I do not own Fallout 3 or New Vegas, or any Fallouts. I do not lay claim to anything in the Fallout universe and this is not for profit.
Credit goes to Rubrik079 on deviantart for the plot idea.
The night was dark, the stars were shining bright, and the wind was gusting over the rolling Nevada desert. The sounds of nightlife echoed across the plains; animal calls... screams... gun shots.
Ah, the Mojave...
Ah, Vegas... a land of sin and vice, corruption, greed, murder... a jewel - a beacon - in the wasteland; calling out to people in every direction. It's brilliant lights shine bright in a land of darkness. The only unscarred place that exists in this hellish post-nuclear world, and as such, just another stage for the grand struggle of powers.
War never changes...
From the random drugged out raider gang; to the merchants of the arms and caravan trade; and the mighty armies of great civilizations. Vegas was the prize, it's unscathed landscape a treasure for two bit authoritarians, wannabes, and powers alike.
A treasure that men were willing to die for... kill for... pay enormous sums of caps to shape.
And yet through it all Vegas is still... Vegas. It would always be Vegas. A city that's sirens call would lure fortune seekers from all over, tempted by the thoughts of riches, treasure, and a quick score. Yet, the result was always the same. It would draw them in, bleed them dry, take everything they had, then spit them out and move on to its next victim. Because that's what Vegas was- a parasite, and the powers of the Mojave were caught in her trap.
But not all the players in the game were part of this cycle. There are people that are just trying to get by, trying to live their own solitary lives and make the most of a sad, sorry existence. The games of wasteland powers mean nothing to these people... their minds are on the more pressing matters of providing for family, putting food on the table, avoiding rape by raiders, or being killed and buried in a ditch by hired goons.
"You got what you were after, so pay up."
"You're crying in the rain pally."
I'm not doing so well with that last bit, I think as I open my eyes, seeing the checkered suit and his thugs for hire standing over me, my arm having been tied at the waist.
You see I am not some random fortune seeker trying to find my way, I'm not some power broker looking to stack the deck for whatever imagined cause they have, I don't want fame, I don't want fortune or glory. Fuck all that. I'm here because there's no where else for me to be. I have no home, I have no family, I have no purpose... nothing to live for.
I am a drifter from a far off land, a vagabond... a Courier. I deliver anonymous packages to anonymous people in this shit hole, just to have something to do, some reason not to blow my brains out. I drag myself through the tortures of wasteland life, day after day, just so other people can stuff their pockets and consolidate power.
Why do I do it? Is it for some misguided ideal, a faint glimmer of hope for some kind of future? Or is it simply because I'm too chicken-shit to put one between my eyes?
"Looks like our little one-armed bitch is waking up over here!"
Oh yeah, did I mention I only have one arm? Yeah, life dealt me a real shit sandwich.
Suit sighs and puts out a cigarette. "Time to cash out."
I hate him already.
"Would you get it over with?"
"Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain't a fink, dig?"
Oh yeah, he's a smooth one. Some big wig from the strip I'd wager, using the Khans to do his dirty work so he can keep his hands clean. I think of how nice it would be to see his pretty little hair splattered with his pretty little brains. I HATE that haircut.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out some kind of... chip?
Huh.
I'm about to die for a fucking poker chip.
Yeah, that's my life in a nutshell.
"You've made your last delivery kid. Sorry you got twisted up in this scene." He pulls out a gun. "From where you're kneeling it must seem like an eighteen karat run of bad luck."
You don't even know what bad luck is fuckface! If I get out of this I'll give you a personal lesson!
"Truth is, the game was rigged from the start."
The gun goes off. Blissful darkness at last.
