Laid to Rest: Prologue
I was breathing hard as I tried to focus. What the- I coughed a little tasting the dirt in my mouth. I tried sitting up but my hands wouldn't part. I turned my focus on my hands. Bound by rope, great. I notice the thickness of the rope, before I'm interrupted by muffled voices nearby. I can't look over there, they think I'm unconscious, so I should probably try not to move too much. If I do alert them it could hasten my presumably violent death. Don't let them be Fiends or Raiders. I keep my eyes closed as I try to think. Legion slavers would be worse...please don't let it be Legion. I pray to no one in particular. OK I need to get my bearings at least. My jaw and head ache as I try turning my head toward a noise on my left. Slowly now- something soft and light hit me in the face before I can finish my train of thought. Lucky my eyes are barely open, that could have burned. I try to avoid sneezing or coughing to much as I attempt to figure out what hit me just then. I shake my head a little and let the stuff trail down my face and neck just to land on the ground. There, it was indistinguishable from the rest of the ground I lay on. Dirt, OK well now that that's been cleared up- more dirt landed in a pile near my torso. Eh, don't...cough. I held my breath for a few moments before trying to think again. Where is all this dirt coming-, my eyes answered my thoughts before I could. Oh, right. I can feel my eyes widen as I look to the left a few feet from my body. A grave was being dug by a man with a mohawk. A grave? I let out an internal sigh, Dammit. I try to quietly feel out the ropes that have my hands bound, This isn't happening, these ropes are too thick. I'm so screwed. No I can't- I won't just give up, I can keep trying until someone notices I'm awake. I instantly stopped moving and felt my eyes widen again as the man digging my grave abruptly stopped to cough. Don't you dare look over here you bastard. Please... I almost let out a sigh of relief when he resumed digging. I can't die now, I just can't. I've been in worse situations. Veteran of the wastes right? Over a decade all over the states. Most don't believe the things I've seen. This can't be the end, I won't let it be.
I try laying as still as I can as I slowly try inching my way out of these ropes. God this is taking forever, but I can't stop now. Now that I think about it, I should probably be sizing up my potential killers as I try to slip away from death. Wouldn't hurt right? I gave myself a little nod of approval before continuing my careful work of escaping death. I know there are more nearby, a few by the sound of it. I have no way of knowing how many there are without them realizing I'm awake...so I'll just fix my glare on the gravedigger for now. The guy was wiry, he even looked to be shaking as he dug. A thick line of facial hair ran along his jaw to frame his face. He's a little flushed, from the digging I suppose. He has somewhat pale skin with a few tan lines here and there. The skin around his eyes is a shade darker than the rest of him. Slightly sullen, like he hasn't slept in days. His ginger-colored mohawk shone well in the dim light coming from somewhere past the grave. I can't lean far enough to the left to see exactly where it is, but it doesn't matter. I can see him well enough. A black sleeveless vest covers his torso leaving his muscular arms exposed to the night sky. His hands are covered in leather, as is most of the rest of him, He seems to prefer the biker look. He wears some non-descript blue jeans under some light leg armor, and his pants end in dirty combat boots. Wait... My sight begins to clear a little and I take another long look before realizing, he can't be...a Kahn can he? That bandanna, the armor...he is a Kahn. Shit! He's not an enemy of mine, I don't recognize that ginger from anywhere so why- I shake my head a little, it doesn't matter, he's digging my grave so he either has something against me or he's been hired by someone who does. I just don't get it, I can't have any enemies here already, I've only been in the Mojave for a few weeks.
My headache had gotten worse, and I felt something warm trickle down my head and neck. Great and I'm bleeding from my head! My vision blurred a little before that bastard threw more dirt on me, Thanks Ginger I needed that! No really, the dirt taste in my mouth and the burning in my eyes really wakes a guy up. My jaw ached again, OK let's asses. I can't see the other guys here, but I can try to remember what happened before everything went to shit. I looked down at myself for a second seeing my bound hands, I subconsciously itched my chaffing wrist. Well, I'm wearing my work clothes, so I must have been delivering something. What was it? Where was I headed? A Kahn on the far left, a few feet from my body moved to the right. A bright light shone through my blurred vision and burned my eyes, Shit that burns! I resisted the urge to rub my eyes and looked at the blinding light with one eye closed tight. That's...so bright, it can only be one place. Bright as the sun, painted with flashing lights of all colors. New Vegas, the city of Fortune. Not really. Full of gamblers, stripers, prostitutes, drunks, and psychopaths wearing fancy suits; that's the reality. I remembered how I felt back when I first came here about three weeks ago. One of the first places I ventured was New Vegas, What a hefty entry fee, 2,000 caps just to get in the door! Was it worth it? Hell no. I prefer exploration over drunk assholes waving their guns around, among other things... A realization hit me like a bat to the head. Vegas! That's where I was going! I calm my breathing and close my eyes, The package. Something small...a chip, a poker chip. Yeah that's it. I remember thinking how worthless it sounded. Why would someone pay the caps to have it sent out all the way from Primm to Vegas. It's not an easy journey. Sentiment maybe? Well I don't know these guys and I don't have enemies here, so they must be here for the package. A poker chip? I didn't get a look at it, just heard what it might be from Mr. Nash. He didn't really tell me anything about it, I usually don't care. Not my business to know. I'll definitely have a few more questions for him when I get out of this. Yeah, Like I'm getting out of this.
OK...so I was heading to Vegas and these guys jumped me. Great Kahns are a bitch in a fist-fight. Not all of them are as agile as me, but they charge like mad Brahmin and hit hard. Power fists don't compare to these bastards. There not usually too great with guns, but my newest facial scar makes me want to swear I'll never fight one close-range again. Least not by choice. Besides if I did make it out of these ropes, which doesn't seem likely. I stop trying to break free for a few minutes while try looking around without moving my head too much. I seem to be on some kind of cliff. I have no weapon so fighting is out of the question. Say I break free, could I outrun them? Where would I go? I have no idea what's behind me and God only knows how far down that cliff goes. It's unlikely I would live the fall. If I did and by some miracle could still walk, how far would I get? Vegas can't be too close by the looks of it, and these guys wouldn't be too bright if they tried this shit near Vegas. The rangers would tear them a few new holes. I don't recognize this area, so I have no way of knowing what creatures might be lying in wait at the bottom of this cliff or behind me for that matter. Taking on more than one Kahn without a weapon just isn't an option. I'm not one to believe in impossibilities, but I can't see myself winning here. What the hell do I do? Bound hands, bad gash on my head, no weapon, outnumbered by Great Kahns, cliff of certain death being my only escape...I'm so dead.
I scoffed at myself and felt a slight smirk form on my face. What a goddam ray of sunshine I am. No, I cannot decide to die here. If I have a choice anyway. Alright Greyson, you can do this, just move your head. I try to inch my head to the right a bit in hopes of seeing my other captures. Slowly now...OK I can see some feet I couldn't before. Good enough for now. I'll just use my eyes for the rest, no need to alert them. Three men standing a few feet in front of me, that one on the left looks like another Kahn, that third guy is too far off. It's too dark to see him, but I think it'd be a safe bet that he's a Great Kahn too. OK I'll just study the ones I can see. This one on the left is a Kahn. Dark-skin and hair almost as dark. His eyes are harder to see, and they're only a little lighter than his skin. He's got barely any hair at all, on his head anyway. That handle-bar mustache is another story. He's not wiry or scared like ginger, he's stern, confident even. Bandana same as the other one, but this guy isn't digging...maybe a leader? My eyes start to burn and itch, Damn, my eyes! I try rubbing them a little, try to get the dirt out so I could see. Shit! I was far too hasty about it and now the ginger has noticed, Great, might as well get the dirt out as best I can, while I can.
"You got what you were after, so pay up!", "mustache man" raises his voice.
I notice the other man to the right, he's standing next to "mustache man" smoking a cigarette. His back faces me. I look back over as I hear ginger pulling himself out of the hole-in-the-ground. I look back at the smoking man and take a long hard look. Wow! I can't believe I didn't notice how flashy this smoking guy is. Might just need to call him checkers from now on. That's a damn fine suit apart from that checkered blazer. I mean it's not really my style, honestly I don't think I could pull something like that off. Wait, what the hell is wrong with me? This guy seems to be at the center of this, and I'm over here complimenting his suit? When did I lose my mind? You'd think I'd remember that. Never mind, I have other things to worry about right now. He's the only one whose obviously not a Kahn. Their employer? I know the Kahns play mercenaries sometimes, and "mustache man" is certainly angry with the suit about his payment- my thoughts are interrupted again as "the suit" replies to "mustache man",
"Your crying in the rain pally", his voice is almost as smooth as that checkered suit of his. Almost.
Ginger is fully out of the grave now and still shaking. He picks up the shovel before walking over to the other two. Well, if you can call his shaky-bounce a walk. Geez, he looks as though he'd jump fifty feet in the air if someone said two-words to him. I try to sit up, and he stares me down as he walks past with his shovel-in-hand.
"Guess who's waking up over here" his voice is scratchy and low as he stands next to the suit.
I pull myself to my knees as I look up at the suit. He takes one final drag from his cigarette before tossing it to the ground and rubbing it out,
"Time to cash out," he breathes the last of his smoke as he starts heading toward me. But "mustache man" interrupts his stride,
"Will you get it over with?" his agitated baritone drums in my aching head.
The suit raises his finger, his eyes closed and his voice is as stony as his expression, "Maybe Khans kill people without looking 'em in the face, but I ain't a fink. Dig?"
Well that shut mustache up. I peer over at the other two guys for a second; ginger looks terrified, his eyes wide and his mouth hung open. "Mustache" is the opposite, stone-cold burning holes in the back of the suits' skull. I look back as I see the suit moving his arm toward his chest. He pulls out a small item, the chip! I knew it. It's not me it's that stupid chip. That's what this is all about. But- my thoughts are caught off again as I notice the look on the suits face. A look of pity, or is that regret?
"You've made your last delivery kid," his smooth voice was almost a whisper as he places the chip back into his blazer, "Sorry you got caught up in this scene" he says as he slowly pulls out a pistol.
I had to look at it. The tool that was surely about to kill me. Pearl-white grips I saw a glimpse of a painted mural, the body of the gun is coated in engravings, a 9mm pistol by the looks of it.
"Beautiful," I whisper under my breath.
He notices me looking at his weapon, and he glances at it himself. He smirks at me before saying,
"From where you're kneeling it must seem like an 18 carat run of bad luck", he points the 9mm at me with the same look of pity on his face,
"Truth is, the game was rigged from the start." The last thing I hear is the sound of the gun shot.
Nothing. Darkness. Black abyss. Is this death? What- I think I heard something, I can barely breath and my throat is so dry I can't speak aloud. My head is killing me and I feel like I could sleep for a year if I just closed my eyes- NO! I couldn't scream out loud so I did so in my head. It hurt to think, so I just stop and listen. A scrapping sound above my head. The sound of metal wheels across uneven ground. I hear what I think is a voice, it echoes and rings through the earth. I couldn't understand what it said, and my eyes felt so heavy. The area around my head was so warm, I soon found I couldn't keep my eyes open. Before I could pass out I stirred at the noise of something falling above me. Heavy, everything is so heavy. Nothing happened, I rested my head again. That year-long sleep sounds really good right about now.