Fallout New Vegas: The Fractured Reality of Courier Six
Foreword (Chapter 0)
This story is mainly intended as a writing exercise just to try and gauge/assess how well or poorly I am at different story writing skills. This is also meant as a warm up for returning to the S.T.A.L.K.E.R. story that I just barely started posting on this site, before I had to leave it until now.
Disclaimer - Some elements might have been inspired/borrowed from other games/books/movies.
I don't own the rights to cover image either.
Any guesses as to where its from? Its from a movie...
Start of story is (intro sequence) a mirror to the game, until the courier leaves Mitchell's house.
Feedback is appreciated.
I never really cared for pie.
I never expected to live too long as a courier.
I assumed I would eventually be taken by this god-forsaken shit-hole of a desert, by raiders, a deathclaw, or puking/shitting out my insides with my hair falling out as my vision begins to fade in and out before dying from radiation poisoning.
I definitely never expected to go out like this, being accosted by some jackoff wearing a checkered suit, and a few motorcycle gang douche bags.
Fuck my head hurts! These pricks appeared out of nowhere, another somewhat normal courier run, knocked me out and here I am about to be taken out.
They were still fucking talking though! I stopped paying attention minutes ago when he no longer said anything of use or importance in his strange, and irritating funny talk of his.
The reason itself was obvious: the package. I was a specific target, not a random unfortunate.
So, with a chain smoking suit in front of me next to 'the help', it really wasn't looking good, considering the fresh pile of dirt, the new grave, and where the one sided conversation with 'checkers' who seems to love hearing himself speakā¦
'They deserve to die...
They ALL deserve to DIE!'
The monkey wearing a chess board outfit then flicked yet another fancy cigarette at my soon-to-be grave, before pulling out a heavily personalized pistol.
'Oh, so he's one of those twats..'
[That Checkered Fucker] - "...might seem like an eighteen carat run-"
He's still talking about nothing really. Maybe I have enough time to write home (wherever that is..)? Fuck. Still bored/dazed/angry.
Checkers raises his pistol, now I can see the spot where the bullet will soon emerge, well, if it were daylight that is.
[Checkers] "-uth is the game was rigged from the start."
BANG
This was typed up mostly after drinking a few shots worth of vodka (using shots as my unit of reference)... so I guess we'll see how I feel about this first chapter later, then...
I guess we will see how it all turns out.
