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, form new 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 the rule of law. As the Republic grew, so did its needs. Scouts spread east, seeking territory and wealth, in the dry and merciless 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 a great wall spanning the Colorado River.
The NCR mobilized its army and set 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 in 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, they gathered strength. Campfires burned, training drums beat. The Bull grows stronger with each passing day, waiting for the call to strike once more.
The Republic grows tired of war, and with calls back home to withdraw from the land that had cost them thousands of men and millions of caps, not to mention the shattering of the confidence of the people, the NCR finds it difficult to remain in the region.
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. The lights from Vegas call as a siren to many...
A messenger that stays true to the ideals of the Old War, fighting beneath the flag of the Old United States. Holding out in the stormy and hellish land that is the Divide, he waits for his opportunity to release his vengeance on the man that destroyed his home and his future.
Three tribes continue to fight for an unspoiled paradise. A man tries to protect the innocence of a tribe, while another tries to find solace for his past sins, in God and his own people. The Legion ever crawls near.
A courier hired by the Mojave Express to deliver a package that would change the wasteland...but that delivery might be delayed, because war...
War never changes.
The light from the moon shined upon the desolate remains of what was the I-15. Gutted holes along the way, with burnt out cars and trucks standing homage to what was the world was before the Great War that had consumed the world. Dry desert air swept through the land, humming it's soft song of a time long passed.
Coyotes howled as they went on their nocturnal hunt, the blackness of the night shielding them from the wandering eye. Deathclaws prowled as well, looking for their own prey, whether it was human or beast, no creature would stave off the wicked claws.
On the way to the town of Goodsprings, a little town in the middle of nowhere, a man was walking quickly. The man had on a Vault-Tec issued jumpsuit, but was heavily modified. Hardened leather plates covered the shoulder and knees, while a strap heading from the shoulder plate to the waist was secured. A black glove covered the left hand, while several plates of leather were strapped to the arms, acting like bracers. Though the jumpsuit itself was flimsy, the leather plates allowed a person to have a fighting chance. Black combat boots he wore.
A 10mm pistol hung from the side of the man, in a holster that was made of black leather. It was weathered, having seen combat from Shady Sands to New Vegas itself. The steel was no longer a shiny steel color; it had faded into a steel grey color. An inscription on the butt of the pistol read Hope, Purity and Innocence.
A long barreled 12 gauge shotgun was strapped to his back. It was pump action, looking worn and yet was working perfectly. The with the metal of the barrel, receiver, and shell ejection port seem to appear to be more well-maintained, and that the stock and grip pump are synthetic with a camouflage weapon was scarred, having seen combat from across the wastelands, having once been in contact with the legendary Chosen One apparently, and was named properly Dinnerbell.
A scabbard was also on his back, being made of worn leather and colored red and black. A long and dangerous looking sword was in the scabbard, still as sharp and dangerous as when it was forged by the finest swordsmith of Japan over a thousand years ago. The sword was finely tuned and sharped, and was curved, slender and a single edged blade, with a long grip that could accommodate two hands.
"I've got spurs that jingle jangle jingle," the man hummed. Though a lot of people were scared by the night, he wasn't. Night was when a lot of the predators went to hunt in the desert, and that removed a lot of the danger. At daytime, raiders were usually more active, along with the Legion. He was happy but was on his guard. Striding in the desert night, he saw the lights of the Prospector Saloon in the distance bading him towards the place like a moth to a flame. His mouth watered for the steaks that Trudy would be making.
"Well hello there stranger," a warm and seductive voice said. It was out in the middle of the highway, a girl in short shorts and a leather jacket that barely covered her cleavage, the man in the jumpsuit gulped. He was only twenty four, and yet was battle hardened. Women were his weakness because he didn't know how to handle them.
"Why, hi there miss. I was just traveling up the road towards Goodsprings. What can I do to help you?" he asked. But his hand was already itching towards his pistol. He was known to these tricks on the road, raiders using young women to distract young men and to ambush them when they were about to get "lucky".
"Well you can help by giving me that chip in your bag," pointing to the black courier's bag that the man had with him. The man cursed inwardly for he knew that people would be after him.
"No can do miss, I can't do that," he said, gulping. The woman cracked a devious smile, before sauntering towards him, her hips swaying seductively.
"How come big boy?" she asked, cooing the last part. The man's hand was on his pistol, ready to whip it out just in case.
"Because miss, this isn't for you. It's for someone else," he said with some force behind the words. The girl looked at him with puppy eyes, her dark pools gesturing towards the bag. The man refused though.
"Well, that's too bad. We could have had some fun times. Boys!" and soon, thirteen men in the same get up as the woman, besides the short shorts, dressed in black pants instead, with black masks and helmets with horns. The black jackets on the back had a skull with eyes and a red helmet, along with what the man thought was an awesome mustache, were the words Great Khans enblazed.
"Your outgunned. Give us the chip, and everyone goes home safely. No one has to be killed," one of them said. The man gave a thought.
If I did that, I would die a painful death. The Mojave Express hires mercs to go out after couriers who run off with their merchandise. I will die before I even flee the area.
"Sorry man, but I can't do that," the man said defiantly. The Great Khan next to the man who had first spoken before raising his hand. In his hand was a steel grey man in the jumpsuit raised his own pistol, leveling it at the Great Khan who was aiming it at him. In response to that, the thirteen Great Khans raised their guns, an assortment of long lever action rifles, revolvers, machine pistols and others, towards his man carrying the package looked with defiance.
"Listen, just give me the chip. It doesn't have to get ugly. Give me the chip, and both of us get to walk back home without someone dying. We got families to feed. Just give us the chip," the Great Khan pleaded. The man with the chip refused to do so with a shake of his head. Though he believed the Great Khan, now was not the time for high morals, nor for time to try and help others. He had a job to do, and he was being paid to do it. The Great Khan sighed. He motioned to the Great Khans and they raised their guns higher, towards the man's head.
"Get em boys!" and a volley of fire echoed through the wasteland. The man flinched as the bullets were fired. Smoke erupted from the barrels of the guns with the terrible sound of flashing thunder. But the man wasn't hit. The gunfire had hit something that was made of tough hide and that made bullets bounce of it like Smart Cars of a tank.
"Grrr.." came the sound from the creature, and the man looked up. It was a wicked creature, tough hardened leathery skin gleaming with death. Wicked claws that were sharper than steel glinted with malicious intent. Black eyes that darted from the Great Khans to the man. Two devil like horns that spawned out of the creature's deadly head.
It was a Deathclaw. With a mighty roar, the Deathclaw stomped forward, it's maw facing the Khans. It was like a guardian angel that had been called to protect the man delivering the package that the Great Khans wanted. Fate was smiling on the man.
The Deathclaw leapt forward, it's deadly claws slicing through the dry desert air. A Great Khan raised his lever action rifle, getting off a shot that rang through the air, but it was no more painful to the Deathclaw than when a fly bumped into a human. The Deathclaw then turned his attention towards the Great Khan who had shot him, and bounded after him. The screams that followed were soon silenced as the claws sliced through his body like acid, tendons and bones just being severed so cleanly, it was like slicing through water. The Great Khan's body flew and impacted onto a rock, reducing his head into a bloody mess.
"Shoot that creature of the devil. Come on guys, we need to gun this abomination down!" screamed a Great Khan, before being dismembered by the Deathclaw. His bloody corpse was then tossed over the Deathclaw's shoulder like a ragdoll, fascinating the man with the chip before he came to his senses.
"Got to get out of here.." he muttered before bolting down the road. The Deathclaw had just finished off another Great Khan before letting go of the man's torn up body. He then sniffed the air.
"Grrrr..." came the rumble from the Deathclaw's throat, and when that happened, the Deathclaw faced where the man was fleeing. The man looked back to see the Deathclaw cock his head like it was wondering where he was going. Then with a single bound, it started to half the distance between the man and himself.
The man cursed before rolling to the side, wildly grabbing his shotgun from his back and turning around. Pumping a new shell into the chamber, he fired, the 12 gauge buckshot slamming into the Deathclaw. The creature jumped back as the pellets of the buckshot pierced it's skin, making it issue a shrill cry of pain. The man then pumped another shell, ejecting the spent one from the chamber. Firing again, he aimed high and the buckshot tore through the air with the force of a train, slamming into the Deathclaw's open maw. The Deathclaw slammed into the ground by the force of the buckshot, growling and howling and itching at it's face to try and sooth the trickle of black blood coming from the wound.
The man then leapt to his feet, pumping another shell right into the Deathclaw, bouncing off the tough hide of the chest, and the Deathclaw slowly clawed it's way back to it's feet, before unleashing another unholy shrill.
The Deathclaw then looked at the man with hatred, fury that it's prey refused to go down quickly. As it began to leap forward, another shrill cry came from the wilderness, and the Deathclaw stopped, looking to the sound with fondness, before giving a warning growl. Then it bounded towards the open desert, the wind starting to pick up.
As the man drew a long breath, someone in a checkered coat smashed a blunt weapon against the back of his head, making him slip to his knees, and then fall into the trance of forced sleep.
A digging sound was heard, soft dirt being piled on top of each other. He tried to pull his hands, but they were intertwined together with rough rope, strong enough to keep him in place. His feet were also wrapped in rope, making him hopelessly helpless.A low light made his head swim, and he wondered where in God the Almighty he was. His head pounded with something fierce, and then he heard the words.
"Time to cash out," a smooth and suave voice said. The voice was also slick and the man looked to see another man, this one in a checkered suit. His slick and greasy hair was combed back, and his dark eyes swelled with mischief. Puffs of smoke were coming out of the suave man's mouth, taking another hit from the cigarette.
"You got whatchu you wanted, now pay up," and the man looked to see the Great Khan who had tried to reason with him. The girl that had tried to seduce him was leaning on a shovel, smiling warmly at the man.
"Ya crying in the rain paley," the other man retorted, looking quite pleased with himself.
"Guess who's waking up over here?" another Great Khan jeered. The man looked with hatred at him, before facing the suave man.
"Would you get it over with?" asked the Great Khan, the one who had tried to reason with him. His voice was wracked with guilt and fear.
"Maybe Khans kill their enemies without looking them in the eye, but I ain't a fink, dig?" he said to the Great Khan, which shut him up. The suave man in the checkered coat then removed the item the man had tried to deliver. The platinum chip flashed in the low light, and the suave man smirked. He then flashed the chip towards the man.
"You made your last delivery kid," and put the chip back into his coat." Sorry you got twisted up in this scene."
Soon, he pulled out another thing. A pistol that was encased in golden plating. The man saw this as insult. The biblical Woman of the Apocalypse shone at him from the grip, pearl and floral details, with a polished nickel finish.
"From where you're kneeling, it looks like an eighteen carat run of bad luck," the checkered coat man said with ease.
"But truth is," the pistol was then aimed towards his head." Game was rigged from the start."
The trigger was pulled and the last thing the man saw was a flash of light as the bullet sped out of the chamber and into his head.
Hello! This is my own version of Fallout New Vegas with my own Courier. This will span from the regular game to Lonesome Road and to Honest Hearts. I might include Dead Money and Old World Blues, but I haven't decided yet. Please enjoy this chapter and I will pump out the next chapter as soon as I can. I changed some things and I'm going to make this my own novelization. Loosely follows the game plot. I'm unable to concentrate on one story so please do not expect regular updates.