Fallout New Vegas
The Real Vegas Voyage
Prologue
A Good Time in Goodspring's
Luck…
A thing that gets you the chips at any casino in New Vegas, a thing that keeps you alive in a brawl, a thing that gets you the girl, a thing that everyone has in any and all quantities in them.
However, with what is happening to young courier of a poor delivery service called 'Mojave Express', a kid called Jason O'Reiley, one with hardly anything to live for, is being held hostage, in the middle of nowhere in one of the most dangerous places in the west, it wasn't what he had indeed, thought to be called...
"Lucky"…
His vision came to him in a blur at first. His eyes were adjusting to the dark and light around him, and started to feel his body bring itself to reality.
He began to notice a lot of things in a moments notice: his throat was dry; his stomach hurt with hunger; new cuts and bruises stung across his open skin; he tasted the coppery tang of blood; and felt the tight tug of duct tape stabbing into his flesh around his lips.
Jason drunkenly tried to speak... call for help, but the tape just made a pathetic muffled rasp. He tried to move... struggling to ring his hands free, but rope binds kept him at bay. His feet were roped together too... he was stuck on his knee's in darkness, exposed to the dangers of his surroundings.
He felt a sudden sting in the back of his head… a swollen bruise tingled with prickling pain, then suddenly he drooped in and out of reality. As if he'd been drugged or something... had he been drugged? He couldn't remember... everything was a blur.
What the hell's happening...
He cried out in pain as the drugs wash over him, making his head split into two, as if he was waking up to a killer hangover.
His vision slowly returned to him. He could see it was night-time - from what he could gather from his haze of drugs - seeing the infinite spectrum of stars that hung overhead in the night sky ever so brilliantly.
"W-Whe… Where, Th-the hell… am I?" he mumbled helplessly to himself.
His eyes were cast away from the sky as his head dropped like a rock. Catching the sight of another light source next to him. A small one by any means. A lantern lay beside what was appearing to him as a shallow hole in the ground, then a pile of dirt gathered behind it... further away he spotted new moving shadows a few meters away.
He tried struggling out from his bonds, parting his hands as far apart from one another and trying to tear away the bind he was in, but to no avail, he only let it bite into his flesh more and more.
"Hmm, guess who's waking up waking up." An unfamiliar voice spoke aloud, noticing him.
A person! Maybe he could tell him where the hell he was? Why the hell he was tied up? Why the hell was he here? Why something like this is happening to him?
He got a look at them now: about five bare barrel-chested men; wearing black leather-head jackets and dusty grey trousers; wearing skull caps and tribal hats on their heads…
Skull caps? Jason wasn't thinking so positively now about a rescue from these new men... more of them closed in towards him. Jason felt his heart begin to beat faster.
They moved at him like savages: every step sluggish; knee-bent; hunched-forward; their pale faces shone in the lanterns light; either bearing long-trimmed beards, or unsettled mats that hung from their heads. Some even had tattoos of wild creatures darting across their faces and arms.
Then he heard a lighter opening and igniting… He looked up and saw the lighter, its flame lit up by the end of a burning cigar, held in the hand of another man hidden in the dark.
He took a long inhale of the rich smoke, then said: "Time to cash out." throwing the lit cigarette on to the ground.
He was flanked by two men by his sides: the one on his right; was a tall man with dark skin, short hair and a pronounced mustache who wore like the others, a leather-jacket over a white shirt, with a ragged band covering his head, scowling at the man.
"Can we get this over with?" he fumed..
The one on his left; a man with paled skin and bright ginger hair, with a short-trim beard and a large mohawk, with a shovel in his hands, seemed to scowl at the sight of the man too.
"Maybe Khans kill people without lookin' 'em in the face." Shooting a sidelong glance at the guy on his left, adding, "But I ain't a fink, dig?"
Khans… What the hell is going on? Did he just say 'kill'?
"You just made your last delivery, kid. Sorry you had to get twisted up in the scene..." the man spoke out, beginning his sentence as he held out a small item in his fingers.
A chip?
This man was different though. He spoke clear, mannered, with a hint of class, but the way he was saying the words… scared him. Jason hadn't realized this but. He was shivering.
Not because of the cold night, not from the wind. It was the new man's voice that scared him. He didn't know why… but he would soon enough.
He managed a look on the man without the narcotics wearing him down long enough to take a good look at him.
He was definitely different to the leather-jockeys that surrounded him, not partaking in their savage clothing and rather taking on a classy, Pre-War sketched suit of red-stripes to bear.
"Now, I know what you're thinkin', kid. From where you're kneelin', this must seem like an 18-karat run of bad luck." He finished, adding suspense across his side-kicks; who couldn't to wait any longer.
Jason was knelt down, unable to do anything in these binds. His eyes wide open, watching the man helplessly as he realized what they were going to do...
The man in the suave suit pulled out of his suits inner pocket; a pristine and finely-tuned pistol, carved unlike anything he had seen in his life, a beautiful weapon… the narcotics were washed away enough so he could notice the fine artwork of what seemed to be of a man, with a name written in a baroque style… Maria. And he aimed it at his head.
Jason shook violently, struggling to get out of his bonds in his drugged haze. He was going to kill him!
"Truth is... Game was rigged from the start." He said.
That's what he was gonna kill him for? A PLATINUM CHIP?
That was the last couple of words he will ever hear or think, before he died.
The bullet landed in Jason's head, fulfilling total blackness in his eyes for an eternity, taking him on the spot… the shot echoing across the Mojave Desert, attracting the ears of all that heard its deadly echo, and the round dropped him dead on the earth.
They would put a bag over his head, bury him in the shallow hole, and would leave him for good, never to see his face again…
Sunny Smiles sat on a chair in the Prospectors Saloon, wearing her accustomed, dark brown leather armor with a shot-glass full of warm pure water in her hand after another early morning watch, looking out the side window into the pitch-black night when she heard something outside; a gunshot.
Her hand reached for her gun almost instantly - "What the…" who would be out and about at this hour?
Could be Joe and his crew of misfits. Maybe a random raider. Or the NCR soldiers up north near the quarry... Too many options out here in this hellhole.
But this seemed out of the ordinary even for the Mojave ... Maybe she could take a look at who it was… she bit her lip down in thought; and decided.
Sunny gulped down her shot of water in a second, before she grabbed her varmint rifle lying next her, while whistling her friend Cheyenne - a grey and black fur-coated dog - to come to her side, then got off her chair in the corner of the Saloon, then made her way to the door.
"We going out at this time a night already, sweetie?" said the tender voice of Trudy, the proprietor of Goodspring villages bar and beverage accommodation, the Prospector's Saloon, wiping down a pristine clean shot glass.
"I thought I heard something outside, sounded a lot like a firearm." Sunny said, priming her Varmint rifles recoil-pump back, and fed it with a magazine of 5.56mm rounds at its ammo-mouth.
"Oh, don't get so worried about it… it'll be that damn Joe Cobb and his Gangers fouling up a caravan again on the Highway…" Trudy said, filling a glass with a fresh amount of ginger-hot whiskey for herself.
Sunny turned and looked at Trudy as she gulped the beverage down her gullet in one.
If it was Joe, then where are the hoots and hollers, or the gunshots in the air from victorious plunder of another one of those poorly armed caravans?
"Joe can't have done it. His gang needs to pump a few extra rounds in their targets for a giggle, and not just some one simple pea-shot. No, I don't think it'll be him Trudy." Sunny deducted, swinging open the old western door of the Saloon, and met the cold wind of night face-first, before shutting the door behind her. She began heading to the origin of the shot.
She looked around, trying to see where she was, and where she thought she heard the shot…
North. North-East. That's where she heard it come from…
Strange... that's where the graveyard is... No-one should really be up in the grave-yard at this time of night?
It was way beyond the point of midnight, with the moon full in the star-filled sky above her, and she saw no signs of any of the locals houses left alight with light. So, no-one in the town was visiting the graves... so it wasn't them.
Who could be up their then? Raiders? NCR... Legion? They shouldn't be up here? She imagined the worst...
She could see a single source of light at the top of the mountainous hill, seeing the giant water-tower at the far end of it. Silhouettes too far to depict who or what they are. But they were leaving... and with it the light from the hill went out, and it came to be pitch-black night.
"Cheyenne, come on, let's go." Sunny said to her faithful companion, who barked eagerly in reply.
She and Cheyenne made their way up to the Goodspring's Graveyard, trekking past a few of the old-time houses and further up the smoothed earthen hill path ahead of her, getting steeper the higher she went up the hill.
She slowed as she got near the top - hoping she could gain the advantage of surprise over whatever was up there - aiming her rifle up ahead, Cheyenne growled... always a sign of danger. She hushed the dog, easing her with a simple stroke as she gathering the confidence to make it over the hill and face the intruders.
She does not know what was up there, what they were doing, and who they answer to… but she was scared, shivering in the cold as she went up the hill.
Why she was doing this… not for an appropriation of peace around her little home of homes, no, she felt compelled going up there for some reason. What it was, was beyond her. All she knew that if she didn't do it, it would mark her for life. If it was Legion... then Goodsprings was in dire trouble...
She rushed up the hill"All right freeze-"she cut her sentence when nobody was there.
Damn. Just missed them.
She waited a moment, unsure if they had set up an ambush... walked to where they had left their dimming lantern on. After a few moments of total silence and heart-pounding uncertainty, she let out a sigh of relief.
"Look's like their gone Cheyenne. Come on, just my mind playing tricks on me." she concluded, turning back to the Saloon when Cheyenne let out a whine.
Sunny turned and knelt beside Cheyenne, "What is it girl?" Cheyenne was sniffing around the lantern.
It was then she smelt the cigars odour... almost tripped on a few empty bottles of Sarsaparilla. Cheyenne was on to something...
Sunny crouched down searching for clues. But all she found were a few used rich cigars... Not one person from this part of the Mojave would have these kinds of smokes here.
So what were they doing here?
Suddenly, she saw movement beside her and jumped… but it was a hand, sticking out of the ground, and a pair of legs…
"What the f-!"
Someone has been buried here.
Sunny quivered, shaking in sudden fear of the sight… was her eyes playing tricks on her… or was it moving? No... No-one would be cruel enough to bury someone alive… but then... no-one would live to be buried...
Again! It was there, a twitch of its fingers. Cheyenne barked and whined at the hand, starting to dig where it was attached to its body, buried below the ground.
"Jesus Christ! He's alive. Oh my god! I've got to get him out!" Sunny cried, dropping her rifle and starting to shift the dirt that covered the body of this poor person.
Hang in there… Hang in there!
The more she dug with her palms, the more she saw of the person who was buried in it. First seeing that they wore decent traveler clothing, a grey shirt with some dark brown trousers, and then she saw that it was a he... with a bloody bag over his head.
She quickly and gingerly removed it over his head. And saw he was ruined with stain of red blood that was bleeding from his head…
How... how can he be alive? Sunny could see the body twitching again - "He's… alive!" she stumbled back, her eyes wide and her heart beating out of her chest, she fell back in disbelief of what she was seeing.
This guy was looking more like he was dead than he was alive… paled skin, blood streaked across his forehead and cheeks, veins showing on his skin, and dirt mated on the sides of his face. The only tell-tale thing of possible life that showed was the slight movement of his fingers, the twitching, and the fact that he was breathing.
Sunny couldn't believe it… but for this guy's sake, she needed to toughen up and help him... she needed help. She needed...
Doc Mitchell!
She gathered her strength to bring him to Doctor Mitchell - hopefully he could help him out more than she could - "Okay Cheyenne, let's get this little guy to Mitch." She said, cringing as she hooked her arms underneath the man's legs, and back, before pulling them up in her arms, struggling to maintain her hold and balance at the weight of this guy.
Jeez… this guy is too fat with all of them bullets in his head. She joked. Probably just to take the edge off the situation, but only just.
Sunny limped her way down to Goodspring's - the survivor in tow - with Cheyenne panting beside her, going in circles around her and the guy, barking and whining.
"Go on Cheyenne, get the Doc!" she whistled.
It felt like ages, and she may have thought that this guy wasn't worth it… maybe he would be dead on her way to the Doc's house? But that would be wrong... to wrong for her to let it pass as a stranger was dying in her hands. She needed to do this. She needed to help.
So she kept going, and she felt something odd on her face…
Were those tears? She was crying! Whatever for? She didn't know this guy; he wasn't in any relation to her neither as a friend nor as blood. So why was she crying? Was she crying because she was scared? Was it because this guy was nearly dead in her arms as she tried to save him?
Too many thoughts... not enough time for answers...
She looked at him as she was reaching the first of the houses in Goodspring's, seeing what hadn't been ruined with his bleeding head-wound…
He had light-tanned skin, much like hers, his eyes was hidden underneath his eye-lids, but he was skinny, having a lanky, but muscular appearance about him. With short, black buzz-cut hair, that cropped across his forehead, and trimmed sideburns going down the side of his head.
What was it about this guy that made her wonder...?
Her thoughts subsided as she walked up the small hill to Doc Mitchell's, seeing the bug-zapper outside his run-down household, buzzing at his doorstep where Cheyenne scratched and barked at.
"Doc! Doc!" she cried, carrying the man over her shoulder, while she hammered the door with her now free hand.
The door opened and revealed an old, wrinkled man with balding grey hair, wearing his dirty night-clothing, rubbing his dried eyes after being rudely awoken.
"Sunny? Why have you called me at this at this time o'…" he started, gruffly speaking in his dreary tone, before noticing the bloody man she was carrying.
"Oh my." He said, and opened the door even further, urging her to come inside with him.
"Put him down on the bed, and let's see what we got." Mitchell urged, hurrying to get to the bleeding man.
Sunny came into the house, made a right in a wooden hallway, and entered what passed as the Goodspring's 'hospital', full of scientific and medical equipment, nursing bed and peculiar, homely junk.
Sunny gingerly laid the man on the bed inside the room, kneeling by him, shivering unbelievably.
"Sunny…"
"I-I I, heard a-a gunshot earlier… it-it, it came from the Graveyard… and I saw this g-guy half buried into the ground…" she cried, cupping her dirty hands over her crying eyes, feeling so frightened.
"You're in shock dear, now calm down, please. Now, start slowly with deep breaths… what's wrong with him?" Mitchell said, hugging her carefully.
"H-H-He got shot, in-in-in the h-head… b-b-but he's still-ll alive!" she cried, stuttering her words as she cried them out along with her tears.
"Okay… I'm gonna have a look at him now, and I need you to wait in the other room. This is gonna be a little messy… and I think you've seen enough for tonight. Okay." He said, patiently so that Sunny wouldn't be caught up again in shock.
She quivered and slowly dragged herself out of the doctors room, laying on the couch next door and crying into its cushions for the rest of the night, not knowing what for while the Doctor proceeded with the process of extracting the bullet from this poor fellows head, and he was still very much indeed… Alive.
Four days passed…
Jason had no idea what was going on. It was all a blur… he couldn't tell what was black and white, color or mirage, true or false. He couldn't remember a thing of what happened that night…
All that he could feel now, was one helluva headache.
"What the…" he began, rising from what he felt was a warm bed mattress.
Sunlight burned his eyes as they passed through the blinds of a window. Soon he adjusted and was rising from his bed.
"Hey... You're awake. How about that." The words register in the Jason's mind.
He jolts at the new voice, and becoming very aware of his surroundings though he still begins to sit up. Strong gloved hands caught him by the wrists. Gently pulling him up into a sitting position on the bed he had been laying in. He didn't have the strength to struggle, his entire body felt numb. He couldn't feel anything.
He got an immediate look at where he was. He was inside a near-ruined house: laid on a hot, stinking sweaty mattress ruined by his own perspiration, where he was surrounded by what he could guess was a home-makeshift hospital, where there were medical tools laid on a tray on a small wheeled table next to him, other tables holding chemistry equipment, crates on the floor, writing-machines, medical clipboards, even medical magazines were trailed all over the place. Jason could see shelves and shelves stacked with odd-looking items: syringes; crutches; a weird looking device with energy batteries laid beside it; and… food, of all the odd things he has been seeing.
"Easy there now. It's okay. You're safe." Jason glances up gingerly, finding an elderly, balding man with a moustache sitting in a chair by him looking back at him.
He was sweating, his brow trickling down with droplets of beady perspiration, his entire body was soaked in it… the air around him was hot and humid too, and it felt like he was in the middle of the desert…
But from what was coming together in his mind… he could be.
"Take it easy... You've been out cold a few days now. Relax for a minute. Take deep breaths. Get your bearings." He commands. Then Jason gives him a small nod, doing as he was told. Sure enough, the deep breathing helped to calm him down, somewhat, though his head was still pounding slightly. He had no idea what was going on, and it was scaring him a bit.
"Let's see what the damage is... Can you tell me your name?" The man asks. Jason closes his eyes, trying hard to focus, trying to remember his own name.
The thought was distant. But in his mind he felt something 'click'.
"… J-Jason… Jason O'Reiley." He wheezed out dryly.
"You were pulled out of a grave you know, before Sunny over there pulled you out with her own bare hands." He said, shot a glance in the direction of the living room nearby, where a ginger-haired girl in leather - Sunny - was sleeping on the couch.
He was buried? God-Dammit... he must have got Lady Luck on his side! His mind raced at the thought of being buried… it chilled him to the bone of it happening to him without even realizing it, and for the better part of it, he was kind of glad about that.
But wait... why can't he remember?
"The names Doctor Mitchell, welcome to Goodspring's Jason, now, I hope you don't mind, but I had to go rootin' around in your noggin there to make sure I got all the lead out of your face... I take pride in my needlework, yeah, but maybe you'd better take a look for yourself. Make sure I didn't leave anything out of place."." He said, handing him a mirror to look at.
Jason took the mirror hesitantly... and eventually looked at his reflection through the mirror, and saw black buzz-cut hair and sideburns. His tanned skin shone with sweat, and that his paled-blue eyes sparkled in the light. He also saw an interestingly scar that lined across his brow. He saw his thickened chin, the near-protruding cheekbones, and the slightly large nose.
"How'd I do?" he asked.
"Thank you... Thank you so much…." Jason admitted. He looked again in disbelief at the mirror. He looked like hell.
He coughed out terribly, feeling of the dryness in his throat as he did.
"Hang on... I'll fetch ya a drink. Just wait here." Mitchell said, going out of the room.
Jason took his time stroking his facial features to check they were all attached... and real. Everything else around him though just made him feel nauseous and gave him more of a headache.
Soon enough Mitchell came back in, with a smile and a glass of cloudy water. "Here take this. It'll help."
Jason cocked an eyebrow. "Is it safe to drink?"
"Yes... just don't drink a lot. That's the cleanest water you'll get at the moment." he chuckled. Jason just looked at him, hoping he was joking.
No dice.
Oh well... better than nothing I guess.Jason took a sip of the drink, the result left him with a horrid taste in his mouth.
"Drink up, it'll do you good to get some water in your system." Mitchell smiled generously, and Jason responded in kind by swallowing the glass full.
The taste was horrid, like he was drinking wet mud, but at least he felt better. He felt a lot better, he could feel his muscles and nerves come back to him. He stretched and flexed his arms, feeling the limp limbs getting limber again.
The Doc smiled again. "All right then, no sense keeping you in bed anymore, I guess. Let's see if we can get you on your feet..." Doctor Mitchell said, and helped Jason get to his feet, feeling the numbing headache on his new scar, and a wave of slight disorientation.
"Good. Now, why don't you try walking down to that vigor tester machine on the other side of the room there? Take it slow, though. It ain't a race."
They came up to a wooden based, old scratched machine that had a screen with a small column separating two sides showing several wooden panels one by the other on both left and right sides, going downwards, with each having its own defining name and a small bulb, while on the right, the wooden panels showed a picture of a vault-boy, then below it, it detailed a western idealized description of the trait, Jason didn't have the time to read, and came to ask.
"What is this?" Jason asked, puzzled and amazed at the same time on how he could work such a thing.
"This is the Vit-O-Matic vigor tester machine. A device that can show you your vital life-signs, like an accurate guess-who game, where it tells you all about yourself and your capabilities, all you have to do is press your hands on the circles in front of you, and let the device scan you." Doctor Mitchell explained.
"Is this thing supposed to be a medical test?" Jason wondered, its appearance made him feel he was about to play a slot-machine.
"No… it's more of my own sort of test, its purpose here is to test your overall condition, but we will be doing some more tests rather than just this." Mitchell explained, scratching his neck.
"So I just put my hand on it?" he asked, simply.
The Doc nodded in reply, and Jason looked down at the circle, seeing the device, and pondered… would this hurt?
Oh to hell with it!
He placed his hand on the dial and felt a slight painfully thunderous shock emanate throughout his body, for a second only, before the device flashed and the dials filled up with several differing numbers. A sudden anger at being hurt subsided, and decided to not bother with caring whether or not Dr Mitchell knew about this or otherwise and just straightened himself up.
"Well, I'd say for someone like you, you're doing great in your condition. Just look at this…" he said, and pointed at the numbered dials down the Vit-O-Matic as they began changing down and up like a slot-machine.
The first one, counting for strength, landed on 6, naming him with 'Barrel Belly', and lit up the first of the bulbs down the length of the Vit-O-Matic machine.
The second, counting for perception, landed on a 5. Calling him a 'Wary Trout', sounded like a animal.
The third, counting for Endurance, landed on another 5. Calling him 'Stain-Resistant', he doubted that when looking at his dirty, sweat-filled shirt.
The fourth, Charisma, landed as the highest as number to be, 8, it lit up yet another of the bulbs. It called him a 'Movie star', whatever that was.
The fifth, Intelligence, landed on a 7. Happily, it named Jason a 'Smartypants'.
The sixth, Agility, stopped poorly on a number 6, and called him 'Catlike'. That stood to be good too.
The last one, Luck, something that reminded Jason about something… but kept getting away from him, landed on a number…
No wait...It didn't say, it just kept swapping numbers. Doc Mitchell walked up to it and raised his clenched fist, before smacking it on the side.
"Come on, you stupid machine." Doc Mitchell said, slightly aggravated, but he sighed.
"Darn-it! It just went ka-put, guess it's time for someone to re-boot the thing again." Doc Mitchell sighed again, showing his displeasure.
Jason felt a little bad for him, the machine looked as old as Mitchell, and it might remind the poor fellow of himself, but these thoughts were just his own… he wondered what his luck ranged at… luck had saved his life on several occasions.
"Well, I say that your overall performance is great, it says you seem to be a nice guy to talk too, and smarter than present folk, and it says you're a bit slow... Oh well, guess people have their weakness's. But now, I'd like to do a few tests on your mental condition, now, if you would please follow me into the living room." Mitchell said, shining with a dried smile.
"Well we know your vitals are good… but that don't mean them bullets have your nuttier than a Bighorner dropping." He said, making his way to the chair near the corner of the room.
What's a Bighorner? He thought, but dismissed it quickly.
The living room was large; nearly the same for the medical hospital, but it held a white-marble fireplace on the right, nicely ornamented with Doctor Mitchell's belongings, with several wooden shelves holding books backed up in the corners and the sides of the room, while in the center was the comfortable seats of a chair and a set-tee with a nice ragged carpet to boot.
He sat down on the part of the couch that didn't have Sunny on it, and looked at Mitchell as he gathered some papers from a suitcase beside him, before he sat down, ruffling through the sheets.
"Now, I'm going to start using some word association, and I want you to answer me with the first thing that comes to your mind when I say them. Alright?" he said, and Jason nodded in reply.
"Dog."
"…Companion."
"House."
"…Renovate."
"Night."
"…Dream."
"Bandit."
"…Danger."
"Light."
"…Hope."
"Mother."
He didn't know. He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember her touch, her voice… her.
"…Nothing"
"Well, it's alright Jason, just leave it be." He replied, and started writing down his results.
Jason tried getting a peak or two in the papers, but the Doctor stopped him when he began speaking again.
"Now, I've got some statements here, just like the other exercise, I want you to tell me how much they sound like something you'd say. Okay?" he asked, and Jason replied with a silent nod.
"First one's comin up… Conflict just ain't in my nature."
Jason thought for a moment's notice, before answering. "I... Not sure, but I think I would prefer talking things out."
"I ain't given to relying on others for support."
Jason shook his head a little, disagreeing. "No... I don't think so. Help is welcome."
"I'm always fixin' to be the center of attention."
"I… can't really answer that one."
"I'm slow to embrace new ideas."
"No. No, I don't think that sounds like me." Jason said, reaching into his conflicting mind, and found the scraps of info tucked away in the folds of his mind.
"I charge in to deal with my problems head-on."
"No. I'd go about to think about it first, see my problem, and find a solution." Jason replied, relieved that he'd learnt as much as Doctor Mitchell was about himself so far.
"Alright, Alright were nearly done here, now I want you to take a look at these pictures, what do you say you take a look at this. Tell me what you see?"
"Alright Doc, show me." Jason asked, and lay back on the couch, awaiting the exercise.
The Doctor flipped the first of three pictures, and Jason responded immediately.
"It looks like… a…C-Chemical Reaction."
He flipped a second.
"That… reminds me of a ship… A ship out at sea."
Then the third.
"Now that looks like… umm…a light in the darkness."
Mitchell nodded. "Well, that's all she wrote," he said as he put the pictures away in his suitcase. "Far as I can tell, you seem okay, save for the bad case of memory loss. I'd like to ask you a bit more, if that's alright."
"That's fine… I'm learning as much as you are really." Jason admitted, and Mitchell replied with a cocked eyebrow and laughed slightly, sounding more like rock rubbing rock, while brushing his mustache with his fingers.
"Have you any idea of what is going on out here?" he started, leaning inwards towards Jason.
"Well… where is here?" Jason replied, unsure of his whereabouts.
"Well, at the moment, you are in the Mojave Wasteland. A place where one of the most beautiful cities out in a desert, went untouched by the power of the bombs that ruined the world hundreds of years ago…"
Jason didn't seem surprised about bombs ruining the world around them, but took it in like any other piece of information, and continued listening to Doctor Mitchell.
"… This city is New Vegas. The jewel of the Mojave. The place that has lived and shone since before the war began, and is now under the control of several established tribes of men and women… however. It is protected and overseen by what seems to be, a mythic overseer, called and his army of Securitron robots."
A place that shines for two hundred years may just be one helluva place, and this overseer… Mr House, he seems to be a dominant figure in the Mojave, and his robots…" Jason has never heard of a Securitron before, and it might be interesting to see one.
"But New Vegas is but one hotspot in the venture throughout the Mojave, being contested by several tribal factions. Hoover Dam, being one of the other places throughout the Mojave, and it the constant battlegrounds for two of the Mojave's main factions over the last few years. The New Californian Republic being one of them, and a collection of… eighty six tribes being the other, a faction known as Caesar's Legion."
Jason made a note not to go near Hoover Dam anytime soon, what with his mental condition and his unawareness of the Mojave, it may do him good. But what Jason wanted to learn more about, were these factions he was hearing about. The New Californian Republic and the Caesar's Legion.
"What's the New Californian Republic?" Jason asked, and Mitchell put his hands and fingers together like he was scheming up an idea.
"The NCR, as we prefer to call them, are a democratic federation that use Pre-War ideals and traditions as their way of life, being originated from the Pre-War military all those hundreds of years ago, and bare the flag of a two-headed bear. So if you see them, they're nice, but restricted by their laws and traditions to carry out charitable acts that don't benefit them in the process of taking the Mojave as their own. They control most of the economy in and out of the Mojave, like the Hoover Dam for example, earning them a constant flow of fresh, purified water and a source of power, to gain the attentions of any and all to follow them, and have tried even taking this town as their own too. Through diplomatic approaches that is." He explained, intoning his discomfort about the NCR.
From what he could hear, Jason thought that the NCR sounded like a bunch of democratic assholes who take laws too seriously to not help save innocent people in the Mojave to rot and die. But their control over the Mojave seemed strong, and the influence seemed to be overwhelming… no wonder they seem to be a standing, influential democracy.
"So their like a self-dependent government that rely only on themselves to support itself… anyone else would be economic partners, foe's, or unusable innocence." Jason summed up, displeased with the way the NCR seem to 'help' the Wasteland.
"Exactly… but they do it so they can survive, and resume what the world was like before the war. It's a sad truth, but they're doing better than most." Mitchell replied, and sat back uneasy, feeling the topic had gone a little personal.
"So, what is Caesar's Legion?" Jason changed the subject, and was given an awfully disturbing reply.
"The Legion? They are the worst of the worst, grounded by a pagan religion of some unorthodox collection of deities that follow the rule of where the strong ones survive and the weak must die."
Jason's stomach felt shriveled up inside as he told more to him.
"They burn and crucify 'un-loyal' men. Stand them up for all to see: as they kidnap children and woman as slaves, raping or murdering them for their own desires to be seen fulfilled. Coming from tribes of eighty-six different titles, they undoubtedly follow the flag of the golden-bull, the mark of their leader, Caesar. A man so evil, that he had his best friend and general burned and thrown into the Grand Canyon after he failed to take Hoover Dam from the NCR." He spat out these words in disgust, his blue-eyes never once changing from its angered expression, and Jason thought he was about to punch something with the anger he contained.
Caesar's Legion… sounded like monsters more than humans, beasts fed upon ideals too savage for mankind to recall upon.
"That's… horrible." That's all he could reply with, but then he asked.
"How can this, Caesar, really be like he is?" Jason wondered, how can something so evil count as being human?
"Nobody knows friend, some say he was born without a soul, and a demon replaced it, carrying a plague that corrupts any and all who hear his blasphemous tongue to follow its path into evils of hell." Doctor Mitchell spoke this with so much… truth; Jason couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"But let me tell this too… when you go out there and into the Mojave, do not, I repeat… Do NOT! Trust, anyone! Because anyone out there can be a match of evil or no-good psycho inside, and if you have them at your back… expect a knife to be coming your way."
Jason took in these words as he made up some rules to follow when outside in the wastes.
Number 1, being, don't let yourself trust anyone without good reason or suspicion.
"So besides that… do you know anything about the basic means to survive the Mojave then, after all these topics, I believe we need to fill in all the gaps of this subject." He said, returning to a calmer, more pleasant Mitchell than he was beforehand.
"Well… no. I guess everything that I was… that I am… has disappeared, unable to shed light out into the dark… I have no idea where to begin." Jason replied, scratching his hair, feeling a little overwhelmed after all the Doctors questions.
"Well then… I guess we should get someone to make you learn then, huh?" he deducted, but didn't continue to name who it would be, only smiling with inquisitive eyes.
"Do you have a gun?" he finally asked, cocking his eyebrow.
Jason believed the old man was joking, but found no evidence of humor or sarcasm, but more of a tone of seriousness, assurance, and... maybe interest.
"No…"
"You might want to go into the local towns store then, buy yourself one from Chet, the local shopkeeper… here; I'll give you some caps." The Doctor said, getting up and walking to a bag that rested on a shelf nearby.
"Caps?" Jason wondered, what did that have to do with getting a gun?
"Bottle Caps. It's the currency of the Wasteland. Any cap you find is like gold to another man, so keep them on you at all times, and don't let anyone get in on ya." He explained, grabbing a small bag tied in a bond of rope at its tip, where in jingled with the sound of caps hitting caps inside.
He dropped them in Jason's hand, echoing in a thunk! across the house as it fell and hit him on his lap across the house.
All Jason could think of is, Why the hell would anyone use caps as a currency… it's just bizarre!
But everything just seemed bizarre for him at the moment, and he tried to believe that this may just be normal in the lives of the everyday wastelander of the Mojave.
"In fact… I'm gonna give ya a gun for the road." He pondered to himself, and went away for a second.
"What… umm, really? Thank you, I Uhhh, could pay you back?" Jason replied, astounded that Mitchell, after all he was hearing from him, being so charitable and giving.
"Don't be so prude, it would make me feel awful if I didn't let someone like yourself in the situation you're in such as amnesia, to be let out without me giving you the proper procedures to make you feel safe and well when your let out into the big bad world such as ours." He spoke like he was talking to a ten-year old, but Jason recognized the kindness in his voice and gratified him.
"Ooh, I almost forgot... Mr O'Reiley, your overall condition is un-compromised but... I'm going to do one final test. Just a medical record that you need to fill, just so I have information of any problems that you have that may be the cause of a future problem, you know. It's not like I'm gonna find you have a family that keeps getting bullets in their heads." Mitchell joked, crackling a smile, handing him a form of paper for him to sign and put in his details from his suitcase.
For a moment there, Jason considered that. But shook it down before being handed a pencil, and then began signing the details down.
A few minutes of time spent on filling the form in, one detail referred to his family… touching lightly on the subject by explaining that he had a home west of the Mojave, and his parents died in a terrible accident involving an incident with a source of ignited gasoline. Just making it up as he went along… but the saddening truth of it was… he couldn't remember them.
His mind ached and raced, hurting with the pain coming from his foreheads scar, and brainstorming what his possible past was… he couldn't remember who, what, even how he was or is. He didn't know if he was a Good Samaritan that gave out charitable gifts and help, or being an evil drunkard with an attitude of cursing… he hoped it wasn't the latter.
After the tests were finished, Doctor Mitchell made his final account of the matter and after a moment or two of reading with his pair of reading spectacles, he finally spoke out.
"I reckon you're in good enough condition for me to turn you loose. Do you have any idea of what you are going to do now, may I ask?" he said, cocking an eye-brow.
"Well…" Jason began, but stopped.
He had no idea what to do. He couldn't remember what happened to him, or why it happened to him, what kind of life he led, what family or friends he could look upon. He could only look at the hands he flexed in an out with his fingers… so he thought of the next best thing.
He wanted answers.
"I think I'm gonna see if I can find whoever put a bullet in me in the first place. And see why he did it." Jason replied, leaving small grin on his face, betraying a small eagerness in him.
"Well, I do recommend Jason, you would dress yourself in more clothes than just your tank-top and underwear?" he pointed out.
For the first time for they were speaking, he realized he was undressed from his clothes… and turned a bright red color on his cheeks. His other clothes was probably ruined with blood, so what was he going to wear? He hadn't been found half-naked like this, did he? Was this all he had to walk around in? He didn't even have any footwear!
"Wait here." Mitchell said, and he disappeared elsewhere in the house.
Jason was about to ask where he was going, but left it be, and so took this chance and moment of solemn solitude to get a look at this woman next to him more closely, without waking her up rudely, he lent back on the sofa, and looked at her in more detail.
She wore an abundant amount of blackened-brown leather. A leather-jacket strapped with padded belts, and leather trousers protected on its knee's with hardened plates, that shimmered in the reflection of the sun rays that appeared through the cracks of the boarded up windows.
It was evident that she was a trained gunner, for she had a freshly-polished looking rifle beside her, and several 5.56mm bullet rounds loaded in the small, wide pockets of the bandoleer belts over her chest and waist.
He looked at her face, probably the most important thing about her… and he had to admit, that she was a beautiful woman. He almost felt entranced by her untouched features, her face was adorned with a smooth and small nose, wildly freckled cheeks that freckled the bridge of her nose too, and her shining sandy-ginger, combed-back hair tied in a lock of hair fell neatly away from her face, denying her of any spots, whiteheads or blackheads, and it showed off in her light shade of tan that presented her skin, he could only imagine what glistened in her beautiful eyes…
He almost felt like he was in love with her.
He almost laughed aloud at the thought. He was only nineteen, and he was already reminiscing the romantic idea of 'love-at-first-sight'. He did like the look of this woman, he believed that any man might… and he pondered on the thought of when they could chat in person.
He hoped it was soon...
Doctor Mitchell just came in carrying a pair of dark-leather boots that had strings zig-zag down its skin, alongside a set a folded up clothes that he carried in his other hand. He gave them to Jason, who looked up in surprise.
"You're giving these to me?" he asked, wondering if this was a true or not.
"Of course, I wouldn't let any of the locals pick on ya for lacking modesty. Never really was much of my style anyway." he joked, giving a warm but dull smile.
"Thank you. Very much. You're too kind." He said, getting up from the couch.
"Ahhh don't worry about it, the least you can do is keep yourself together for long enough, and try to stay alive out there… you're a rare character out here in the wastes these days." Doctor Mitchell replied in welcome.
"Thanks for patching me up." Jason thanked, obviously indebted to the man with his life.
"Don't mention it. It's what I'm here for." He replied cheerfully.
The Doc led him to an empty bedroom that was on the right of the corridor leading to the exit, on the left before Doctor Mitchell's kitchen by the right, where he passed yet again some shelves that held food, knives, ammunition and boxes on them.
He put the clothes on the bed, and when Doctor Mitchell shut the door too, he could easily change into the clothes, away from the eyes of any interlopers. He put on the pale-grey vest first over his ragged chest, then adding on the 'caravan' sick-brown trousers over his underwear and then zipped it up, and slipped his arms through the sleeves of a long-coat leather jacket that wrapped around him warmly, then taking on a pair of socks onto his feet before applying the knots to his new boots laces, tightening it for a good fit.
He walked around to make sure he was nimble in the new set of clothing, and to loosen the tightness of his boots a little more. He was ready before he knew it, and began looking into a long, tall oval shaped mirror, and smiled at his own reflection that mimicked his own face of anticipation, and slight fear of the outside world.
Doctor Mitchell had also let a holster-belt hang from a coat-hanger by the beds scaffolding, and in it held Jason's newly owned M&A 9mm Pistol. Compliments to Mitchell, given the circumstances that he'd owned that gun ever since he was a teenager and had never made use for it, and he had been meaning to get rid of the withered thing too.
Jason took it and wrapped it around the inside of his long-coat, hiding it from seeing eyes.
He looked like an old western cowboy, remembering a small, evident picture in his mind from a children's magazine. All he was missing was a…
"You'd look better with a hat on." Someone said aloud.
Jason suddenly turned around in surprise and saw the Sunny leaning on the open door, looking at him with deep orange eyes, and an unbelievable smile… so radiant and bright; he felt it light up the room. Though he felt a little displeased with himself not noticing her earlier… how long has she been standing their?
"Have you ever heard of knocking before entry, madam?" he found himself asking, not angrily, but positively, giving out a small grin.
"Is that any way to speak to the lady who dragged you out of a grave?" she smirked, shining rare pearl-white teeth out in the open.
"You're the one who pulled me out? So you must be…"
"Sunny. It's Sunny Smiles." She replied, her name evident within her own radiant smile.
"Nice to meet you, I'm Jason, Jason O'Reiley… how long have you been standing there for?" he said, cocking his eyebrow her way.
Her eyes widened for a second and she turned her head away from him… her freckled cheeks turning cherry red. She was evidently blushing, and for a second, Jason felt embarrassed that he'd been looked upon so bare for so long, for he could see that she had definitely seen him changing, and quickly decided to change the subject.
"Thank you for… saving my life." He said, and he just felt a little more embarrassed, he himself turning a little farther away from her direction, but he could tell she'd gone a bit redder herself, as did he.
"You're… umm, w-welcome… I'll just be… umm, o-outside then." She said quickly, and didn't look at him again, before taking off.
Jason looked back, and sighed. At least he knows he isn't a bad talker. But took that in hesitantly, before tightening his belt in the right point, and then continued to look at himself in a nearby broken-mirror.
What am I doing here? He thought.
Doctor Mitchell came in just then, looking where Sunny was taking off from, and then looked back at Jason like he'd done something.
"What was that all about then?" he asked, clearly confused.
Jason thought about it for a moment, and decided to better not tell Mitchell about Miss Smiles peaking at him from the doorway.
"Doc, I have… no idea." He said, and hid back his deception.
"Well then… I almost forgot to give you these." He replied, raising his arms to reveal a wristband-device that shone in a bright green hue, and ironically… a cowboy hat.
"Here, you can have these. That thing there is called a Pip-Boy. I had one when I grew up in one of the Vaults as a kid. Ain't much use to me now, but you might want such a thing after all you've been through, I know what it's like to have something lost." He said, giving them to him, and showed him the mere basics of using the Pip-Boy, like how to turn it on, how it documents what the user is holding in an Items section, archives information or knowledge in a Data section, and shows his current vitality in the Stats section.
"It fits perfectly…" Doc Mitchell said to him, tightening the leather wrist-strap so that it could fit around Jason's hand.
Jason smiled at his new, advanced device, gazing at its screen with eagerness.
"I guess that it's my lucky day, huh?" he said aloud, walking to Doctor Mitchell in thanks and accepting the gifts.
Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!
Why had she stood at that door for so long without announcing herself! Now she felt like a total idiot, and now he thinks that she's a pervert or something now!
"Fuck!" Sunny cursed at herself… pulling her hair in anger, feeling like she was going to explode, she never ever acted like this before, so why now...
Had she not woken up on the couch moments ago and searched for the guy she had dug up days ago, when she saw that his bed was empty, she wouldn't have gone rushing around looking for him and not have stumbled upon him while he was getting dressed half-naked!
When she had spoken aloud just then, all she thought was he could have done with a hat in his fitting western-style outfit - like her old bonny self does - he turned and introduced himself… and she froze up on the spot the moment when he asked her if she had been standing there long.
She felt so embarrassed, her face was lit up red like a warm campfire: she had no idea what to even say; her throat wouldn't allow her to speak, like she just forgotten how to speak.
Sunny had been in turmoil trying to think of what to say to this guy after all this time, and all she got was his name… Jason O'Reiley… she solemnly embraced after all this time… and nearly punched her own stomach after making herself look like a damned fool!
She was sat outside the door of Doctor Mitchell's house, and was tearing at her hair in frustration of her own idiocy once more.
"Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!" she cried, punching the ground like there was a bug she could squash, imagining that she, was that bug.
She had not been what you would call "a social girl", never really one with words…
Some girls gossip all the time on prissy subjects and any dirty deed overheard in their local part of the Mojave, while Sunny… shined at talking about rifles, pistols, revolvers, hunting equipment, traps, skinning techniques, cooking, and even wild animals... that sort of thing.
She loved to talk about the how a 357. Caliber Magnum could take the head clean off a bothersome Gecko at 25 feet away, how the sound of a Varmint rifle click is like the crackling of a campfire from pulling its bolt after shooting… she adored it.
However… she had, when she was little, she became an outcast child because of it.
The other girls didn't like nor want to be around her, her tom-boyish style ended with her being the towns personal child-weirdo. The girls picked on her constantly, bringing her up in a life of misery as they called her names and spread untrue rumors across the town, demoting her to that of a Radroach…
And the boys didn't exactly help her in her childhood neither… they had thrown rocks, water, sticks and dirt at her, scaring her off as they played games across town, leaving her alone with her misery for all those years…
But they ended up dying from the Mojave's dangers, or they moved away from the ghost-like backwater town of Goodspring's for a better life on the caravan-travels, she however ended up staying for the rest of her life… and her Pa had made her stayed here, protecting the people like a sheriff and his deputy daughter.
They were family… that was it. She hated him though; almost never put a second glance at him whenever they met. She took in the night shifts when she was fifteen just so she could keep her peace away from that man.
She had six brothers, before they had all died young when they went too far from the safety of their Pa, and suffered for it. Some tried running away, some tried to prove themselves for him and failed, dying from whatever impossible request he gave them… all of them died because of that man.
And since she was the only child left in the Smiles family, her Pa decided that she was to continue the protection of Goodspring's.
He'd seen her interests bare fruition and used them to keep the town safe, using them against her as the only thing that held her in the town, but she didn't do it for him… no, she'd rather kill the man in cold blood and be done with it…
She did it however, for the people, and the people alone. She'd seen the injuries they'd kept with them from the dangers before her father came into town, how deep the scars went, how far the bites had bit into their skin and bones… how much they had been affected without a defense…
In the end of it all she had lost him after a tragic evening… he'd saved this poor fellow from an attack from escaped convicts, but he lost his life from a bullet to his heart, by an odd and rare bullet… a handmade 9mm Magnesium and Lead round that had set his heart on fire, and poisoned him to death all in the same time…
Sunny sniffled at the thought of her Pa; how she'd held his hand post-death… and cried for the rest of the week… promising him she wouldn't let the town down in protecting them. Even if the old bastard was a horrible man… he was family, and he made his part in life by being amended through his good and charitable deeds.
Now, she felt like she was letting herself down and the whole town with her… over-reacting in her part about this guy, yes, but her actions could affect her overall reputation with the townsfolk, and if they hear that she had seen a man in his underwear...
She bit her lip, nearly drawing blood up in her mouth, and got up, shaking off the tears that were coming her way, and clearing her mind of her problems.
It was just this guy in his pants… get over it! She thought.
But that guy was all she could think about for the last four days… for some reason, this guy felt… different.
In a sense, he seemed to have more than meets the eye. He had survived death from a bullet wound to his head, and suffocation in the shallow grave he was put into. He had the looks of a man… a young man, who was ready to do anything. Something about him just made him feel like he was made to do something important…
Upon looking at him, Sunny reckoned that he looked strong; the build of his musculature appealed her embarrassingly very much. His eyes… a hue of pale blue, were rare and uncommon in any person of the Wasteland, and it told her his life was unpredictable.
The way he moves though… was odd, like a man without sight, he could not see what was ahead of him, or what was behind him… in a sense, he didn't know what he was doing. It's as if he just met a lifelong friend and remembers nothing of him... completely oblivious.
And she kinda liked that about him. He looked handsome and charming, like a knight in shining armor ready to save a damsel in distress in one of the old fairy tales in Trudy's bookshelf. She was kind of hoping that she would be that damsel…
But, that was just Sunny's thoughts just playing with her.
She took a deep breath, and sighed… hoping she could get past what had occurred with the guy.
She turned around, and found him standing there in front of her - she nearly screamed, but cupped her hands around her face beforehand, her eyes wide with surprise - he stood there, out of the doorway, not making a sound, and just lent there looking at her.
"Didn't you know it's rude to…"
"Stare? I guessed, but I see that were even now. Huh." He said, toying with her, adjusting his newly found hat.
She found herself blushing again, then he started laughing.
He found something funny… and was laughing about it. Sunny frowned as she presumed a thought.
Was he laughing at me?
She suddenly realized what the joke meant, and whether or not this guy was about to say anything else, she might just punch him for it. And for the thing he was about to say next, took her off her feet…
"Sunny, I hope we didn't get off on the wrong foot, so... how about we start over? I'm Jason O'Reiley…" he said, surprisingly, and held out a hand to her.
She cocked an eyebrow, disbelief suddenly melted away the moment it came, and she felt relieved, no break of her reputation as the towns ranger at that... and she could tell, that this guy certainly is definitely different… and he's also something of a gentlemen, kindly restarting the way they'd met in an easier, better manner.
"Hi, I'm Sunny…" she replied, and took his hand, and shook it.
Ending whatever moment in the house behind them happened, and started anew. Beginning what seemed to be, a good day in Goodsprings.
