The courier opened his eyes slowly. His head was pounding, and light seared his sleep-clouded eyes. He tested his strength and decided to sit up, but regretted it when a blinding pain in his head hit him like a brick wall. He could vaguely hear a voice, and focused on the figure sitting in front of him when his eyes cleared.

"Whoa, easy there, easy! You've been out cold a couple of days now. Why don't you just relax a second? Get your bearings. Let's see what the damage is. How 'bout your name? Can you tell me your name?" The courier struggled to think to formulate a reply for the kindly old man, but grew more and more frustrated. "I...I don't know..." "That's alright...let's just think of something for now. What would you like me to call you?" He racked his brain, searching for answers his mind couldn't provide. "Well, guess I should think of something good, then."

The courier chuckled, then winced in pain. That was dumb of him. "Take your time, now. No need to rush," the old man responded. He thought on this. It should be just right. It should capture his spirit. Searching for the perfect one, he tossed out names. "John...Matthew...James..." He grinned and decided on a distinct name he'd conjured up. "Antillicus." The old man raised an eyebrow. "I can't say it's what I'd have picked for you, but if that's your name, that's your name." Antillicus smiled, satisfied. Now to discover who he truly was...

Antillicus had spent enough time with Doc Mitchell, he decided. The kindly man suggested he talk to Sunny Smiles in the saloon, but he was more concerned with a note that the doctor had found in his belongings. It was one of the few scraps of his past he had. He'd read and re-read the note a few times. It read: "Meet Boxcars at Nipton for dynamite shipment - Grace". Antillicus had snorted upon reading "Boxcars". What kind of name is that? he wondered to himself. He reconsidered, however, after thinking of his own new name. He stuffed the cryptic note back into his pocket. His hand brushed the cool metal of his 9mm and a slight smile crossed his face. He couldn't quite place his finger on why, but he remembered the weapon. He decided that he should start with finding his way to Nipton.

The first idea to cross his mind was to ask for directions. He knew where Goodsprings was, vaguely - the Pip-Boy the doctor gave him showed him roughly where he was - but more comprehensive instructions were needed. Maybe talking to Sunny was a good idea after all.

As he strolled into the aging saloon, shutting the door behind him, he noticed a smell of dust and booze in the air. He'd smelled it before. A leather-clad woman smiled at him. "Howdy! I'm Sunny Smiles, and she's Cheyenne," she said, gesturing towards an alert mongrel at her feet. He stooped to pet the friendly-looking mutt, then stood. "Hello, Sunny. I'm assuming word's gotten around about me already." "Right you are," she replied, grinning. "An-tillicus. What a name." The courier shrugged. "I needed one, I suppose it's good enough." Sunny nodded. "So, what'd you need?" she queried. "I'm wondering how to get to Nipton from here." She glanced at the device on his arm. "I suppose I could show you the safe way on that Pip-Boy."