"What the fuck…" I tried groaned out as i woke, but a gag cut me short, the last i remembered, I'd been walking along the road when i heard a noise. Now my hands are bound by rope and some pricks are staring me in the face. Two of them looked like gangsters, that wasn't a huge surprise, waking up with some half crazed raider in your face. But the guy in the middle? He looked like one of the big vegas boys, the suit, the hair, he screamed "I'm trying to not be a wastelander!"

"Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain't a fink, dig?" Ah, so the two lovely looking gentlemen to the sides of him were khans, wonderful. He stomped out his cigarette before looking up apologetically. He took out a chip, wait a chip? No… that was my chip! My package!"You've made your last delivery kid." He put the chip away, back into his coat. "Sorry you got twisted up in this scene." He withdrew his hand from his coat and pulled out a handgun. My blood ran cold, I tried to move, but ropes held me. I tried to scream, but I was gagged. I tried to live, but my number ran up, my card pulled. I'd said hit on a twenty and got a one.

"From where you're kneeling it must seem like an 18-carat run of bad luck." Time slowed, everything felt like it was happening and not happening at the same time, my entire life didn't flash before my eyes, but a few choice moments came through clear enough.

"Truth is...the game was rigged from the start"

I fucking hated sleep. I mean, it's understandable right? It's eight to twelve hours of doing absolutely nothing! There's no rhyme or reason to it, no point beyond your body complaining about it and you wanting to please your body! In that time I could be eating, hunting, reading (Though finding a book may be tough.) or doing anything else other than laying there, a prime target for getting my throat cut by some punk who wants the shiny pistol holstered on my hip!

So, when I woke up after being shot in the head, with a feeling like my worst hangover combined with a night of MMA, bar fights and well, getting shot in the head, I wasn't a happy camper.

When I opened my eyes, I shut them again immediately. The world was just too bright.

Conveniently, there was an old man sitting right next to me who happened to notice the bone dry rasping of my throat attempting to recreate human speech. He said something about slowing down or something, but I'll be honest and say I wasn't listening. I got the general gist of it, a soothing tone in an effort to get me to stay still or something, but for one I needed to stretch, and two my head hurt so goddamn much that I was beyond caring about whatever he said.

Slowly, but as sure as the fact that the sun would rise too, I sat up and took a sip of water, it tasted sweet, like only a thirsty mouth can make it taste. Then I drank another, and a third, until it tasted like bland minerals like usual. It was also around that time that my fuck off huge headache started to dissipate enough for me to comprehend basic functions such as talking.

"I'm Doc Mitchell," The old man said with a kind smile. "You've been out fer about two weeks after that bullet knocked around your noggin."

I muttered some incomprehensible reply before clearing my throat and actually speaking for real. "Have you got any food?" I asked tentatively, my tone was quiet and slow but inside, I raged. My voice! One of the best parts of me, smooth, pleasant, and when combined with the right actions, a multitool for any situation, had been reduced to the slow and weighty words of some oaf whose job it was to eat lead paint and try not to shit himself because he forgot to go to the bathroom!

The old man laughed and promised a hot meal to me but then his face grew somewhat nervous. "Now, that bullet, it hit you head son… And though I got steady hands and a sharp scalpel, I'm no plastic surgeon, you might wanna take a look." As he finished his sentence, he pulled a mirror from seemingly nowhere and gently placed in into my hands. "Let me just cut off those bandages,"

When he was done I steeled myself for a repeat of the nuclear holocaust, except of course in miniature and much, much more important due to the fact that it was my face! When I looked down and gazed on myself, a breath of relief sighed out of my lungs. My hair was shaggier, and a beard had grown, but for the most part, my face was fine. The same ice blue eyes were set in my skull, hell if anything I think my new hair made me look better! Oh and there was a massive scar on the side of my head from where the bullet hit me, but a few stimpacks, extensive surgery, the possibility seeing of a barber about sweeping some hair over it and least of all, the all consuming and unquenchable fire that demanded my total and utter revenge on the man who did this to me, to burn his world to the fucking ground in front of his face until it was all gone and then beating him to death with my bare hands made it seem not too bad.

We went through the rest of the basic procedures of a doctor's office, measuring my height, weight, a psychiatric test, the usual. Then we got to the good part, an entire three course meal.

I'd never been so hungry in my life! I vacuumed down the appetizer (Fried squirrel in a sauce made from Nuka, yum!) then I annihilated the entree, which was a delicious mix of stunted vegetables, some sort steak all topped with potatoes! And the desert… by God himself, it may have been a two hundred year old likely irradiated chocolate cake mix, but in the moment of my first bite I was born, I died, I achieved nirvana and lost my virginity all in a second. By the end, my stomach, which had been reduced in size, felt bloated and full, though in a good way.

"So," I began. "Who pulled me outta the grave?" My voice had begun to regain some shred of its old self with practice, and I had a feeling I would be practicing a lot before the night ended.

The Doc rolled his tongue around his mouth for a few moments before finally spitting out. "Robot, goes by the name of Victor. One'a them securitrains or whatever they've got guarding the Strip. Nice enough, but strange, rolled into town some ten years back? Seems like some sort of spy or something to me, never reveals anything, though that could be because he doesn't remember them himself. It's like, oh I dunno I guess like he's… inactive and waiting for a signal to start."

I digested that tidbit before asking awkwardly. "Doc, I appreciate the hospitality, I really truly do, but I don't have any money."

He snorted out a laugh. "Robot covered the bill, don't worry." With that, he set up a pot of instant coffee, fresh from a can packaged over a century ago.

We sat and drank our black and bitter brew while music softly echoed through the small house, mild conversation ensued in the meantime while we worked our way through the pot until night fell. At his insistence, I stayed the night so he could watch over me, though before I fell asleep he jolted with surprise and said. "I never even asked your name!"

I considered lying for a moment but then decided to tell the truth to the man who had been so kind to me.

"My name is Hiram Pershing." And I laid there, telling sleep and my body that it was fucking stupid until I finally succumbed.

The next morning, I woke up without a headache, and with a large breakfast provided once again by the Doc. Some sort of eggs, unknown sausage, and even centuries old toast! A nutritious and filling meal!

By the time breakfast was completed and the seemingly bottom pit of my stomach filled, the Doc came around with my equipment, what a fine sight to see. Thank Christ those idiots were too busy burying me to steal my shit.

First, i dressed in my clothes, made sure everything in my backpack was there, and then came the weapons check. My knife was fine, my ammo seemed to be there and… Yes! There it was! My sleek, light, carbine. Originally a handgun, I paid a veritable fortune for a former Gun Runner engineer to give it the works, an extended magazine, stock, longer barrel. It was small, easy to use and light as hell, good for a courier on the go.

With my stuff squared away, I thanked the Doc one last time and stepped outside.

Author's Note: So, I don't exactly know how often I'm going to be able to update this story. I'm shooting for a chapter a month, but between working, classes and the gym I'm usually up top my neck in stuff to do. Anyways, thanks for reading! I'm looking for someone to Beta-Read this, so if you're interested by all means, PM me and I'll get back as soon as I'm able. Leave a review, they're always helpful! - Cryosmith