Prologue:
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.
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.
Michael R. Gabe is a courier, hired by the Mojave Express, to deliver a package to the New Vegas Strip.
What seemed like a simple delivery job had taken a turn for the worse.
I was tied up, my mouth gagged. I was lying on the ground, feeling the dusty soil against my cheek.
My head hurt. I managed to get into an upright position. There were 5 people around me. Their leader was a man in fancy checkered suit.
A black man looked at him and said "You got what you were looking for, now pay up!".
The checkered suit guy said "You're crying in the rain, pally."
Another man with a mohawk looked at me and said "Guess who's waking up over here?"
The man in the suit said "Time to cash out."
The black guy said "Will you hurry up?"
The suit guy said "Maybe Kahns kill people without looking them in the eye, but I ain't a fink, dig?"
The suit guy pulled out a platinum poker chip and held it in my face. It said 'Lucky 38' on it.
"You've made your last delivery, kid." He put the chip back in his pocket. "I'm sorry you got twisted up in this game." He pulled out a golden pistol. "From where you're standing, it probably seems like an 18 carat run of bad luck" He put the pistol against my forhead. "But the truth is, the game was rigged from the start."
He pulled the trigger.