24 Karats of Misfortune

by Courier999

The Mojave Wasteland is a harsh place, as the courier known as Harleen Pierce knows. But what's stopping her from getting behind the mystery of the mysterious chip she's carrying and determining the fate of Mojave? Covers base game and DLCS. Rated T for violence, scary content, sexual themes/innuendos, and foul language. R&R!

1. Chapter 1

FALLOUT: 24 Karats of Misfortune

Fallout: New Vegas is property of Bethesda Softworks.

Chapter 1: Execution

The still and arid air of the Mojave was oppressive on Harleen Pierce as she knelt before a shallow rectangular hole in the ground upon a hill. Before her was a man in a checkered suit, taking another deep breath as he smoked his cigarette. Near him were two representatives of the Great Khans, each holding a super sledge. A third was staring down the hill with a pair of binoculars.

"One last time, baby doll. Gimme the package, and I'll let ya go." the suited man began.

"How about you try and suckle from a gecko?" Harleen replied.

The suited man frowned upon hearing the courier's response. Before he could make any sort of comeback, the lookout yelled.

"NCR patrol! On horses! Three miles from here!"

The suited man raised a 9mm pistol, aimed it at Harleen's head, and fired. The courier fell into the hole, apparently dead.

"You two, start filling in the hole."

The two Khans with super sledges shrugged their shoulders as they piled dirt upon the remains of the courier.

"Let's get the hell out of here."

And with that, the three Khans and their employer ran off into the night, unaware that their victim wasn't quite dead…

Meanwhile, two NCR troopers on horseback were approaching the small town of Goodsprings. Their names were George O'Neil and Zachary MacGregor, and they weren't exactly thrilled to be where they were.

"Patrolling the Mojave makes you wish for a nuclear winter." O'Neil muttered.

"Ya know, whoever came up with that shoulda been shot. Come to think of it, why did we get sent to this wasteland?"

"MacGregor, the Mojave Territory is a vital buffer zone between the NCR and the forces of Caesar's Legion. If it falls, those bastards'll have a direct route to the NCR and thus take us out."

"But we aren't fighting the Legion. No, we got stuck with patrolling for bandits and escaped Powder Gangers in this forsaken stretch of the territory!"

"Zach, we're lucky the LT sent us here after you…coupled with his daughter. It was either this or get sent to a frontier post near the Vancouver Territory."

MacGregor's eyes went wide in terror as mental images of mind-numbing days and weeks spent in an isolated outpost in the middle of nowhere passed by.

"Zach?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's stop for the night. We'll be able to cover more ground that way."

MacGregor nodded as he rode his horse into a small town. As they passed by, he noticed an old sign. The paint was peeling, but he could still make out the original message:

WELCOME TO GOODSPRINGS, NEVADA.

The two rode up to the local saloon, hitched their horses, and entered.

"Evenin', gents." the bartender piped up, her voice still comforting despite hoarseness caused from years of life in the Mojave.

"Evenin', ma'am." O'Neil replied as he took his seat.

"What'll it be?"

"What's on the list, miss-"

"Name's Trudy."

"Anyways, what's to drink, Trudy?" MacGregor asked.

"Some of the local stock, if you like wasteland brews. Got some Old World stuff too, but I wouldn't drink it if I was you."

"Why not?"

"Last guy who drank some of the Old World stock didn't drink it again. He was a big guy, one of the Great Khans. Bet me a couple hundred caps he could drink it all down. I got two hundred caps that night."

"Er-" MacGregor began.

"So, made up your minds yet?"

"I'll take a wasteland tequila." O'Neil volunteered.

"Local brew." MacGregor whimpered.

Out on the cemetery hill, a large robot shaped like an old television set and mounted on one wheel rolled up to the graveyard.

"And they said to me, Victor, you oughta be the mayor of Goodsprings. And I said to them, na, sheriff's a good job-"

Just then, Victor's photoreceptors noticed the newly-dug grave.

"Well, I'll be. I didn't miss a funeral, did I?"

Victor knelt his torso, extended his arms, and began digging. It was only a matter of moments before he found a fresh body. His photoreceptors picked up to the subtle movements of the body's chest.

"Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit! Looks like someone's tried to get rid of a body-"

Victor grabbed the unearthed body and darted down the hill.