A/N: Well, it's been a while haha. Kind of anti-climatic that this is just an update of the first chapter as opposed to an entirely new one, but I changed a lot of stuff because i found the old version to be somewhat unconvincing. But yes, I hope you enjoy, and more to come this time I promise c: (And in less than 6 months, hopefully haha)

A lot of people ask me why I do the job I do.
I suppose it's a fair question- when one can make a fair enough living from scavenging and robbing it would seem that there's no point in having such a tiring and dangerous occupation such as I do.
Really, I think I sustain my job as a courier because it makes things seem normal.
Of course, I don't really know what 'normal' is. I was born long after the planet we call home was plummeted into nuclear apocalypse, but I've seen the pre-war movies and heard the same songs played over and over, and just like everyone else I've been raised with the image of how life should be, but isn't. Going back now is impossible- anyone with sense could tell you that.
And that's why I do what I do. I have an honest job, just like people back then had honest jobs. It's a fantasy really- an escape. It's like how kids would pretend to be extravagent things like pilots or astronauts. Now we play at being normal.
And that's exactly how things kick off: normally.

I'm given the job of delivering a stash of medical supplies to a small settlement in the south of the Mojave. First though, I have to treck in the opposite direction- to Freeside- to get the package in the first place. I don't try to hide my reluctance as Boss talks me through things. It's going to be one hell of a journey but I'm told the pay will be worth it. I gather up the caps given to me to help pay for accomodation and go to leave straight away. I haven't got the time to be polite when I have a desert to trek across. I open the front door of the building and a few grains of sand dance into the room, the harsh mid-day light leaving a short streak across the otherwise dim flooring. As I move Boss calls after me, telling me not to do anything stupid this time. Don't be a hero, son.
With a nine millimeter in my hand, I reply, sometimes it's difficult not to be.

As soon as I'm out of Primm I know the journey's going to be a tough one. In the summer I usually stick to the small jobs; going from settlement to settlement in the immediate area so that I don't have to be in the heat for too long. But right now courier work is sparce and I take whatever I can get. The dusty road through the desert guides me south, eventually leading to New Vegas, and I let my mind ponder upon every bloodstain or half rotten Brahmin carcass I come across. On lonely days like this I enjoy inventing reasons for each bit of violence I see on my travels- like a series of mini murder mystery stories. It distracts me from the truth that, really, there is no reason for the Wastelanders I find mangled and bloody in a ditch to be in such a condition. But that's life these days. It's survival of the fittest out here and I'm just another person surviving.
At least, that's what I tell the occasional person I meet.

I arrive at Freeside after a couple of days. It's enfuriating having to navigate halfway across the desert to get there, but the shorter route north is crawling with Radscorpions and I'd rather do the extra walking.
It's a rather sad area. If heaven exists, Freeside would be purgatory. The difference is that most people who end up stuck here don't usually get to such a heaven, at least not in life. As soon as I'm behind the patchwork, metal walls of the town I'm bombarded with desperate offers of protection, drugs and love- everyone so eager to earn their next meal. I deny the vendors on all accounts, but I do approach a homeless, elderly man with a couple of caps. A stanger in a town such as this has to pay for everything- even directions.
'I'm looking for, uh,' I forget myself and have to refer to my Pip-Boy to remember where I'm going. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the bearded fellow eye my technology greedily, and I'm quick to remove it from his attention. 'The Old Mormon Fort?' I ask uncertainly, dropping the money at his feet with a clatter as the metal bounces and spins on the pavement briefly.
He hesitates for a moment, then points behind me. I turn and in the distance I see it, a smallish square of brick and short towers. I nod a thanks and head off that way.
I get mugged only a few minutes away from my destination. A few guys come at me with crowbars and tyre irons and manage to get a few hits to my stomach and back before I can pull out my own weapon. I manage to kill one attacker straight away- I smack him in the face with the side of my gun and then shoot in the same spot, splattering the ground with brain matter. This gives the other two time to plan though, and they approach me in opposite directions. I dodge one's blow, but at the same time walk into the other's. The sharp end of the crow bar rips into my side and I gasp in pain as I retreat. I manage to catch one of them in the leg, incapacitating him at least, but the other one's still active, and I don't want to take my chances. I turn and run for the wooden doors of the fort, throwing myself inside.
I get a few questioning looks from the guards once I'm in, they can see that my gun's out. My eyes half closed with pain, I direct their attention to my delivery satchel, currently empty, and they seem to relax a little. I put away my weapon slowly and straighten up, attempting to ignore the steady throb of pain and blood in my side.
A woman approaches me dressed in a medical coat and hair styled-somewhat oddly- into a mohawk.
'I suppose you're the guy who's here to take our supplies?' She says somewhat lightheartedly, but having just trekked quite a few miles to get here before being attacked the statement rubs me up the wrong way.
'No, I'm just here for the sightseeing.' I sneer, grabbing my waist as I stumble forwards. 'And just in case you didn't know, this isn't natural blood loss.'
She smiles, recieving my grumpiness in a suprisingly pleasant fashion. I suppose that she must have experienced worse through living in such a hostile area. 'I'll take you over to Arcade. He can get you the delivery items, and he might even fix you up if you ask nicely.'
She leads me over to one of the larger tents, where a few similarly dressed people are gathered, talking in quiet, concerned tones amongst bed-bound patients that would appear dead if it wasn't for the coughs and groans they were regularly emitting.
'Arcade, the Courier's here.' She says, causing amy m man over in the corner amongst shelves of supplies to turn slowly. He looks me over behind the thick black frames of his glasses, his short blonde hair swept neatly out of his face.
'Barely.' He replies, mostly to me. He then turns his attention to the woman, his blank expression barely changes. 'Thanks Julie.'
Julie smiles and turns to leave, although not before sarcastically whispering to me, 'Have fun!'
I don't have to wonder what she means by that for long.

'You did a good job getting hurt in such a short distance.' Arcade comments dryly, grabbing some small squares of bandages and tape.
I stand awkwardly, unsure as to how to behave. 'I went the long way, to avoid the Radscorpions.' The excuse seems a little more petty when said out loud.
The doctor comes over, lifting up my light shirt to inspect the damage. I flinch a little at the sudden action as he dabs at the excess crimson. I find it a little strange that he doesn't make any fuss over tending to my wound, especially since the woman had suggested he would have, but I don't say anything about it.
'Hm. I suppose that was a wise descision if this is what a couple of Freeside junkies can do to you.'
I scowl, consciously holding back at saying anything rude to the other man. I do preferably want to come out of the Fort bleeding a lot less.
Once Arcade's done taping the layers of gauze to my side he motions for me to sit down at the table. I do so, and he brings over a box of supplies. 'If you didn't already know, you're taking this to a developing settlement just east of Nipton.' He begins unpacking the individual medicines, talking me through them in a tone that might be condescending, but I'm not quite sure.
'So we've just got some Stimpacks, a couple of bottles of Hydra...'
He stops as he puts the Jet inhalers down in front of me. He must have seen my expression change. Trying to hide my Jet addicition would be like trying to hide the fact that I have arms and legs. He says nothing, but his expression speaks for itself.
'Why are sending them stuff like this anyway? They're not exactly the healthiest resources you could choose.' I snap, trying to flip the moral highground of the situation.
'It's all we have.' Arcade admits, looking genuinely remorseful. 'With the Legion so close, we need to get supplies in there as quickly as we can so the settlement can build up their strength.' He slowly packs the drugs back up. 'I can only hope that they'll sell them on, rather than use them themselves.'
I barely register his reply, because I'm too busy focusing on the inhalers that have been distributed on the table in front of me. Then comes the crawling, itching sensation in my mind, like a spider has nested in my head and is making cobwebs in my throat, so that I can barely breathe or swallow. Suddenly all I can think about is grabbing the Jet and somehow escaping the fort, to a place where they wouldn't find me and I could be rid of my infestation, at least for a little while.
'Are you even listening to me?' The doctor's disgruntled voice peirces my thoughts, causing me to flinch and look up at him suddenly. 'Hm?' I murmur back, causing him to sigh heavily.
'I was saying that you should probably stay the night here, because even if you do manage to get to Nipton without bleeding to death, by the time you arrive it would be nightfall. And trust me,' Arcade sweeps the supplies back into their container in one swift, sudden motion. 'You don't want to find out what nighttime is like over there.'
'Right.' I sigh, a little irritated that I'm going to be sitting around for the rest of the day.
'But you'll have plenty to do before morning,' The other man insists, seemingly reading my mind. 'After all, Freeside is full of culture for a traveller like you.' He smiles bitterly at his own sarcasm, and I return it with the briefest of grins, mostly out of courtesy.

Night arrives, and Freeside awakes from its slumber. The buzz of the crowds flocking inside the walls of the slum is like that of a ravenous animal hungry for money and alcohol. From my bed in one of the Fort's tents I can see the tacky, blinding lights of New Vegas, a constant mockery to the beggars that lay starving out of sight to the more fortunate. However it is neither the drunken cries coming from outside, nor the colourful electronics illuminating the area that are keeping me awake, but in fact it is the box of supplies I'm supposed to be delivering in the morning. I can see them from my current position, kept on shelf in the corner of the room. Would anyone notice just one inhaler missing from the stash?
iOf course not./i Comes a whisper inside my head, and the spider begins to wrap the silvery threads around my bones so that I sit up and slide of of the mattress, stumbling towards my own salvation. I pace underneath the shelf like a hungry predator, but as I lunge upwards the container eludes my grasp. I curse at my height, or lackthereof, as I come up with a way around the predicament- I'm too far gone to even think about giving up. Grabbing a chair, I prop it against the wall, having to remind myself to be quiet even though the doctors sleep in a different tent to the patients. I climb up, standing on the seat of the furniture as I grab the case of drugs and take off the lid hurriedly. My fingers tremble with anticipation as I dig through the supplies in search of the only item I care about. Just as I grab hold of the inhaler the silence is broken, causing the hairs on my arms to rise in terror.
'Having trouble sleeping?' Arcade asks bluntly, standing in the doorway of the tent and casting a shadow inside.
Shit.
I return the Jet to its place and slide the box back onto the shelf, as if Arcade wasn't even there. I feel ashamed of my addiction more than anything else, and I can feel the pair of judgemental eyes burning holes into my back. Surpisingly though, as I step down to the ground he does nothing but stand there, watching me like a science experiment. 'W-what do you want?' I mumble angrily, shooting a quick glare at him before my guilt breaks the eye contact.
'I just wanted to make sure no one was dying in their sleep.' Comes the calm reply. 'You should probably get back in bed.' He advises, with only the slightest tone of belittlement. 'You'll be getting up early tomorrow, I assume.'
'Yes, I will.' I reply firmly, stepping back towards the bed.
'Goodnight then, Mister Courier.' 'Yeah, sure.'