Mr. House was busy performing various computations and projections for the future of New Vegas when he saw the Courier enter the Strip.
Although he could no longer smile (indeed, he couldn't really do anything with his body, and hadn't been able to for over 200 years), he was pleased. The Courier looked to be a promising new employee. After accepting Mr. House's invitation to the Lucky 38, he had proven to be a more than capable assistant, assassinating Benny and personally delivering the Platinum Chip to him. He was just returning from his most recent, and also his most important, mission. The Securitron army beneath the Fort had been upgraded, and it was time to set the plan into motion.
The Lucky 38's elevator opened, and the Courier stepped out with Victor in tow. Walking by Jane without acknowledging her, he went straight to Mr. House's computer, meeting his pre-war picture's omniscient gaze.
"You're back." Mr. House chimed. Although the Courier couldn't see his expression, he could tell Mr. House was in a good mood. "I've just received the reports on the Securitrons at Fortification Hill. Nicely done."
The Courier smiled-although Mr. House didn't notice it, his smile was vaguely malevolent. "I thought you'd like it. I hope you didn't mind my...unorthodox approach to making my way to the bunker."
"I was going to bring that up with you, actually. I specifically asked you not to kill Caesar, and yet you slaughtered your way through that camp like a madman. I'll admit, I do not like it when my employees refuse to follow directions, but since the outcome of the upcoming battle at the dam will still be the same, I'll let it slide."
Mr. House's computer connection briefly reset before his image returned to the screen. "Your next assignment is to investigate a tribe of..."
"Mr. House."
"Xenophobic airplane enthusiasts called the 'Boom'..."
"HOUSE!"
Mr. House was temporarily startled. "Come now, there's no need to shout. What did you have on your mind?"
The Courier took a few steps forward. "Our relationship is at an end, Mr. House."
Mr. House was taken aback. "What? What are you talking about?"
"You've been useful so far, but I'm afraid I have my own plans."
"Oh? And what might those be?" Privately, Mr. House was scrambling to get his Securitrons ready for combat.
The Courier took out his riot shotgun.
"I'm taking over this city."
With that, the Courier fired into the screens of the Securitrons flanking Mr. House, destroying them both instantly. Overhead, the alarm sounded.
Wasting no time, he quickly activated his stealth boy and made his way to a nondescript terminal behind a staircase.
For the first time in over 200 years, Mr. House was panicking.
The Courier's quick trigger had prevented him from easily disposing of his (former) employee, and his stealth boy had prevented his Securitrons from attacking him. What was he going to do? He suspected that the Courier wasn't stupid enough to think putting a shotgun round in his giant computer screen would kill him, so he had to be thinking of something else. Perhaps he would try to interrogate Jane, for all the good that...
In the lower right-hand corner of House's cerebral interface, an alarm sounded.
"WARNING. DOOR TO CONTROL ROOM OPENED. UNAUTHORIZED USER DETECTED."
Oh, no.
No, no, no.
Before Mr. House could order the two Securitrons stationed in that room to attack the Courier, he had already covertly disabled them both.
Mr. House was pouring through his defense network, looking for something, anything, to stop this insolent rat from...
The door to the elevator opened, and the Courier walked down the metallic platform.
Mr. House disabled his cerebral interface temporarily and looked out of his stasis pod's viewing window. In the middle of the room, the Courier was approaching his stasis pod's control computer. Frantically, he reactivated his interface, and he was still looking for a way to save himself when he heard the sound that he had dreaded, that he knew was his death warrant- the sound of the stasis pod door cracking open, and the swimming in of the microbial grim repears.
Mr. House looked different than the Courier expected.
Even though he knew that two centuries would likely wither away a man's body to nothing, on some level, he was still expecting to see a dark-haired Caucasian man in a business suit, as he had seen on the computer monitors. Instead, the man before him looked frail and almost lifeless, like an old hermit that time forgot. He had a long, gray beard extending almost to the center of his chest, and bright, penetrating eyes.
"Why...have you...done this?" Mr. House spat out. His voice was raspy and ancient, and it reminded the Courier of a ghoul's speech. "Centuries of preparation...so much good, undone..."
The Courier smiled, and stepped in front of House's pod. "Oh, House, you poor sap. You let me into your little clubhouse, tell me that you've got Vegas in the palm of your hands, and expect me to just sit back and let you jack off to your robot girls when I could be running this joint myself?" With a twisted smile, he pushed the end of the cigarette he was smoking into Mr. House's arm. Mr. House screamed in agony. "You stayed on 13 when the dealer was showing a 5!"
Mr. House, still cringing in pain from the cigarette burn, looked at the Courier with hatred. "I...t-t-trusted...you...Vegas...cannot be saved...without...me..."
The Courier laughed, and smiled again. "I beg to differ. You see, your old pal Benny spilled an interesting little secret before I put a bullet in his head. It turns out he's got one of your Securitrons!"
The Courier took a moment to rummage through his backpack before pulling out the Platinum Chip.
"But this isn't any old Securitron. This one's a yes man-that's his name, by the way-that can get me this beautiful Strip for myself. All I have to do is do what it says, and before you know it, the NCR and the Legion will be running away from my robots-and my city." He said the word "my" with emphasis, further enraging Mr. House. "And," he said, holding up the Chip, "guess what he told me he can do with this chip if I got you out of the picture?"
With all of his strength, Mr. House managed to spit on the ground in front of the Courier-a dry, disgusting phlegm that made his assassin wince a bit when it almost landed on his shoe.
"Your...vanity project...doomed to failure..." House said with disgust.
"We'll see about that." The Courier said. "Either way, I'm sorry to say..."
He pulled out a pistol-Benny's pistol, the one that had been used to shoot him outside Goodsprings so long ago.
"...Your luck has just about run out, Mr. House. Time to meet that big supercomputer in the sky."
He aimed his pistol at Mr. House's head. "Any final words, not-at-home?"
"You...you..." House was struggling to come up with words to describe this man he wanted to kill so badly. "...Parasite! Worthless...scum...may you die...slowly...and...painfully...may...MAGOTTS...eat...your...CORPSE!"
"Heh. Well, that's not too bad for a 'last breath curse'. Before you die, one last piece of advice you should've followed."
He looked Mr. House in the eye.
"Never play blackjack when the gambler can count cards."
He pulled the trigger, and Mr. House was no more.