ONE – Arrival

The reception desk at the Mojave outpost was seeing little action today. It was high noon, and the hot desert sun beat down on the roof of the small building. The short line of people quietly moved on, towards a bored-looking NCR trooper. Those who had finished the process wasted no time in getting out of the sweltering heat and into the fresh air outside – preferring not to stay around and talk.

The quiet atmosphere of the cramped room was soon broken when a young man, obviously tired out from a long journey, stumbled while making his way through the door - causing it to slam against a nearby cabinet. All heads in the room turned towards him, and the man quietly muttered an apology, embarrassed by his clumsy entrance and conscious of some of their failed attempts at hiding their amusement. The trooper at the desk regarded the newcomer with narrowed eyes. The newcomer noticed this, and immediately knew – he had worked with his petty-minded type before. This man was the overseer of his small room, and he was going to go out of his way to make sure that he knew it.

A bored "next" signalled the newcomer's turn. He quickly walked up to the desk, eager to get this over with as quickly as possible.

"Name?"

"Jacob Lowe." replied the newcomer. His fears were soon realised when the time came for the trooper to look through his belongings. He moved with deliberate slowness, prodding through his possessions even though it was obvious he had not brought anything even remotely suspicious. They were then piled in a disorganised heap after the trooper's search, leaving it for Jacob to clear up afterwards. He was becoming increasingly agitated, but didn't show it.

"Weapon?" said the trooper suddenly; putting an end to what seemed like an eternity of waiting. Jacob unclipped the holster on his right hip and handed the pistol to the trooper, who couldn't help but to raise his eyebrows slightly at the sight.

"This is quite a firearm you've got here, son. A bit dirty, mind." The trooper remarked, taking his time to observe the weapon. Jacob only shrugged. He had built it himself by chopping down an old rifle, and replacing it's internals with a myriad of custom-made parts that he had put together himself. A feature that Jacob was particularly fond of were LEDs that changed colour depending on when the gun is ready to fire, although that was more for show than anything else. The result was a weapon that held no resemblance whatsoever to its former self, and was Jacob's pride and joy.

The trooper put down the pistol, and casually started writing on an old sheet of paper. Jacob stood and waited patiently, although his patience was quickly wearing thin.

"Welcome to the Mojave, son - Have a nice day. Next!" was Jacob's reward, who quickly sidestepped out of the way of the queue to retrieve his belongings. He rammed it all into his rucksack, slung it over his shoulder, and then started to walk towards the exit without looking back.

Once outside again, Jacob breathed a sigh of relief. He then wiped the sweat off of his brow and ran his hand through his short, dark brown hair in a single movement - His life in California was now behind him, and he had a chance to begin anew.

Jacob trudged his way out of the Mojave outpost, taking time to look up at a giant scrap metal sculpture of two figures shaking hands - One an NCR ranger, and another Jacob could not recognise. While walking past, he had to admire the quality of the metalwork - being reasonably skilled with metal himself; he could appreciate the craftsmanship involved. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and procured a battered old pip-boy to check the time. But before he put it back again, he took a quick glance at the date.

"2277. Two hundred years since the bombs fell." Jacob thought to himself, putting the pip-boy back into his pocket. He didn't know what he'd do without it. Having bought it back in NCR many years previously, it was a purchase that he never regretted.

Jacob followed the road out, and soon came to the crest of a hill. The road sharply dropped down into a valley, and he could suddenly see for miles. Jacob knew that there was an intersection further along the road, and this presented him with a problem – He could either follow the interstate down and go straight to New Vegas, or go the long way round, via highway 95. Jacob preferred the latter – unlike so many others who come here, Vegas was not the main goal of his trip. The place reminded him far too much of New Reno, a place that he was glad he'll never be visiting again. It had come a long way over the years, but was still essentially the armpit of New California – the crime families still held more influence over the town than the NCR had, and will probably stay that way for some time.

Jacob quickly pushed the thought to the back of his mind; those days were behind him now. No, he was looking to earn a living outside of Vegas if possible. He wouldn't mind working for the Gun Runners, since he already had considerable experience in that field. Hell, even the idea of prospecting sounded good to him.

Jacob decided to take the long way round, but first he wanted to take the interstate to Primm. It would ultimately mean doubling back on himself, but he had heard from a caravan merchant at the outpost that the Mojave express was based there, which hired couriers to deliver packages to various settlements in the wasteland. Definitely worth having a look, Jacob thought as he maneuvered past the rusted hulks of cars strewn across the highway, making his way down the hill. Rats and other scavengers skittered among the wreckage, giving Jacob a wide berth. He couldn't help but feel uneasy though, and kept his right hand close to his gun - just in case.

Thankfully nothing came of it, and several hours passed without incident. Despite taking several breaks along the way, he needed to call it a day soon.

"Need to stop pushing myself so hard." Jacob thought to himself as he unscrewed the cap of his water flask - Primm couldn't be far away, but hurrying to get there would be just as dangerous as staying on the open road for too long.

Putting his flask away after taking a long swig, he noticed the outline of a building through the haze. Perfect. Hopefully it wasn't completely wrecked, and could still offer some form of shelter.

Upon closer inspection, Jacob could see that it was a dilapidated Poseidon energy gas station. The pumps were long gone; all that was left were their mountings and some old pipes sticking up from the ground. The building was in reasonable condition though, and that's what mattered. Striding across the forecourt, Jacob couldn't help but wonder how big this company must have been - the name was all over the place back in California, maybe it was the same story over here as well?

Cautiously opening the door of the old building, Jacob checked if it was already inhabited. The light filtered in to fill the room, and an alarming scuttling sound was his reward.

Quickly stepping into the stale, dusty air and drawing his pistol at the same time, he set about looking for the source of the noise. Surely enough he found it, a pair of Radroaches were crawling along the wall at the back of the room. Acting on autopilot, he quickly brought his pistol up and fired twice.

One of the shots found its target - hitting it straight in the centre of its body and nearly splitting it in half, causing it to fall off the wall and hit the floor with a surprisingly loud thud. However, the other shot missed its target by about a foot, burying itself into the wall and sending pieces of plaster flying. The other Radroach, startled by the sudden carnage, dropped down from the wall and started scuttling among the junk and detritus that littered the floor with surprising speed. A couple more shots quickly took care of it, and the room was quiet once again.

"Damn vermin" thought Jacob. If he was going to stay here for the night, he was going to make sure he won't be nibbled to death in his sleep. Clicking his pistol open, the cylinder automatically ejected the spent cases. He took time while reloading to look at the food stacked up on the shelves, and smiled to himself. He won't be going hungry tonight, that's for sure. He also picked up an old hand grenade lying on the floor – he wasn't sure how it got there but guessed it would come in handy sometime.