Hey, im Hal44, and i just started writing in the fallout section. This was all i could dish out at the current time, so, sorry.
The night was as deadly as it was cold, as the courier walked back to a campfire. It was always very cold in the mojave, no doubt about it. He had heard of the Pre-War being comfortable, and...thats pretty much all he knew at the moment. He pushed the molerat meat onto a spike, which he put over the fire to cook. He crossed his legs, holding his two arms together in a attempt to get warm. He never thought this would turn out into revenge. He was just going to take the walk across the mojave to the strip, and that was that. But, now? That man is going to die. Yes, die. He grabbed his 9mm out of his pocket, and he opened the clip. He had saved one bullet for Benny, just one. It was increased in power, but the 9mm would break due to the force of the bullet. Still...it would be fun seeing that mans corpse just hanging on a cieling, headless. The courier pulled out the bullet, and he had engraved on the bullet 'Benny'. It was the bullet that shot him in the head once, and he was going to get his revenge in style. He pushed it back into the clip, and put the clip back into the 9mm. First things first; Eat. The courier grabbed the plate that had various scratches on it, and a crack. He bought it at the saloon in Goodsprings. Good place, he killed the powder gangers there, though. And on the way to Primm? Almost got killed by a group of them. The thing thats ironic is that he used the single shotgun he stole from one of their friends at goodsprings. That was around the time it broke, so he used a sledgehammer, was very messy. He pulled off one part of the mole rat meat, and ate it. He needed to find a place to stay, or hes probably going to die soon.
Well, not die. He put out the fire, grabbed the mole-rat meat and put it in his pack. His name was Garrett, and that is all you need to know. He wasn't a outlaw, nor a enemy. He wasn't a coward, nor a knight like in those old pre-war books. He walked to a ruin of a building, which sooner or later, is going to go down soon. This wastleland was a husk of its former pre-war self, and New Reno wasn't better at all, it was, infact, worse. He set down his pack, and pulled out a lantern. He didn't want to have any faction affiliation these days, and he hopefully wont. The NCR's soldiers are nice n' all, but they are pretty much bastards considering. They dont take any prisoners, and i could whole-heartedly understand that they dont, since their NCR prison just got over-fucked with powder gangers. Garrett pulled out a warm, gecko-hide blanket. It wasn't fuzzy, like the hotel's at New Vegas. He had purchased one, but it was overpriced so he pretty much cashed out after grabbing all of the food he can possibly get. Which is funny, because now he has a darned bounty on his head. Infact, Garrett was probably over thinking these things, and was too tired to get his mind straight. He covered himself in the blanket, and laid his head on a small sandbag he pulled out a bit earlier. He had snagged it from a post that was overrun, but that was no-ones concern. He rested his head, putting his thoughts out for the time being.
When he woke up, his body decided to wake up earlier then he would have. Only four hours of sleep, which really sucked. The cold was going up in the warm, which gave him a good sign that the mojave may just as well be, up. He put the sandbag, the blanket, and put his duster on for now. That was a really dumb move to not have his duster on, a raider could have just appeared right there and then. He slumped his bag over his back. He was going to be tired later on, but, who cares? Who cares about him, really? Just another damned wastelander.
Just another useless courier.