AN: This is a repost and rewrite of an early story I had. Updates will be sporadic at best... Sorry. Anyways, this was beta'ed by my good friend mollyjr3. Be sure to check out her work too. I own nothing but the idea... and I'm not too sure about that.
Donovan Lansing sighed as he opened the door to his assigned home. His hands fuddled around in search of the light switch for a few seconds before it clicked and the fluorescent light above him sprang to life with a hum. He shut the door, locking it behind him, and then crossed over the room to the plain, blue couch that was no doubt in every other house on the block. 'At least the base housing here is better than the barracks in McCoy.' He thought as he set the duffle bag he was carrying down on the sofa. He unzipped the bag and pulled out a set of night clothes and an IPod with a speaker mount. He walked into the bedroom and set the speaker and Ipod down on the night stand, hitting 'play' on the first playlist. As In One Ear filtered out from the mount he changed out of his uniform and into his night clothes. Donovan set his watch down next to the speaker, tucked the nine millimeter pistol under his pillow, and flicked off the lights. He rolled under the covers of the bed and closed his eyes, hoping that sleep would come quickly. Just before consciousness began to fade, Donovan could've sworn he heard voices. Voices that were oddly familiar, but in his sleep addled state, he couldn't place them.
"Are you sure about this sir? This guy?" The first voice said. It was smooth and cultured.
"Of course I'm sure! Don't doubt me boy. It's not wise to test my patience. Your partner learned that the hard way, no?" The second voice was more forceful and gruff. A sense of authority seemed to radiate from it.
"… Yes sir." The first voice responded, somewhat angry.
"Good. Do it."
The voices faded and Donovan fell deeper into sleep. That night, he slept peacefully for the last time in a long while. That night, Donovan Lansing dreamed of lasers and powered armor, of poker chips and bottle caps. He dreamed of Fallout: New Vegas. A game he would come to hate, nearly as much as he would love.
Donovan woke with a start, face down into his pillow in utter darkness and silence, which was odd. The IPod should've been playing, and he'd always woken up at the break of day with the sunlight. He frowned, something was very wrong here. He reached his hand under his pillow to grip his pistol, only to find that it wasn't there. 'Shit.' He rolled over quickly, threw the covers off, and sat up, trying to get his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He sat stock-still, waiting and listening for anything out of the ordinary or possibly life threatening. By the time his eyes had adjusted, he knew he wasn't in the house anymore. Probably wasn't even on the base. He scanned the room quickly. There were what looked like desks and chairs splayed all around him. The place looked like an old school room or something. He slid off of the bed and rose into a crouch slowly, careful not to make any noise. Don took a tentative step forward and cringed when his bare foot hit something solid and sharp. There was a crackling noise, a hum, and then a light flickered to life right under his foot. He blinked and leaned down to pick it up. It was light and fairly large, about as long as his forearm. The light was being emitted from a relatively large screen on what he assumed was the front. The screen displayed an old-style "Please Stand By" image with what looked like a set of rotating crosshairs underneath. As the pieces began to fall into place within his head, the screen changed. Now it was black with only a few words appearing in the corner. "Place over left arm to begin sync."
Numbly, he placed the device over his hand and slid it up his arm. With a hiss of pressurized seals, the machine locked into place. There was a sharp pain that flew up his arm which lasted for only a few seconds before it changed into tingles. A loading bar appeared on the screen that quickly filled. The device chirped once and then proclaimed that "Startup is complete." Donovan stared blankly at his now covered arm. If this was what he thought it was… The sceen darkened for a second before coming back to life. On it was the poster boy of his favorite game. The Vault Boy proudly stood above the words, "Pipboy 3000-A Series." The Vault Boy then winked and disappeared. In his place was standard menu/inventory labeling system in the Fallout universe. He reached for one of the knobs, but the Pipboy apparently had ideas of its own, and flicked through the tabs by itself. It stopped on the Notes section, in which only one was listed. "Read Me Now." Donovan blinked. He hesitated for a second, and then hit the select button on the side. The file opened immediately and text scrawled across the screen.
"Hello Mr. Lansing. May we be the first to welcome you to New Vegas. We're sure you have questions. Unfortunately, you won't receive answers for them. At least, not for a while. All you need to know is why you're here. You have a job to do Mr. Lansing. A very important one. We know that you might not feel very charitable towards us at the moment, but we felt that you would be the most suited to the task. You were the most adaptable out of all the subjects we had eyes on. We know you will do well here. Your task is simple. Protect Number Six. You know who that is. Keep Six safe. She is your ticket back to your home. We have taken the liberty of supplying you with some items you should find useful. They are nearby. Use them to protect Six and yourself. The date is October 18th, 2281. You have the rest of the day to prepare yourself before Six shows up. This place is your reality now Mr. Lansing. If you die here, you die for real. Remember that. Good luck, and Godspeed."
Donovan stood there in stunned disbelief, staring at the wrist-mounted inventory unit. "I must be dreaming. This is can't be real." He said aloud and reached up to pinch his cheek. It hurt. Realization dawned. "I'm in a game… I'm actually in Fallout." Donovan didn't even want to think about how impossible that fact was. He looked back to the screen and quickly reread the message, trying to pick out any bits of information he could from it. So for one, The Courier was a girl. Two, whoever sent him here was very powerful, and not just because they could rip people out of their own dimensions and throw them into new ones. Three, his only ticket out had something to do with either the Courier herself, or something in the game's campaign. Four, whoever these assholes were, they gave very little in the way of information. He sighed and sank back down onto the bed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. After a few seconds, Donovan began to flip through the Pip-boy's tabs to the Map sections. It was pretty much the same as the game, except, most locations of importance were already filled in. Places like Primm, Novac, NCRCF, and Vegas all showed as lit map-markers. The only noticeable change from the game was the ability to add personalized marker points. According to the map, he was currently in the Goodsprings Schoolhouse. He did another cursory glance around, and his surroundings finally clicked in his head. He looked around for the items the note had mentioned and found them pretty easily. A box that was large enough to hold a Javelin Anti-Tank Launcher comfortably sat a few feet from the end of the bed. He stood and walked over to it, careful not to step on any of the nails protruding from the floor.
Donovan popped the lid and threw it back, banging it on the foot of the bed, and peered inside. Sighing in frustration at his inability to see anything in the dark, he turned to the Pipboy on his wrist and flicked through the features until he found the light function. The glove-light flickered on and shone brightly, illuminating the trunk's contents. Lying on top of everything else was something he easily recognized. A M4A1 with an M203 and a CompM2 reflex sight attached to it. His preferences actually. When he touched the side of the rifle, a soft ping brought his attention away from the trunk and down to the Pipboy. A small message had appeared in the center of the screen. It read,
"Weapon Detected-Type: Rifle-Begin Storage?-Y/N"
Donovan blinked in surprise. He reached over with his open right hand and tapped the affirmative button. Another ping rang out and the rifle itself flashed with light. Donovan almost dropped the thing by accident. In seconds, the rifle seemed to disintegrate before his very eyes, leaving nothing behind but his empty hands. "What the Hell?" He looked back to the Pipboy. Sure enough, under the Weapons category, an M4A1 was listed. It was then that he noticed that his weight counter had gone up by 7lbs, its limit being 310. "Well… that makes things convenient. I guess if I hold something with the Pipboy glove it'll let me store it." He turned back to the trunk. The next thing he pulled out was a box labeled "Ammunition" He opened the lid and peered inside. Six magazines for the M4 lay inside, along with eight for what looked like an M79 pistol. He pulled them out of the box, only to have the Pipboy store them before he could do anything. He stared at the machine for a few seconds before shrugging and looking back into the container. There were ten MREs and assorted hygiene products inside a bag, all of which went into the Pipboy, a set of lock picking tools, the pistol the clips were for, several grenades, a KBAR knife, a Weapon Repair Kit and an Armor Patch Kit, a bag of caps labeled "1000", and medical supplies. After the last of the extraneous items were stored he glanced at the weight counter. It read at 45 lbs. He pulled the last thing out of the trunk. It was another box, large and very heavy. Setting it on the ground, he re-materialized the KBAR and slit open the wrappings around the box.
Inside was what looked like a set of armor with a helmet. He grabbed the helmet first, letting it de-materialize, and then did the same with the armor. Once the storage was finished, he looked back to the Pipboy. Under the Apparel screen the name of the armor set appeared. He blinked again before tapping the select button and standing up, hoping that the Pipboy would do the rest. It did. A soft white glow enveloped him as the Type-44 Chinese Heavy Armor settled into place over him, his original clothes appearing in the armor's place within the inventory system. Donovan materialized the helmet and balaclava/gas-mask and set both down on the floor. He quickly did a self-inspection of the armor and found that it must've been designed for him, personally. On the left side of the breast-plate his name was stenciled, along with his blood type. He flexed his gauntleted fists and twisted this way and that. Surprisingly, even though the armor offered excellent protection, it was also very flexible, and allowed for movements that other contemporary armor sets couldn't. What had him surprised though was that the armor wasn't in the original version of the game. The armor set was a mod for Fallout 3, and as far as he knew, hadn't yet been ported to New Vegas. What's even more was the fact that the armor design originally came from an anime, not a random idea or canonical design. Never-the-less, he wasn't complaining. The armor was fantastic in and of itself, and on top of that, it looked totally badass.
He checked the time. 12:34. That explained why he was hungry. He stood there for a few minutes while deciding what to do now. "Well… I'm not going to get anywhere on an empty stomach… I'll figure it out after I eat. To the Saloon then." He pulled the mask over his head and set the helmet on top. Rematerializing the M4, he pulled the strap over his shoulder, moved over to the door, opened it, and walked out into the Nevada sun.
As he stepped out of the door he threw his hand in front of his face. "Well… that's really bright." Almost a second too late, the glass in the helmet adjusted to the light, polarizing itself. 'That's a design flaw…' Donovan sighed. 'It's freakin' hot out here. Ugh.' When the eye plates stopped adjusting he scanned around himself, looking over the dilapidated buildings of Goodsprings. The town seemed almost exactly like it was in the game. Chet's general store and the Saloon sat on the main-street, which winded its way up the hill on the west side of the town, leading to Doc's house and the gas station Ringo was holed up in. Don found it really odd. If this was reality, he expected things to be different. The towns should be bigger at least. He didn't think that the population of pre-war Las Vegas, Nevada would fit into the seemingly 1km by 1km space that the game version took up. 'Whatever, not like it matters anyways.' He thought and stepped up to the fence surrounding the school. He kicked it soundly with his foot. The rotted wood shattered easily and scattered across the ground. He shrugged and began to walk towards the saloon. As he passed the General Store he observed Chet, who was sweeping the dust off his front porch. The man looked up, and his eyes widened noticeably. No doubt seeing a man in full combat gear that's almost a foot taller than you was slightly intimidating. The gas-mask with the glowing red eyes probably didn't help either. Donovan barely held in a snort at the slimy little man and stopped walking, staring directly at him without saying a word.
Sweat appeared on Chet's brow as the armored figure stared him down, unmoving. It was at that point that Chet decided that discretion was the better part of valor and spun around, shooting into his shop and slamming the door behind him. Donovan shook his head slowly, chuckling quietly. He set off again, crossing the fifty or so feet to the Prospector's Saloon. As he stepped onto the porch, he looked to his right; spotting Easy Pete is his usual place, asleep… and snoring. He rolled his eyes and opened the wooden door to the Bar and walked in.
He found exactly what he expected to find. A pool table sat directly in front of him, to its left was a broken jukebox, a set of tables lay on its right, and behind it stood a girl that could have only been Sunny Smiles. Her dog, who lay below her, made its presence known. The little beast growled lowly at him as he entered, causing Sunny to reach slowly for the gun on her back. He just stared at them, specifically Sunny, neither moving, nor speaking. He shifted his gaze down to the growling dog. It glared back and Sunny had grasped the butt of her rifle. He sighed, low and suffering, sounding mechanical coming from the mask's respirator before speaking. "What are you looking at dog?" He grunted. "I don't have any food for you." The dog growled again, short and deep before it let out a huff and turned away, causing Sunny to relax slightly. He shook his head and walked into the bar section of the building, reaching up to take his mask off in the process. He stored the thing and walked over to the counter, trying to blot out the horrible chords of "Johnny Guitar" as they screeched from the nearby radio. He settled onto one of the stools, which creaked under his weight. Donovan frowned for a second before shrugging it off and turning to Trudy, the barmaid, who was in turn staring intently at him. The brown haired woman already had taken a dislike to him it seemed, from the way her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. He stared impassively back at her, not giving in. Eventually, she broke the silence.
"What'll you have?" She said slowly. He blinked once.
"What do you have?" He returned casually.
"Today's special is Brahmin Steak with Sunset Sarsaparilla. We also have gecko and squirrel." He shrugged.
"The special sounds fine. How much do I owe you?" She paused, staring at him again.
"Ten caps…" He nodded, materialized them in his hands, and gave them to her. She walked away, no doubt heading to the kitchen in the back. He sighed again, wincing at the music coming from the radio. 'Hmm… I wonder.' He raised his arm and set it on the counter so he could see the Pipboy. After flicking through the sections, he finally found the Radio tab. Sure enough, Radio New Vegas blinked happily on the screen at 101.3 FM. Out of curiosity, he flipped open the Music Archive section, and found a pleasant surprise. All the songs that were on his Ipod were there, along with a note that popped up reading:
"A gift from us. Enjoy."
'Hmm… I wonder if I can create a localized radio station…' He blinked, scanning over the settings and features under the Radio tab. 'Aha! Found it!' He tapped a few buttons quickly. 'Let's see… select from the whole library… What frequency? What the Hell, I'll just override RNV.' Pressing enter, a progress bar appeared in the middle of the screen before it quickly filled and the Pipboy chirped once. There was a burst of static that came from the little radio behind the counter before a different song from "Hallo Mister X" began to play. He grinned slightly as the other patrons started in their seats at the sudden change. Trudy came back in with a plate of what was at least recognizable as steak, and a bottle of Sunset. She set it down on the counter before turning to the radio.
"What the heck is this?" She asked frowning. Donovan tapped the edge of the counter once to get her attention.
""Cities in Dust" by Souixsie and the Banshees. My Pipboy emits a radio signal that overrides RNV apparently." She shrugged.
"Well, at least it's different. I swear, Radio New Vegas only has ten songs to play. Anyways, if you don't mind me asking, why are you here?" She said her face getting even more serious, if that was possible. He blinked at her owlishly for a few seconds.
"You… you don't beat around the bush do you?" She said nothing and instead continued to stare at him intently. He sighed. "Several things. Most of them haven't happened yet. I'm waiting for someone. A Courier. She's supposed to pass through here on her way to Vegas." Her eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed.
"And what do you want with this Courier? We don't abide by murder in this town." She stated flatly. He heard scraping of chairs behind him, and as he turned slightly, he noticed the ten or so people in the bar who had tensed, or moved to draw weapons. He snorted.
"Would I be telling you this if I planned to kill her?" He paused to let that sink in. "No. I've been hired as her guard for the rest of the trip. Which is why," he gestured to the armor he was wearing and the weapon slung over his shoulder. "I have all of this." He finished, and then promptly ignored all of them in favor of cutting into his food. The patrons and owner of the Saloon continued to stare at him for a while, finally making him look up. "What?" He asked. "Is there something on my face?"