Ahead note: The view is after the events of New Vegas, just to avoid any confusion.


Human emotion should never be controlled. It should never be tampered with. You can't control it, and tampering with it brings bad vibes. My life was never the prettiest, and now it might never be pretty ever.

I guess I should explain myself really. As you are reading this, and you have no idea what gender, race, looks, or anything really about me. You're giving me an appearance from whatever first came to mind. You might be thinking I have the body of a god, or maybe the fattest person on the planet. I could be a female, male, maybe even a trans. So in order to stop this confusion within your head. I'll tell you a little bit about myself. This paragraph was irrelevant but I wanted to write it anyways.

My name is Relia Scarlett, yes that is my true name. Right now I am twenty-four years of age. I should give you a physical description of myself, but then this story will seem odd. So I'll give you one of myself before my accident. Standing at five feet ten inches, I was tall, and due to the fact of me running so much, I was very skinny. Weighing at one hundred and thirty four pounds. Despite this height and weight combo, I was in no matters clumsy. I had perfect control of my body, and could easily become silent.

However, that is all now changed. Due to an accident, which I will get to in the future. My life is not pretty. No motivation to do anything. No longer trusting myself with anything. I have an injury on my arm that is annoying and often gets in the way.

You know what? I don't even know you, but I like you. You're reading all the way up to here, so I'll tell you about my life before any conflict started. Before I picked up that damn courier job.

Before I moved into Nevada, I lived in California. I know, most people come from California to Nevada. I am one of those people, searching to adventure and money. And I sure as hell found adventure, not really money. Anyways, I lived in California with my family. My family was not the smallest family, but not the biggest. Still not average though. We all lived under one roof, my parents, my grandma, twin brother, and my younger set of triplets. All boys. I was the only girl in the family, except for my grandma and mom. We had an average life. Dad was the sheriff in town; mom was in charge of the only hospital in town (probably for the next few towns). Our grandma watched over us mostly. It was a town by the coast. Lovely place it was. The townsfolk were nice; I had a best friend that stuck with me, hell we even went to Nevada with each other. Sadly though, everything must come to an end, whether they are good or bad.

Before I start this sad, but also exciting tale about my best friend and I's departure, let me describe him for you. His name was Scott Free, his parents were real jokesters. Actually his dad used to be a professional comedian, till the place he worked at fired him and he found Scott's mom, anyways back to the point. Scott was super tall, standing at six feet by the time he was fifteen, not to mention he was a runner thus was very skinny, and so his nickname was Skeleton Man. He always shaved his head into a buzz cut, could not stand having a lot of hair on his head, which was sad he had brilliant blonde hair. Once when we were young, he got into an accident with a gecko, and has a rather large scar on the left side of his face. Oh and don't get me started on his blue eyes. We were two peas in a pod. The best of friends, we always got in trouble, 'course funny thing was we hardly ever got away 'scot-free'.

Now back to the main story, it was the night of my eighteenth birthday. I had no party, just me and Scott hanging out on my back porch, we had a couple of sarsaparillas and talked about plans of our journey to Nevada, he had been eighteen so we had no worries on his age. Our plan was to go leave in about a year, and own a little store or something. We figured the plan would evolve once we got there. The problem was though; we didn't plan on leaving the night of my birthday.

Everyone in town had a gun, or had knowledge on how to use one. It was standard nowadays. So when Scott and I heard gunshots from in front of my house, we panicked. We didn't know how many people could be out there, nor did we know what was going on. We climbed off the deck and crept around the house, looking through the window we saw several people. They all looked like goons. I hid down lower, not that I wanted to, Scott had to hold me down. He gasped as he looked through the window, and then quickly went back. He told me my dad and my mom was dead. I panicked, my dad was the sheriff. These were goons looking for my family. Before we could react we heard a bottle shatter, a man yelled 'RUN!' and by instinct we ran, before I knew it. My house burst into flames. I tried to run back to the house, panicking with tears streaming down my face. The goons heard us, and Scott had to grab me before we got shot. We both ran. Ran for the nearest town. I knew if I went back to town, the goons would come for me, and Scott knew that too. We decided we were going to Nevada at that moment.

The journey to Nevada wasn't exciting really. The roads were patrolled by Legion and NCR. So we had no problems. By the time we were nineteen, we had a house and okay jobs. The shack (it was literally a shack) was located in Goodsprings. Word came that Nash at the Mojave Express in Primm had a courier job available. So I took it up right away, needing the extra caps. With the luck I had, the job was not going to be a wonderful cup of sarsaparilla.


Note: This is my very first published fanfiction. So I'm still a bit of a n00b. I have dozens of fanfics I've written but never published. Also Scott is not a canon character, so don't go hunting down on more information for him. I'm editing the second chapter, and its shorter than the first.