a foot above his head. Gill looked down the length of the rail, horrified to see a slowly approaching pair of lights.
"The Train!"
"The Monorail, if you dig. Now, I asked the bosses what to do, and oh, were they mad. They said,"That little bitch California is gonna get squashed." They didn't tell me how to do it, so i figured a few tons of steel should squash you like a bug."
"NO! Please, I'll give you anything!"
"You don't have a lot to give, I'll grant. But you already are giving me something."
"What?"
"Entertainment and practice. You see, I'm always busy with work, and I never have time to, Practice my Swing." Ren drew a Long, Nine-Iron from behind him, a gleaming steel one with a heavy, heavy head. Gills began to audibly cry now, frightened for his life.
"Yeah, I don't blame you for crying. It's just one-" A smack to Gills side, sending a shock of pain through his stomach.
"Of those-" A smashed rib-cage followed, making Gill wheeze.
"Glorious New-Vegas-" Ren lifted the Iron higher than before, like a pre-war golfer. He prepped the swing, when the rail suddenly made a groaning noise from farther down.
"...What in the hell?" Ren looked down, but saw nothing. He shrugged, pulling the driver up even more than last time and- He slipped.
His foot had gone farther back than necessary, causing him to nearly back-flip off the side of the rail. He gave a short scream, before dissapearing from Gills view. He was silent now, breathing harshly and deeply in pain. His sides were in agony, and he swore he could feel a loose kidney flopping against his liver, or the side of his stomach.
What happened next made his heart jump, even more than when he saw the approaching lights of the monorail car, all shiny and newly repaired.
In front of him, the rails seemed to dent in two places, like heavy stones had just landed on those specific spots. This was seconds after Ren had fallen and now, Rens' shirt was being pulled up by the front, a struggling little man following. The club and hat were gone. Ren was staring wild eyes at Gill for a moment, before his face became a lined, almost mirage like texture. He flew over Gill, and landed right next to him on the tracks. His eyes were up in the air when his shirt was suddenly stained red, blood shooting from two holes in his chest from...Nowhere.
Ren cried and yelled in pain, as his rib-cage became visible, tearing away at unseen claws to reveal fresh and fast-emptying lungs. They were popped open, silencing him immediately. Gill was silent, even as jets of gore splattered his surprised face. The next part blew his mind entirely.
Almost comically, like some bad cartoon, the spine came up through this hole, tail-bone first, dragging his skull. His whole head skin was deflated in a second flat, as the skull, with comical eyeballs draping its' now up-side down forehead. It hovered a few feet in the air, rising swiftly, as the train aligned with Gills eyes, blinding him. He felt an onrush of swift air as the monorail car went over him. Its wheel-tracks caught on the two dents, and it flopped over on one side, over the railing and onto the desert floor. Screaming and shouts were heard, but no terrible death-knells. Gill didn't even realize he was spared a bloody and gruesome death at the hands of a now dead Casino Watch dog.
After the train fell, he feinted. His consciousness would not reawaken for several days. What happened next was in the hands of someone the Mojave believed perfect for the job.
WELCOME TO MY NEW FALLOUT FAN-FICTION. FIST TRYING TO BE SUCCESFUL CROSS-OVER, SO HOPE IT FITS WELL. USING FALLOUT NEW VEGAS AS THE SETTING, AND THAT TRADITION BOUND DEATH MACHINE, YOU KNOW WHO. THIS WILL NOT INTERUPT THE VAULT, RATHE RIT SERVES AS A BREAK FROM THE VAULT.