Chapter 1: In the beginning
May 4th 2280
Four men stood in a circle in the middle of a large room. There was a fire crackling in a fireplace. Shadows from the flames danced across the room. A television in the corner hissed static. In the middle of the four men was a young boy, clutching a stuffed bear and crying quietly.
"Come on, just shoot 'em and get it over with already."
"He's just a fucking kid man, its not right."
The boy looked at the four men around him, fear evident in his tearful eyes. They wore desert themed combat armor, tan fatigue pants and boots. He couldn't see their faces, all he saw were the green eyes on their masks. The rest of their heads were covered by helmets. He had never seen an American soldier except on TV, but less than twenty minutes ago four of them had barged into his home during their evening dinner and had killed his parents. His father had tried to protect his family, charging the men with a sword, but one of the men had shot him in the chest before he had a chance to even get close.
The boy's father's eyes stared at him now from the corner of the room, lifeless. After that they went after his mother. She tried to fight but three of the soldiers overpowered her and took her into the next room. There were screams from her and laughing from the men, finally the sounds died down until all that was heard was the mother quietly sobbing. Another gunshot, then nothing. The fourth soldier stayed in the room with the boy, not saying a word, but the events in the next room clearly put him on edge.
Then there they were. The soldiers were standing around the boy.
"Corporal kill this red bastard so we can link back up with Bravo team and finish securing this beachhead," the tallest soldier ordered.
"I cant do that sir." This was the soldier that had stayed behind.
"I gave you a fucking order Corporal!"
"I'm not fucking doing it!"
"I don't see what the problem is man," one of the other soldiers chimed in.
"He's a fucking kid, its just not right." the first man said, putting himself between the child and rest of the Marines.
"Fine, then you can die along with this commie fuck," the tallest soldier said then raised his sidearm at the Marine's chest and fired.
"Then what?" Doctor Usanagi asked.
Seth DuLaney sighed and ran his hand through his short auburn hair.
"Thats it, I woke up."
Usanagi nodded slowly then started scribbling on her pad.
"Look doc, I've been having dreams like this for a year. What does it mean?"
Usanagi shook her head slowly, "I don't know Seth, you've been seeing me for as long as you had them, and we still haven't been able to get to the root cause of these dreams, or a way for you to get rid of them."
She sighed in frustration, "I just don't know."
DuLaney shook his head, equally frustrated.
The doctor took a few notes, "Have you had any luck with remembering anything before you first came to me?"
It had happened just over a year ago, a squad of NCR Rangers had found him in such bad shape that they had to use one of the Vertibirds that had been redesigned for casualty transport to bring him to her clinic. He wasn't breathing, barely any pulse, and wasn't just knocking, but beating and screaming at death's door. After two days of surgery, which had revealed some very interesting things about her patient, she finally had gotten him in a stable condition.
That was when he had started dreaming.
"Not a damn thing doc, sorry." He let out an irritated huff, "I mean shit, you'd think after a year I'd have more than a damn name."
The doctor gave him a sympathetic look, "Usually when someone deals with something extremely severe, the mind blocks it out to protect the individual. It seems like your mind went a bit overboard."
DuLaney went silent at this, he leaned forward and placed his head in his hands, then his brow furrowed, deep in thought.
He stayed like that for a few minutes before he finally stood and held out his hand, "Thanks for seeing me doc."
Usanagi, startled by the suddenness of his action, stood as well before accepting the outstretched hand, "Of course, I'll see you next week then?"
With that DuLaney walked out of the small run down clinic with a nod to one of the guards by the front door, and into the blinding light of the Mojave sun.
From inside the clinic Usanagi was going over the notes of her recent session with Mr. DuLaney when a woman dressed in NCR mantle armor, green beret, and an entirely too self confident smirk walked into the room.
"Any news on our potential psycho killer?" the woman asked.
"Hello Lieutenant Boyd." Dr Usanagi replied mildly, not looking up from her work.
Boyd lit up a cigarette, took a drag, and leaned on a surgical table. She then proceded to roll an empty syringe back and forth on a pan next to the table, earning her a glare from Usanagi.
"Seriously doc, whats the word with that guy, am I gonna have to send in the Rangers, and waste all that work savin' his ass or what?" The syringe kept rolling.
Usanagi let out a huff and half turned to Boyd, "He's going to snap, that much we know. What we don't know is what will cause it."
Boyd took another drag off her cigarette, abandoned the syringe, then continued in a low voice, "So what did they do to him?"
Another sigh, "I honestly have no idea, but whatever they did scrambled his brain up pretty good. There's mental blocks everywhere from where his mind is trying to protect him from events in his past. Its fairly common with troopers who deal with the Legion's more...colorful antics. But I've never seen a case this advanced, he's essentially established an alter ego for himself. He's the exact opposite of what he used to be."
"And what did he used to be?" Boyd asked.
Usanagi turned to fully face Boyd, a very serious look on her face, "A soldier. The likes of which hasn't been seen since before the war."
Boyd took another long thoughtful drag on her cigarette. "So that was the reason they found him on ice at that old war military base."
Usanagi nodded, "My guess is they had him in cryogenic suspension while they were working out the kinks on some of the more advanced technology."
Boyd shook her head in disbelief, "I cant believe they would do this to their own soldiers, they had to have known there would be risks."
Usanagi shook her head as well, "These were the same people who invented the FEV, and ultimately super mutants, they were trying to do the same thing with technology that wouldn't leave them so mutated that they were only good in combat situations."
Boyd threw her cigarette on the floor and stamped it out with her boot, "Well doc, what do you think? Threat or no?"
Usanagi stared at the wall for a moment before answering, "Unless something catastrophic happens to him...no. He's too scared to even pick up a gun anymore, let alone go on a mass killing spree."
Boyd nodded and made for the door. "That's all I need to know doc, if anything changes you make sure to tell me."
"Of course, you'll be the first to know." Usanagi said.
Boyd opened the door and stopped, "Oh, Colonel Hsu wanted me to ask you how it's coming with reverse engineering those implants that DuLaney has."
Usanagi shook her head in the negative, "Its still going to be a few months before I can give you anything we can actually work with."
Boyd nodded, "I'll let him know." And with that she was gone.
Dr. Usanagi turned to one of the clinic guards, "Mark, lock the door, unless there is an emergency we're done for the day, I've got a lot of notes to go over."
"Of course, Doctor."
Dr. Usanagi said her thanks then went back to her office and sat down, going over the notes from DuLaney's session. It was getting dark before she leaned back in her chair and groaned, massaging away a headache.
"When is it going to happen Seth? When are you going to snap?" She asked the ceiling. After getting no reply from said ceiling, she disconnected her reading lamp from the fission battery, got up from the desk, then walked to her cot and laid down, drifting into sleep almost instantly.
Atomic Wrangler: Freeside
May 5th 2280
Seth was sitting at the bar in the Atomic Wrangler, downing his first shot of whiskey for the day.
"Hey Francine, can I get another?" he asked, holding up his shot glass.
Francine Garret sighed, then obliged, "You know Seth, you've been comin' in here for a year now, drinking away all of my whiskey, you need a new drink."
Seth waved his hand dismissively, "Never gonna happen Francine, whiskey's my drink of choice, always will be."
Francine set the bottle in front of him, "Then next time pay for the whole damn bottle rather than making me stand here and pour shot after shot," she said slightly irritated.
He downed his next shot then picked up the bottle and raised it in a mock salute, "You're too kind Frannie!"
Francine grumbled something then went to tend to another customer, leaving Seth alone with his thoughts which was fine with him. What the hell were the dreams about? It was like they were about him, but he hated guns. He had never picked one up, let alone used one in a war. He wasn't a soldier, a hunter, or a merc. He'd rather drop the extra caps to pay for meat rather than hunt it himself. It wasn't that he was opposed to war or anything, he respected the hell out of the soldiers of the NCR, but guns made him uneasy. Even being around guns made him uncomfortable.
So why in the hell was he having all these dreams? He pondered this question for a bit, and took a swig from his bottle. While drinking his way into more questions he heard the door to the saloon open. He turned to see a woman dressed in well worn leather armor, a battered hunting rifle slung over one shoulder, and an old green canvas ruck sack over the other. She had dark chestnut colored hair and dazzling emerald eyes. Seth stared, taking another swig from his bottle. She walked past him, saying a greeting to Francine as she passed, and sat at a table in the back.
Seth took a deep pull off the bottle and continued to stare. It wasn't that he was attracted to her, he was staring because he had seen her before, he just couldn't remember where. He continued to stare, and as he stared the room transformed. The rundown, faded, peeling walls, and the dusty cracked floor disappeared. In their place were, black walls with glowing paint, flashing lights, and shiny tiled floor. People were dancing, music was blasting over large speakers, and Seth was drinking a beer. Someone next to him was talking about the annexation of Canada, but he ignored him. Across the dance floor, a girl was sitting at a booth, sipping at a drink through a straw. She stared back at him, a seductive look in her eyes. He was about to make his move when she gave him the finger.
Seth snapped out of his trance, the room returning to the dive it truly was, focusing on the woman in leather who was currently giving him the finger. John grinned in spite of himself and turned back to the bar to see Francine staring at him with a skeptical look in her eyes.
He gave her an innocent look in response to her skeptical one, "What?"
Francine laughed and shook her head, "Out of your league kid."
"You think so, Frannie? That's ok, I had my eyes on another special someone anyway."
Francine raised an eyebrow, "Oh? Who's the lucky guy?"
Seth feigned a hurt look, "You wound me Frannie! Besides, that special lady is you my dear sweet Francine!"
Francine snorted in spite of herself, "I'd rather spend the night with a Death Claw with herpes."
He leaned back chuckling and took yet another long drink, then hunched back over the bar. What the hell was that, another flashback? He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. There was too much going on right now. He had to figure things out.
Another two hours had passed, and Seth had started his second bottle. The door to the Wrangler opened again, this time three men who screamed, "I'm a wannabe mercenary and I need to compensate," walked in. Two of the mercs were over six feet tall, all muscle and grime. They wore white shirts, cargo pants, and service rifles slung over their backs, and pistols strapped on their sides. The third was was just over five feet, and had a ridiculous handlebar mustache.
"Hot damn I had a good run at the Silver Rush today!" The shortest one, who coincidentally had the biggest revolver, proclaimed loudly.
His friends guffawed loudly, all three were clearly drunk. The short one scanned the room and immediately locked onto the woman sitting in the back.
"Well, well, well," he said drunkenly, "Hey there missy, why don't you show us some love!"
The woman flipped him off, which angered the little man, but caused the other two goons to chuckle. The man made his way over to the woman, henchmen in tow.
He slammed his hand on her table with a heavy thud. He stared at her, a wicked smile on his face, "Don't you go disrespectin' me now," he licked his lips while his eyes wandered over her figure, "I'll make you pay if you do."
She stared at him evenly, eyes not betraying any emotion.
"Hey shithead! If you don't mind yourself then you're out on your ass!" Francine shouted.
Two drunken guards stumbled out of the back room, alerted by the commotion. Their rifles were unslung as they made their way over to the three mercs.
"C'mon buddy, you need to get out of here." One of the guards slurred, grabbing one of the mercs by the arm.
The leader weighed his options, then turned his head to the door, "Lets get outta here boys, this place is shit anyway."
The three men started walking out the door, when they passed DuLaney's chair, one bumped into him.
"Fuckin' morons," he muttered loudly. The merc heard him.
Suddenly the merc snarled and grabbed DuLaney by the arm, earning a shout from Francine and unwanted attention from the drunk gaurds.
'Counter' a small voice told him, and counter he did.
DuLaney spun around and grabbed his attacker's arm with one fluid motion, he threw out his other arm into the merc's elbow, breaking it with a loud crack. The man dropped to the ground clutching his broken arm and moaning loudly in pain. The other two mercs moved in to take DuLaney down while his back was turned.
'Two tangos at five and seven o'clock, short stuff's armed, take him out first' the voice returned.
DuLaney turned and sure enough the short one had his revolver out and pointed at him. DuLaney stepped inside short-stuff's reach and shoved the revolver towards the ceiling, it fired with a loud boom! The sound stunned DuLaney, his ears ringing.
The two guards raised their rifles, ready to take out all three of the brawlers, but Francine threw her hands up at them, "Don't shoot! Let him get clear first!"
The guards shared a confused look, but lowered their rifles slightly.
'Take the gun from him you fucking moron!'
DuLaney shook his head, and focused on the gun. His hands were almost a blur as he reached out and struck short-stuff's wrist, the impact causing him to loosen his grip slightly on the butt of the gun, which was all he needed. His other hand shot out and grabbed the revolver from shorty's hand. He then spun the gun around in his hand and pistol whipped the midget merc. He slumped down, out cold, blood flowing from the wound on the top of his head.
'Tango twelve o' clock, take him out,'the voice commanded.
DuLaney looked up and the last merc was fumbling with his rifle, but before he could bring it up DuLaney raised the revolver and shot the merc in the head. The bullet entered square between the doomed merc's eyes, spraying gore and brain matter across the wall behind him. Sunlight filtered through the bullet hole in the wall as the merc's lifeless body slumped to its knees, his vacant eyes wide in surprise, staring at his killer.
DuLaney stared first at the body, then to the revolver in his hand, still smoking slightly from the barrel.
'Tango down.'The voice said smugly.
DuLaney kept staring at the revolver, 'Christ what have I done?'He asked the voice.
'What you were trained to do.'
What the hell are you talking about? he asked. He got no reply.
Wordlessly he fell to his knees and let the revolver fall to the floor, which was now soaked in blood from short-stuff's headwound. The only sound in the entire bar was the groaning from the first merc who was rapidly going into shock from the pain.
His eyes danced around the bar, finally locking on the narrowed emerald eyes of the female who had first walked into the bar. She hadn't moved through the entire altercation, until now. She slowly stood up from her chair and threw a few caps on the table before making her way for the door. Her eyes never left DuLaney's as she walked across the bar, he could do nothing but stare back until she passed him and walked out the door.
John DuLaney stared at the dirt/blood mix that had spread in front of him, finally, after a few seconds he stood, and turned to Francine Garrett, "Four of the biggest bottles of whiskey you got Frannie, and two pack of smokes, and some matches Frannie," He dropped a large bag of caps on the bar table, Francine stared at him wordlessly, "I think this should cover the damages." He said in a low even voice.
Francine got the whiskey, cigarettes, and matches and put them in a faded green pack and handed it across the bar to John, who gratefully accepted it with a thanks in that same low voice. Without another word he slung the pack over his shoulder and stepped through the door of the Atomic Wrangler, and out into the blistering Mojave sunlight. DuLaney blinked his eyes a few times giving himself time to adjust to the change of light before moving on.
DuLaney started walking but only made it a few steps before he heard someone yell after him.
"Hey you!"
DuLaney pretended to ignore the voice and kept walking, his mind starting race.
Dammit they had someone waiting for me outside!
He looked around for a quick exit, but the alley that the Atomic Wrangler was located consisted of nothing but dead ends. The only other person on the street was the crier for the Wrangler, who was currently eying him with great interest.
I wonder if they'll rough me up first before they kill me.
"Hey I'm talkin to you dammit!"
I wonder what it's like to die?
Suddenly the voice chimed in, 'Turn the fuck around or your gonna find out you bastard.'
DuLaney obliged and turned slowly around, and to his surprise it was the woman from the Wrangler. Her eyes were fixed on him with a fierce stare that seemed to cut straight through him. She started towards him with a purpose, as she walked she un-holstered her side arm. He waited for the shot. But it never came, instead when she stood in from of him she offered the pistol, grip first to him.
"Here," she said, "you're gonna need this."
Slowly DuLaney held out his hand and accepted the pistol, "Its heavy at the barrel." He said automatically.
She grinned, "Pacifist my ass, I knew there was more to you," she handed him a magazine, "try this cowboy."
It was as natural to him as breathing, he checked the safety on the pistol, slid the mag in at the bottom of the grip, and pulled the slide back to chamber a round.
'Colt M1911A1, fires the .45 ACP, has a 7 round magazine, muzzle velocity 825 feet per second. Lady's got class.' The voice said admiringly.
DuLaney shook his head, "Shut up." he muttered.
The woman raised an eyebrow, "S'cuse me?"
He frowned and shook his head again, "I'm sorry but I cant accept this, I don't like guns."
The woman offered a chuckle, she jerked her head into the direction of the bar, "Didn't look like that in there."
DuLaney stayed his course, "Look I'm sorry but I can't."
She snorted, "Fuckin moron," that earned her a 'thank you' from the voice in his head, "look just take the damn gun, trust me your gonna need it, those guys back there don't operate alone, they'll have friends, friends with resources."
Reluctantly he accepted the sidearm, he didn't have a holster, so instinctively he checked the safety again and slid it into the small of his back.
She gave him another small smile and handed him two more magazines. "Here you go cowboy, that should get you started." With that she started walking down the alley.
DuLaney stared at the two mags in his hand for a minute before what she said registered.
He turned to her retreating figure, "Get started with what?" He yelled quizically.
Without turning around she gave a wave and continued walking.
'What the hell?'
"What the hell?"
Seth stumbled into his house in outer New Vegas two hours later. He put his bottles in the battered old refrigerator, dug around his pockets for one of his smokes, struck a match and took a deep inhale, coughing as he did so. As he sank into the ratty chair he was so proud of, he had found it by one of the Freeside gates and drug it back to his house, he felt something dig into his back. He reached behind himself and felt his hand fall onto the grip of the pistol.
He pulled the pistol out and stared at it, taking another drag, exhaling slowly. It felt so damn comfortable in his hand.
"I have finally lost my shit." he said aloud.
'Why yes, yes you have.'
He ignored the voice, which he had rather originally, he thought, named The Voice, and walked back to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and snubbed the cigarette out. Before he could make it back to his chair a knock came from the front door.
'Trouble, get the gun'
Seth ignored The Voice and made his way to the door.
'Get the fuckin gun you dumb shit!'
When he got closer to the door he heard voices, this made him start wondering if he should listen to The Voice. He opened the door, and found a Fiend waiting on the other side.
'Told you' The Voice said smugly.
"Oh shit."
The Fiend grinned wickedly, and smacked Seth in the head with a baseball bat, he crumpled to the floor in a heap, blood flowing freely from the wound.
A/N: Hello there! How are you? Good good, unless you called me a bad name, then shame on you. Anyway welcome to my little story. Please feel free to give me feedback, if your gonna give me constructive criticism great! If your going to flame me, please, be creative about it, its boring reading uneducated rants . I love you all, I really do, even you flamers. Also anybody who wants to beta read would be awesome, feel free to message me ideas, characters etc, I'm startin this story over and bouncing ideas off of people is fun for me.