So... yet another story on my to-do list. I came up with a really interesting Courier background story, and I like a certain Follower (hidden double pun, see if you can guess it), so I put the two together and found myself writing a story. Yay!

In the description I said I'm not following the main quest. Let me clarify: the leads the Courier follows for main quest are going to go cold and a lot is going to happen that might include side quests, and variations thereof, then a lead might be picked up. So the main quest might happen, a long time from now. Or it might not.

Also, when I looked a certain character up on the Fallout Wiki I found that he actually does not exist, and that made me rather upset as he is essential to my Courier's background. Because it is never said or even hinted at in-game, only in Bethesda interviews, I'm going to throw out the fact that he does not exist and make him up. :P Take that, big meanie programmer people (mumbles about how they always ruin my dreams...).

Prologue: In The Beginning...

In the beginning, a drunk passed out in an old abandoned radio studio after an unrestrained night of sex, drugs, booze and crappy fifties music. The world was going to hell (again anyway) so he figured why not enjoy himself while it did. Thankfully, though it did set everything in motion, the majority of this story does not take place in the beginning, but two decades and several unintended consequences after.

Jack was starting to get worried. He knew the I-15 like the back of his hand, being a courier and all, so being a mile out from Goodsprings and still with not even a radroach in sight his suspicions were reaching a level close to paranoia. This was supposed to be the most dangerous road this side of the Colorado, and that isn't even mentioning the fresh rumors of Deathclaws roaming near Quarry Junction, so where the hell were the dangers? Something was up and he was starting to get spooked. Remembering a mock catchphrase he had heard a strange old man say once, "You're not paranoid if they're actually after you," he wondered if he should turn back.

Then he heard something move behind him. The shuffle of footsteps was barely perceptible, but he caught it and turned, raising his rifle to his shoulder as he did. Halfway around, just as he was able to make out the shape of a person with a long barreled gun, he heard the shot, unmistakably a shotgun. He felt pain in his thigh through the thick leather armor he was wearing, then another shot of pain through his shoulder. Knowing he wasn't going to be able to shoot he wildly swung the barrel of his brush gun at the attacker before a final shot hit his chest. He felt his grip loosen on the gun as it missed the target and flew through the air into the night, and he fell to the ground unconscious.

._._._._._._._._._._.

Jack woke in a daze of soreness. He felt his eyelids open and the view didn't change, which was a bit distressing, but after a few seconds shapes and colors started to form out of the dark void. He was on his knees, his hands were tied and in front of him was a man in a checkered suit flanked by two tribal-looking warriors. They looked like Great Khans, but he wasn't sure. To his left another tribal was digging a grave and next to the hole was a worn hunting shotgun with several large bean bags lying around it, probably what he had been shot with as he wasn't bleeding profusely. Suddenly he caught some of the conversation that had only moments before been incomprehensible, garbled noise.

"Will you get it over with?"

Another voice spoke, and Jack looked forward again to see it was the man in the checkered suit talking. "Maybe Khans kill people without lookin' them in the face, but I 'aint a fink. Dig?" The man turned his attention to Jack and pulled something out of his shirt, showing it to him. "You've made your last delivery, kid. Sorry you got twisted up in this scene." He put the item, a fancy poker chip that Jack was supposed to be delivering, back into his shirt and in the same movement pulled out a silver coated 9mm pistol. "From where you're kneeling must seem like an eighteen karat run of bad luck." The man raised the gun and aimed it at Jack's head. "Truth is, the game was rigged from the start." As a last ditch effort, when the man's finger tightened around the trigger Jack jerked his head to the right. There was a burst of fire and everything went black.