Prologue: "Ain't That a Kick in the Head?"
Two figures walked along the mountains west of Goodsprings. A man and a woman, both blond, her hair shoulder-length but tied back for wandering, and his long enough to come right above his brow. The man carried a sidearm, his trusty 9mm pistol, and a light messenger bag, which held nothing but a strange platinum chip, some water, and his stash of caps.
"I have a bad feeling about this..." the woman mumbled. She had all their camping supplies and a week's worth of food in her sachel, but no weapon.
"You always say that." he responded.
"And half the time I am right."
"Not very good odds, especially for a woman of medicine."
Rustles were heard in the bushes, and the man pulled his gun out as if on cue. They were surrounded almost immediately.
"What's in the bag, friend?" their leader, a red head with a rough face and a high warhawk, asked snidely.
The man looked their armor over: Khans. "Don't you guys have better things to do than rob couriers? It's nothin' you guys'd be interested in anyways."
" 'O but we are, baby." Greasy black hair, checkered coat; the man decided his name would be Douche until he could learn the real one.
"What are you doing off the strip, douchebag?" The girl spat.
"Gentlemen, please to be escorting the dame from the area. Me and the courier have some business to discuss." Douche lit a cigarette.
The woman began to resist the two Khans who grabbed at her arms.
"Wait for me in Goodsprings, Sis, I'll be there soon," The courier winked.
She gave way, and Douche watched until she was out of sight. The courier took solace in the fact his gun was still in his hand.
"Man, that girl has legs down to her feet!"
"You touch my sister and I'll make sure you have lead where you once had testicles." Cue snarky smile.
"Noted baby, walk with me."
The entourage turned to walk towards the graveyard. 8 Khans and the Douche counted and taken note of. One of them grabbed his left arm: mistake. Time for a fight.
The courier pistol-whipped the Khan to his left in the face, let him recoil, and put a bullet in the right one's eye.
Cue Shovel hit.
Again...
And again...
And again...
"Don't kill him yet, Jessup. I really do need to talk to the guy. Give him one last sayonara." How comforting to here Douche's voice before passing out.
.'===='
/'
"Look who's waking up."
"Just hurry this up Benny, I wanna get this over with."
"Hey! Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain't a fink dig!" so Douche's name was Benny, that made things a bit easier.
A bagstrap slipped off the courier's head. Benny flashed the chip from his bag. "You've made your last run."
The courier spat blood, aimed at his feet. "Fuck you, strip boy."
Benny laughed; fucking strip boys. "From where you're kneeling, this must seem like an eighteen karat run of bad luck..." He pulled a pistol: 9mm, gold, nice. "... but the truth is..." The pistol slowly flashed towards his head, and the courier felt liked he'd read this story somewhere before. "... the game was rigged from the start."
BLAM!
The courier lunged forward in an attempt to attack Benny, the bullet grazed his brow, dug into his skull...
BLAM!
The next one was in the back of his skull, and everything went black...