A flash. Then pain, lots of it. My head was so foggy, colors, sounds and faces floated around my head like petals falling from the tree of life. Where was I? What happened?

The room was white, blindingly so. I tried to lift my arm to shield my eyes, but I found my wrists constrained.

Footsteps started to approach on me from behind. At this point I was struggling against my restraints, sweat dripping down my face. I had to get out. I didn't know what was happening but I had to get out.

Then a dark figure emerged, contrasting the white of the room. The figure wasn't male or female, young or old. It was completely black, almost like a shadow. It raised its arm, and was about to strike, but then, I woke up.


I started to blink open my eyes. The room I was in was illuminated by a warm glow coming from a window to my right. The room was plain, a bookcase, grey wallpaper, and two hundred years of dust.

I pulled myself upright and was alerted by a voice near me, "Ah! You're awake!"

It was a man, in his early sixties with a worn, but kind face. He sat down next to me and started talking, "You're gonna have quite a scar there," He pointed to my forehead, "That was one heck of a shot. I'm surprised you survived, even more so that Victor did most of the heavy lifting."

"What do you mean?" I asked him. 'One heck of a shot' and 'Surprised that I survived' these were not the most comforting words to hear after you wake up in a strange room.

He furrowed his brows, "Missy, you were shot in the head. Quite a feat to survive."


Suddenly, I started to remember what happened. My hands were tied, and I was on my knees. I felt the weight of someone digging their foot into my back. Then, there was a man. Tall, dark hair, but it could've possibly been the light and my position. He was wearing a checkered suit, and was twirling something shinny in his hands. The chip! That bastard took my package!

As a courier of the Mojave Express, it was my sworn duty to make sure that every package, no mater how seemingly meaningless, gets to its destination, and that jerk just stole it!

Oh lord, I was going to get fired! How would I earn money, this was a very important delivery, it took months to organize! If my boss finds out I lost my package I'd be dead meat.

After that, he pulled his gun on me, and fired, which only added to my list of reasons to track down this guy.


The old man nodded, seeing that I was remembering. "I'm Mitchell," He started, "Victor found you in a shallow grave and was able to get the bullet out. You must have bones like steel for the bullet to have not seriously injured you, you might be the luckiest person alive. He then left you to me, and I've been watching ever since."

"A-mi." I stuttered and held out my hand. "Was there any chance you got my bag?" I asked him.

Mitchell shook his head, "Only got these few things out of your pockets. Someone must've taken your bag." He gestured over to a coffee table with a few of my belongings scattered around it.

I started to get up, but Mitchell held my arm, "Wait just a second, I have to make sure you're suited to go out. After being shot in the head, charging out might not be the brightest idea. Let me check your vitals." I nodded and he proceeded, when everything checked out he let me go. "Be sure to wash yourself up in the restroom before you go, and maybe go over and give Vic a thanks for saving your life, he's over on the southern part of town in a little shack. If you need anything else, don't be a stranger." He noted.

"Do you know who shot me?" I asked him, hoping he might have some sort of a clue as to where I should go.

But, to my dismay, all he is was shake his head. "Sorry, maybe someone else around town saw him."

I sighed and collected my belongings from the table, it wasn't much but the most important items were recovered. Well, the most important besides that chip. I got some extra boxing bandages, and the holotape.

I turned the tape over in my hands multiple times, finally putting it in my pocket.

The bathroom was quaint and had two buckets of water in it, one for bathing and the other for, you know. I made a mental note to not mix those up. I checked myself out in the mirror.

I don't know what I was expecting, everything was pretty much the same, well except for the giant bullet wound in my forehead, but the scab was almost completely covered by my bangs.

I had short, choppy, ginger hair, and bright green eyes. A few freckles dotted my cheeks, drastic against my place skin.

It's amazing what the human body can survive. Even though I had been shot square in the forehead, I still looked like, well, me. And if Mitchell was right, I should still act like me.

I wiped down my face with some clean water and walked towards the front of the house. "Hey!" Mitchell called out to me, "I have something for you." I turned to see a bulky device attached to a strap in his hands.

"What is that?" I asked. The thing looked like a piece of junk, the paint was flaking off and it's leather strap was cracked in places.

"It's a Pip-Boy. You strap it on your wrist and it tells you your location, your vitals, and it can play tapes. It was my wife's, but she passed along a while ago. It would be in much better use with you." He held it out to me, but I hesitatingly took it. Who knows what could come in handy?

I thanked him for all he had done for me and set of into the desert.