Chapter One
- Ghost Town Gunfight -
'Ello, readers. Played Fallout NV for some time before, but never got the muse to eke out a story, until now.
This story will revolve around the idea of 'what if', what if there were two Couriers, both of them twins? A simple idea, overlayed with a generous heaping of profanity, suggestive themes and languages, and good 'ol gore-tastic violence. I'm also planning on incorporating some of the mods I've used before, most notable ones being the New Vegas Bounties trilogy (easily one of the best mods for Fallout NV, in my opinion), some elements of Project Nevada, etc. I'm also trying to keep the writing a bit light-hearted, toning down the whole 'doom-and-gloom' atmosphere I've got going in my other story.
Story-wise, I'm adhering to canon as a baseline, with personal touches and alterations here and there. Not much plans regarding DLCs as of now - maybe I'll add them in as one big story, maybe as separate stories, I haven't decided yet.
In any case, hope you enjoy.
Panting, Nine slid underneath one of the discarded wagons, kicking up a cloud of dust in the process. Just in time, it seemed, as bullets after his blood fell short on their mark, punching through the dirt-stained windows of the saloon. Amidst the din of shouts and gunshots, the Courier heard the glass shatter, and a cry of anger from the owner of said saloon.
Taking aim, Nine steadied his hands, and squeezed the trigger. Varmint rifles were shittier than the peashooters that were 9mm and .22 handguns – which, in itself said a lot of things – but it did what it was supposed to, that is, clearing out local geckos and, in this particular case, a gang of thugs with shitty gear and even shittier aim. Two shots, and down went another powder ganger with a hole in his chest and head.
"Heads up!" A dynamite whistled through the air, bouncing off the cracked pavement and straight into a trio of ruffians taking cover behind the ramshackle remains of a fence. Panicking, one of them dove to lob it back, only for it to go off in a spectacular array of smoke and gore. The ensuing blast smoked the two out of their hiding spot, right into the open ground where they were gunned down.
"You fuckers!" Enraged, a few of the powder gangers charged into the fray, brandishing knives and hammers. Trudy and Sunny picked them off from their positions up on saloon's rooftop, while another redhead in a Vault jumpsuit drew out a machete with a gleam as wicked as that grin that graced her face.
"Death from above, motherfucker!" The redhead yelled as she leapt from the roof and landed on a thug, lodging her machete in his chest. Blood showered her from the impact, though it did little to deter the young woman. On the contrary, the sight of red only whetted her bloodlust, and she wasted little time in moving to the next unfortunate thug on the chopping block.
Hauling himself out under the wagon, Courier Nine made for the nearest cover, a tall wooden box, and sniped down a powder ganger before he could shoot the questionably crazy female Courier with a machete. Said Courier then proceeded to stab another thug in the gut, wrenching the crowbar from his now dead hands.
Taking a moment to switch out a clip, Nine took a moment to survey their current status. Most of the townsfolk was still alive and kicking, with a few injured hauled away from the shootout, with one casualty. For a small farming town they were holding out pretty well, a few even with a trick up their sleeves, or a crate full of them in Easy Pete's case. Then again, considering the local wildlife skulking around the area, it wasn't all that surprising that they knew how to defend themselves.
The powder gangers weren't pushovers, that was for sure. Despite almost half their numbers dead, they still fought back, bullets for bullets, blood for blood. It was a good thing they set up traps in anticipation of the gangers' arrival, otherwise this shootout could've been a lot hairier.
Ringo cried out as he fell, clutching his bloodied arm. Nine moved closer to the caravaneer and quickly checked him over. "Shit, Trudy!" Nine waved her over, laying down cover fire for the saloon owner as she half-crouched half-ran. "We need to get him patched up. Take him to doc, could you? We'll mop up the rest!"
"Got it. Don't wreck my bar too much, alright? Damn place's falling apart without damn convicts shooting at it."
Nine grinned. "No promises. Go!" Popping out of his cover, he felled two more thugs in quick succession, while courier Six put another two to the machete. All that was left of the powder gangers was Joe Cobb himself.
"It's over, buddy! Drop the weapon!" A rancher yelled as he inched closer with a crowbar.
"Over my dead body!" Cobb spat as his SMG spat hail of 9mm rounds, shredding through the rancher's worn leather armour as if it was paper. The ringleader of the gangers then turned to the female courier as she rushed him, intending to give her the same treatment when pain exploded in his hand, the gun slipping through the bloody stumps where his fingers used to be.
"Son of a bitch! What the fuck?!"
Lowering his varmint rifle, Courier Nine shot him a mock salute. "You're welcome, sis."
Courier Six grinned. "Yeah, whatever. Now, what shall we do with you, eh?"
"W-wait! Just let me go, man. I swear to god I'll never do this again!" Cobb pleaded, sobbing. "C'mon, man, just let me go! I'll give you anything you want!"
"That right?" Half-turning her head, she shouted over her shoulder. "This guy wants to make a bargain for his life. What'd you think?"
The reply came in the form of a single gunshot. Cobb collapsed into the dirt, blood and brain matter dribbling out of the newly-made hole in his head.
"Oh, oops. My bad, finger slipped," Nine deadpanned.
Courier Six gaped in disbelief. "Dude, seriously? That was my kill, you fuckwit!"
"You were taking so damn long I just decided to speed things up," Nine said as his eyes met with Sunny's. "Besides, I doubt the townsfolk would've wanted to let him live, anyway. Too dangerous."
Sunny Smiles grimly nodded. "As much as we hate unnecessary killing, there's no telling what he would've done if we let him go. I don't think Goodsprings can last another showdown, to be honest."
Six scowled, but sheathed her machete without complaints. "Alright, now that's out of the way, what now?"
The Couriers spent the afternoon helping the townsfolk with the cleaning. The two unfortunate victims of the town shootout were given proper burials in the cemetery, while Cobb and his entourage were dumped in a massive hole dug just outside the town's perimeter. "Don't want no filthy corpse-eaters skulking about the town," said one Easy Pete.
Those who were injured were stimmed and patched up, courtesy of Doc Mitchell. Compared to delicate needlework required for dislodging bits of lead out of one's gray matter, treating bullet wounds were a cakewalk. Ringo was bedridden for a while yet, though he was glad to have survived the ordeal nonetheless.
"I owe you two a huge favour for this. Wish I had the caps to pay you for what you did for me, but…" the caravaneer trailed off, pointing his bandaged wound.
"Well, shit."
"Listen, I may not have many caps to my name right now, but once I'm back on my feet and back in the company, I can arrange some monetary rewards for you two. Would that be okay?"
Six and Nine met each other's eyes. The female courier raised a brow, and her male counterpart shrugged, then nodded. The Crimson Caravan's company was conveniently located near their destination. "That'd be fine, so long as you keep your word."
"Trader's honour. Just be sure to stay alive long enough to get there. Just look me up, and we can talk over the terms over a drink. My treat." Ringo extended his hand, and Nine shook it.
With the business negotiation done and out of the way, the two Couriers made for the general goods store. Chet's initial disdain towards the two newcomers was well-noted, though he mellowed out rather quickly when Six made some suggestive remarks, topping it off with a seductive wink. It had the intended effect, and soon the duo left the store with a bag full of caps and ammunition clip belts around their waists.
"That was pretty low, sis. You just ruined him, the poor guy."
Six let out a rather un-ladylike snort. "And you're a fucking hypocrite. Don't think I didn't see you swiping that gun off the shelf when he wasn't looking."
"Then let's hope he's not too meticulous with inventory checks."
"Eh, no need. I'll… persuade him to overlook it."
Nine gave his twin a flat look. "Please don't tell me you're going to do what I think you're going to."
The female Courier barked a laughter, and simply dragged him into the Prospector Saloon. That night, the entire town of Goodsprings congregated in the rickety bar, few as they were, and raised many glasses in toast. Music blasted from the jukebox, bottles were quickly drained one after the other, often punctuated with shouts and loud laughter.
Nine polished off his third bottle of whiskey, then took his aim. One clean shot, and the white billiard ball raced from one end of the pool table to the other, pushing the last black ball into the pocket.
"Not bad, you played pool before?" Sunny Smiles beamed, taking a swig of scotch.
"No idea, maybe. Feels natural, like something I've done before, you know?" Nine shrugged. He wasn't too upset over the loss of his memory, most of them anyway. He still remembered Six, and some of the events in their past lives. Everything else was fragmented, mosaics of different colour and shapes. And what his mind failed to remember, his body filled in some of the gaps, muscle memories. It felt familiar, whether it was a pool stick or a rifle he held in his hands.
Or maybe it was just the alcohol talking. He distinctively recalled a younger Six laughing at his piss-poor alcohol tolerance.
Current, modern-day Six was in the process of jumping on the counter, open bottles in each hand and loudly sang off-key, the lyrics incomprehensible due to her slurring, though given her natural voyeuristic and somewhat lascivious disposition, he no doubted it was something risqué and even potentially ambiguous in social conventions.
Her audience seemed to like it well enough, whether due to liquid stupidity impairing their higher cognitive functions or something else he didn't know, didn't care enough to know. Some even started singing along, and soon it was a cacophony of drunken bawls and nail across the proverbial chalkboard.
"It's really getting loud. Wanna get out of here?" Sunny suggested.
Courier Nine gave the young petite woman a once-over, appreciating the womanly contours outlined by a rather form-fitting leather armour. It didn't hurt that she had a pretty face, either. He didn't need alcohol to pick up on the social cue, getting wasted was just a bonus, and even a little excuse to fall back on to when the need arose.
"Lead the way."
They ended up in Victor's shack, Sunny citing that she didn't want Trudy to walk in on them. Clothes peeled off, they dove under the cover and spent the night together. Turns out, he's done this before, too.
Morning came when the shack's door creaked open, Six's bedraggled face peering through the gap. "Morning, li'l bro. Hurry up and get dressed, yeah? Got a lot of grounds to cover today."
With a yawn Nine sat up, gingerly sliding off the bed. Sunny was still fast asleep, and he was loathe to wake her up. Not to disturb her sleep, but mostly because he was terrible when it came to saying good-byes. Covering her with the blanket, he donned on his leather armour, then headed out the shack without looking back.
A/N: A short introductory chapter, word count may swell as story progresses.
Choice of the twins' names were intentional - canonically, the Courier's designated number is Six. As for nine, that's just my favourite number. Plus, the two numbers are food for potential dirty jokes. Also, I've made it so that they didn't lose all their memories, just some.