Part 1: The Kick
War. War never changes.
When atomic fire consumed the earth, those who survived did so in great, underground vaults. When they opened, their inhabitants set out across ruins of the old world to build new societies, establish new villages, forming tribes.
As decades passed, what had been the American southwest united beneath the flag of the New California Republic, dedicated to old-world values of democracy and rule of law. As the Republic grew, so did it's needs. Scouts spread east, seeking territory and wealth, in the dry, merciless, mercilessly dry expanse of the Mojave Desert. They returned with tales of a city untouched by the warheads that had scorched the rest of the world, and as great wall spanning the Colorado River.
The NCR mobilized its' army and sent it east to occupy the Hoover Dam, and restore it to working condition. But across the Colorado, another society had arisen under a different flag. A vast army of slaves, forged from the conquest of 86 tribes: Caesar's Legion.
Four years have passed since the Republic held the Dam - just barely - against the Legion's onslaught. The Legion did not retreat. Across the river, it gathers strength. Campfires burned, training drums beat.
Through it all, the New Vegas Strip has stayed open for business under the control of its mysterious overseer, Mr. House, and his army of rehabilitated Tribals and police robots.
I am a courier, hired by the Mojave Express, to deliver a package to the New Vegas Strip. What seemed like a simple delivery job has taken a turn…for the worse.
As I gradually regained consciousness, I remember thinking 'Ain't this a kick in the head?' And I suppose it was, thinking back. Tied up on a random hill, about the middle of nowhere, when I should have been walking into New Vegas Strip, delivering a package to a guy named House. Seriously. All I could see in front of me was this asshat in a checked? Plaid? Whatever the fuck kinda suit it was, it was gaudy as shit. I remember thinking 'This fuck got the drop on me? Seriously?' Yep. Guy was with two gang members, Great Khans, I think. One of them was digging a hole.
"You got what you were after, so pay up." One of em said to Suit Guy.
"You're crying in the rain, pally." Suit Guy said right back. I began to fight my restraints, and they noticed.
"Guess who's waking up over here." Another Khan said, poking me with the shovel. Ass. There were three in front of me.
"Time to cash out then." Suit Guy dropped and stepped out his cigarette.
"Let's get it over with already." One of the Khans said, probably wanting his cut.
"Maybe you Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain't a fink, dig?" Suit Guy sounded like a Pre-War recording, trying to be 'hip' and 'edgy'. He pulled out the package I was carrying, flashed it to me. He better not have touched the rest of my stuff.
"You've made your last delivery kid." He said. I didn't have the strength to retort. I probably would have said something along the lines of distance. Suit Guy put the package back, tossed away something else. "Sorry you got twisted up in this scene." He pulled a pistol, 9mm, from his suit. "From where you're kneeling this must seem like a 18-carat run of bad luck. Truth is…. Game was rigged from the start." And with that, he shot me in the head.
Fallout: New Vegas: Courier's Road