Forward

This fanfiction features both characters created by me and Bethesda. I take credit for my creations and give loads more to Bethesda for theirs (seriously guys, you're freaking awesome). Also I assume you have a basic premise of Fallout, or have played the games. You should if you haven't. This story was largely born from my love for this game series and my gripes with New Vegas's narrative, especially when it came to the Brotherhood of Steel. I had seen them in all their badassness in Fallout 3 only to find them hiding in a corner and doomed to extinction in New Vegas while Veronica (my favorite videogame character of all time by the way) stood and watched. Thus this story varies greatly from its source material. I thank Bethesda for crafting this wasteland sandbox, and to all those that read, follow, and critique this story, thank you.

Some Other Beginning's End

So there I was riding a Brahmin loaded with supplies down a broken road in the desert of Nevada. (Ok, look, I know you want to hear all about my four yearlong trek from DC but I assure you it's as boring as dry paint). Feeling my journey reaching its end I began to lean back and relax. Despite the undulating motion of Mr. Meatsack I was able to look across the way and see the lights of New Vegas contrast with the blue and pink ribbons created by the setting sun.

Tomorrow…

Looking ahead I followed the road as it made a right turn and in between two small hills. From there it climbed up to a small town called Goodsprings. This I knew because I had long since memorized my map like the back of my hand. But the turnoff was a long ways ahead, and I was ready to call it a day.

Time for a shortcut.

Grabbing the reigns I yanked and gave a small kick. Meatsack responded with a grunt. Slowly our trajectory took us off the dilapidated road and onto sand. Although we were heading straight for the town there was a steep but traversable hill ahead. As we began our ascent Meatsack let out a low growl in protest. "Oh come off it!" I hissed. Disgruntled he charged up the hill like a freight train and I about tumbled of his back. Then right as he a crested the hill he locked his legs and skidded to a halt. My irritation became audible. "Why you!-"

Freezing my train of thought and meat was a curious sight. A cowboy bound to a chair was being interrogated by two scraggly biker dudes, and man in a rather tacky checkered suit. I say WAS because now they were returning the favor by freezing themselves, eyes locked on me. For a moment we remained motionless until the tension popped me like a balloon. "Uh, I'll b-be on my w-way now."

"Not so fast!" said the slick-haired suit. His hand turned my way, revealing an engraved silver pistol. I swallowed my panic like a giant toad. "You're in this now buddy, and now there will be two shallow graves instead of one." Oh no.

"You sure boss?" asked the one biker.

"Yeah Benny do we really need to kill these guys?" asked the other.

Benny looked like he wanted to smack his forehead with unrelenting force.

"Well NOW we do ya dummy!" Benny exclaimed. The three assailants continued to bicker between each other but their words were lost on me. My focus was on the Cowboy. He was pulling on his sleeve for some reason. A glint of metal caught my eye, and in a flash he cut his bindings and pulled a Derringer form his coat. "Drop it." Benny froze once again, but held his ground. "You first Big Cat." But neither man so much as batted an eyelash. Now another person might have, I don't know, trampled the three wankers, but I had only one thought in my mind.

RUN!

And in an instant Meatsack and I were careening down the hill as fast as his legs could manage. Terrified out of my mind I buried my heels in the cow and whipped the lashes. But before we could get too far a shot rang out. As if on cue we stopped and turned back towards the hill. My ears rang in silence. Then I heard the roar of throaty engines, followed by two motorcycles making a beeline for New Vegas. My curiosity turned to worry when I counted three goons on the bikes.

Oh bollocks.

Meatsack and I once again charged up the hill, and what I saw next made my stomach clench. The Cowboy lay on his back, derringer tossed from his hand and blood spilling profusely from the head. I unsaddled myself from Meatsack's wide girth and stumbled over to the man. He needed help. Now.

Well quit faffin' around!

Terror quickly draining the color from my face I dragged him by the arms to the Brahmin, then tried to put him on my shoulder like any other man would do it, but botched it before his legs left the ground. My panic was quickly rising. I grabbed him under the armpits and slung him over Meatsack like a limp noodle. He nearly slipped off and onto his head, but I managed to catch him just in time. "Damn it all!"

Once he was secured I frantically scanned the horizon for salvation. After the second look at it my mind finally made the connection. "Goodsprings!" I pulled at the reigns. "Come on now!" Running as fast I could we made our way to the town, Meatsack keeping pace beside me. A light flickered on in the nearest house.

The next few days were, well… suspenseful yet awfully boring. Of course the one thing I did right that night was head straight for the town doctor, Doc Mitchell. He set to work right away on the Cowboy, and I had been left to dawdle around the house. I did have my guitar and whatnot to entertain myself, but my concern for the Cowboy left little interest for that sort of thing. Occasionally the Doc would come out of the spare bedroom he'd made up to work on the Cowboy to wash his hands, eat, and occasionally sleep, but most of his time was devoted to his patient. I had tried to strike up a conversation many times over supper, but he was closed like a Vault door. I couldn't blame him. He had a life to save. Entertaining the guests was the least of his problems. But it also seemed like he had a special attachment to the Cowboy, despite not knowing a thing about him.

Wish I had that gift…

One day I was pacing through the halls when I stopped at a machine along the wall opposite of the operating room. The Vit-O-Matic tester. I had passed it many times before but never gave it a go. Might as well… grabbing ahold on the arcade-style joystick I made my way through a series of questions regarding strength, perception, endurance, charisma, intelligence, agility, and luck. An eternity later the test results were in.

Strength: 5

Perception: 5

Charisma: 5

Intelligence: 7

Agility: 5

Luck: 9

I found the test results to be surprisingly accurate (in my opinion) till I read my luck stat.

"Nine?! You're kidding me! Duff machine!" I gave the damned machine a kick, and I hopped around in pain. A moan came from the operating room. I looked over and the Cowboy was moving. Like a one-legged kangaroo I hopped down the hall. "Doc? Mitchell?" shortly thereafter I found the Doc lying on a couch in the family room. Still holding my injured foot I began relaying my message in a most understandable manner.

"Doc um, the um, man, he, well he, he's-"

At first the Doc looked at me like I was a Brahmin in a Tutu, then realization appeared on his face and he raced past and into the operating room. I of course nearly fell flat on my face as he went past but I managed to save myself and stumble to the doorway. There I watched as Doc pulled up a chair next to the Cowboy. "That's it now, time to wake up." Eyes slowly fluttered open. Then the memories of capture threw him upright, eyes darting around the room. "Whoa, hey now! Take it easy." Eased the Doc, reaching out to disarm the alarmed Cowboy. Energy quickly evaporating, he slowly laid back till his head rested on the pillow. "Sorry to startle you like that." Chuckled the Doc. "You're lucky to be alive there mister."

The Cowboy curled inward and let out a weak cough. "That so?"

"Yeah you took a bullet to the head. Luckily it was a glancing blow and your friend brought you into my care." The Cowboy looked confused.

"Who?"

"Oh uh, this fella over here." Doc turned his chair to gesture at me. Feeling put on the spot I stepped into the room and put a hand on my neck. "Uh yeah, name's Nigel." The Cowboy got a look at me then rolled his head towards the ceiling. The Doc leaned back in his chair. "What's your name?"

"Walker Evans."

"Glad you had the chance to tell me yourself. Well I cleaned the wound as best I could but there will be some scarring. Hopefully you didn't suffer the kind of damage I can't fix." The Doc said with a smile. "Speaking of which, how do you feel about some tests?" Walker sat up slowly.

"Born ready."

"Good." The Doc seemed even more pleased as stood up and leveled a hand at the Vit-o-Matic.

"Step right up to the one and only Vigor Tester!" said the Doc in a carnie voice. Walker stood up and began walking in a weak but determined manner. The Doc and I took as step back to watch him take a crack at it. Patiently we watched from either side of him. As he made his way through the test I finally got a decent look at the man. He was a good six feet tall, barrel chested, and had weathered sunburnt skin. He was near my age of thirty, and his face was handsome and stoic, accented by a thick mustache and chinstrap. His neck long hair was an oily black, and pushed behind his ears.

Makes me look rather naff… I sighed quietly.

"And there you have it." Said the Doc. I looked towards the screen.

Strength: 7

Perception: 7

Charisma: 7

Intelligence: 6

Agility: 6

Luck: 5

Curses filled my head. "Not bad stranger." Beamed the Doc. "Now why don't we-"

"Wait." Interrupted Walker. The Doc and I looked up at him with curiosity. His seemed mildly irritated. "I'm in my 'johns, I haven't eaten in days, and I have a very important delivery to make. So can all this 'test' business wait?" The Doc looked taken back.

"Why of course Mr. Evans. 'Scuse my bad manners. Why don't we start with a meal?"

A tasty steak, a sponge bath, and a few psych tests later, and we were ready to start the day. While Walker prepped his gear in the former operation room, I stepped into the loo. Inside I took a gander at myself through the dirty mirror. Looking back was a man of less than average height, wearing a tattered brown suit. Sadly, my round elongated head did not match well with my narrow shoulders or height. Luckily I was sporting fastidious slicked back hair and muttonchops, all colored a light red.

If only I had a fitting hat…

As I ran a hand through my hair Walker stepped into the doorway. "Howdy Pilgrim."

"Mornin' Evans." Pilgrim? A leather-gloved hand reached out to me. I took hold and Walker gave me a firm shake. Now he was wearing a leather cowboy hat with matching leather duster and jeans. A belt with an empty holster looped though the dark brown pants. "Thanks. Really appreciate what ya did." A smile rose to my face.

"Certainly Mr. Evans."

"Walker."

"Walker; my apologies." He dismissed it with a wave.

"So what's yer plan?" I gave him a quizzical look. "Ya headin' for Vegas?" he clarified.

"Oh, yes!"

"On a Brahmin?" He didn't know…

"Oh well, no. You see I was out of money when I arrived and the Doc was worried he couldn't feed the lot of us… you know that steak you ate this morning?"

"Ah." He said with a smile. Then he looked down and pulled on his leather duster. "Y'see I got me a pickup but I think it ate it after those hooligans shot'er to hell." Then he looked up to me. "If I get it fixed I'll give ya lift to New Vegas." My mouth widened considerably.

"That would be wonderful!"

"Aright good. Could you help me bring 'er up to Goodsprings?" he asked with a thumb pointed over his shoulder. "Certainly." I replied enthusiastically.

"Then let's let the good Doc know and get too it." He turned around and I followed him out. The Doc meet us at the door. "Headin' out?" he asked. A grey object was being wiped with a rag in his hands.

"Yep. I gotta pickup sittin' on the highway. Gonna try fixin' it and head for New Vegas." Walker Explained.

The Doc's eyes brightened up. "Hey there's an old pump station just past the house with truck in it! Good chance you'll find whatever you need there."

Walker gave him a smile. "Damn Doc, you just don't know when to stop given do ya?" the Doc let out a chuckle. "Well I ain't done just yet." He held the grey object out to Walker. A Pip-Boy! My arm ached with the memory of my own, which I of course traded for the recently deceased Mr. Meatsack during my journey from DC. "Appreciate it, Doc." Walker took the Pip boy.

"Haven't used it in years, and I figure a Courier like you could use such a thing." The Doc was rubbing his bald head as if to recall the memories of said years. "Now be on your way."

"Alright Nigel, let's get to it." And with that we stepped into the swirling sand and sun. Shortly after leaving the house Walker began a conversation. "So Nigel, what are ya gonna do in New Vegas?"

"Be an entertainer." I said with a smile.

"Like a musician? You good with the guitar 'n stuff?" I gave him a nod. "Good for you! The last place nice people like you need to be is wandern' the Wastes. Can't tell ya how many times I've nearly died bein' a Courier." At first I brightened up from his lighthearted comment, then I thought back to the other night. "What about Benny?" Walker looked off to the left.

"Let's head this way." Walker diverted off the road towards where we had met that fateful night. Two minutes later and we were at the scene. I looked to Walker. He seemed to be scanning for something. He stepped around the long dead fireplace and pulled a dull silver object from the sands. A revolver. Seating the wood grips in his right hand he flicked the cylinder out, gave it a spin and snapped it back in place. Judging by the size I guessed it was a .44 Magnum. "Glad I found that." With a whirl he holstered the sidearm and continued towards the truck.

Once I caught back up with him I looked at him expectantly. He must have recalled the previous conversation. "Based on your eyewitness account and my foggy memory I'd say I got caught in the middle of some casino rivalry. I've heard the three biggest casinos are run by three different families; And that was no ordinary poker chip." I became confused.

"Poker chip?"

"Yeah that's what this Benny character swiped off me. For one it was a shiny silver color, and it weren't no plastic thing either. If someone would to hire me to transport it, and another person willing to KILL me for it, I'd say it's pretty damn important." I thought about that for a moment, but my earlier question remained unanswered.

"So are you gonna off the wanker?" Walker looked at me.

"Benny? I don't know yet. Personally I would've done the same thing in his shoes, but that doesn't mean I don't owe him a bullet." He said with a grin. "Either way I gotta find more about this situation before I go wackin' people left and right."

"Guess you ought to ask the townsfolk some questions." I suggested.

"Yep. But first we got a truck to fix." He pointed ahead of us, and there lay a rusty pickup. "One more thing." He pulled the Pip boy from his duster. "Take it."

"But the Doc-"

"I've learned to live life with as little technology as possible. Things tend to go better that way." Not wanting to change his mind, I took it from him, pushed my sleeve out of the way and slipped it over my exposed left arm. After closing the clasps a familiar suction pulled at my skin, followed by a small prick to the arm.

I felt whole again.

"You've had one of those before, haven't you?" Walker questioned with a grin.

"What?" I was terribly mystified how he'd known such a thing.

"Fer one you knew how to put the damned thing on, and you already had a matching imprint on your arm."

Oh. I guess it was that obvious.

Sure enough the truck was shot to hell, but in better condition than most of the scrap heaps that littered the wasteland. Walker had been looking under the hood and checking everything else for a good five minutes when he came over to where I sat in the sand. "Well I think she'll live again, but it'll take while to fix. Ready to push her up to Goodsprings?" I let out a sigh.

"I suppose." I said half-heartedly. He reached out a hand and I took it. Once I was standing Walker reached in the truck, put it in neutral, and began pushing from the doorframe. I took hold from the passenger side. Our boots gained leverage, and the machine slowly picked up momentum. I felt the need to make conversation.

"So what's wrong with it?" I asked. Walker shot me a surprised look from across the cabin.

"Figured you weren't interested." I gave my face a scrunch.

"Not terribly, but it's polite to listen."

"Wise words Nigel." He gave me a smile. "Well the radiator is shot to hell (no surprise there), oil pan's got a hole in it, and I think the break master cylinder's had it. All things considered, I'd say we got off pretty light. If there'd been a hole in the block we'd be swimmin' in radiation right now."

"Lucked out on the tires too." I added. Walker looked over the dash and began turning the truck towards the road to Goodsprings. "Got that right. Not to mention this rig has the one thing every other car in the wastes doesn't." I gave him a puzzled look. "Working CPU." Understanding covered my face.

"Yeah without that we… would… be… AH!" Walker shouted in exhaustion. We were halfway up the road and we'd both run out of steam. Walker jumped in the cab and put it in park. I collapsed next to the truck, lungs straining to recover. I heard Walker collapse on the dashboard, breathing also heavy.

"Damn. I thought… that would be easier." He let out a tired laugh. A thought popped into my mind.

"Should've got us a-"

MOOOW!

Walker threw his head up and I bent over to look under the door. Ahead a Brahmin was being led by a Women with dark hair. Walker stepped out of the truck. "Doc Mitchell said you fellas might need a tow."

"Look Nigel! It's the mother Mary herself here to save us!" That got us all laughing. "How could we possibly repay you?"

"Steer straight and don't kill my Besse." She said with a playful tone.

After towing the truck to the gas station with the brahmin we politely thanked the lady for her services and set to work on the rig. Six hours later Walker rolled out from under the truck, a grin splitting his face.

"Wanna hear the good news or the better news?" Well that was a surprise.

"Both?"

"The good news is that the truck they left here had all the parts I needed."

"And the better?"

"We are one microfusion cell away from New Vegas." He held out the burnt up cell for me to see.

"Blimey!" is all I had to say. Walker wiped his hands and slapped my shoulder.

"Come on, let's get some drinks." After Walker had put his hat and duster back on he led the way out of the overhang and out onto the street. As we made our way to the Prospector Saloon, an unfamiliar voice caught my attention.

"Well howdy partner!"

A robot. Well, if you call a giant TV with two claw arms and a single rolling wheel stuck to the sides and bottom a robot then yes, it was a robot.

"Name's Victor! Good to see ya among the living Walker!" That got his attention.

"How did you know my name?" Walker said with an edge.

"Don't you worry 'bout that mister." The robot said in a curious tone. Walker turned his attention back to the road. "I'm just happy to see those bad eggs didn't get the best of ya." Walker continued to pay no interest to 'Victor', and the robot finally caught on, turning on his wheel. "Now you look after yourself partner!" I watched him as headed back from where he came.

"He's a fishy one." I said.

"We'll keep an eye on him." Walker looked like he'd box the ears of the next person to stand between him and his drink. Luckily no one showed up as we made our way to the saloon. Walker tipped his hat to the old man in a rocking chair on the porch. On the corner of the building a neon sign read "Prospector Saloon". I was preparing a greeting of my own for the old man when angry voices from inside derailed my thoughts.

"I SAID I don't know!" yelled a woman. Then a young man's voice responded angrily.

"Well I'm done being nice!" Walker's shoulders tensed.

OH no.

Inside a black man wearing a blue jumpsuit and an armored vest yelling at an older lady who appeared to be the bartender. The man's vest read NCRCF. "If you don't hand over Ringo soon I'm gonna get my friends, and we're gonna burn this shitstain to the-!"

WHAM!

Before I knew it Walker had given the lad a vicious right hook to the chops and knocked him flat on his arse. I remained by the doorway, jaw slacked. Walker sat at the bar. "Whiskey." The lady silently obliged, pulling up an unmarked bottle and a glass. Once she had given him the drink Walker downed it in an instant and slammed the glass on the counter. "What's the problem?" He asked bluntly.

"That man, Joe Cobb, comin' for a man who came into town askin' for shelter 'bout a week ago." The Woman and I watched as Joe slowly rose from the floor, knees knocking about. Once he was upright Walker slowly turned towards him with a look that said: "leave before I tear you a new one." Joe tripped past me and stumbled out the door. Walker turned back to the bartender. "What's your name?"

"Trudy."

"Alright Trudy, this guy Ringo? Where's he at?"

"In the gas station up the road." Thought I heard something in there earlier…

"And this Cobb guy? Is he gonna be back anytime soon?" Trudy nodded.

"There's a good chance him and his Powder Ganger buddies are gonna come and try to burn this place to the ground after you socked him." Walker was unfazed. I however was getting a knot in my stomach.

"Yeah well, they're gonna die trying. Any chance you could convince some of the townsfolk to help out?"

"I'll try. No guarantees though." Trudy responded.

"Much obliged Trudy. I'll get a plan goin' and fortify some positions. Nigel I want you to talk to Ringo and tell him were takin' a stand against those thugs." I nodded, swallowing fear once again. "Let's get to it." Before I could decline three of us headed out the door. As I made my way to the gas station implications of the firefight that would ensue filled my head. What if there's too many? Will anyone help us? Are one of us going to kick it? I was so caught up in my own thoughts that I unknowingly stumbled into the front door of the gas station.

"Hold it right there!"

"AAH!" Of course I screamed like a little schoolgirl! What more do you expect from me? "I-I'm unarmed!" Inside a man not much younger than I wearing a plaid shirt and overalls was pointing a gun at me. I worked frantically to calm the young man. "I'm here to help! Please don't shoot!" The man's face looked as if he'd pointed a gun at a puppy. "Alright sorry… you caught me off guard." I let out a sigh of relief as he lowered the pistol. "I'm here to tell you that we're going to make a stand against the…um" The man looked at me expectantly. "Powder Gangers?" He said with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes! The Powder Gangers!" I yelled in realization. First he seemed relived, then he started looking past my shoulders. "Whose we?" I drew a blank momentarily.

"Uh myself, a friend of mine, and some townsfolk." Hopefully.

He seemed to on the brink of smiling from this news. "Really? We might stand a chance against-"

"Nigel?"

Once again I jumped in fright, this time from a voice behind me. I looked around to find a young girl clad in tattered leather and a varmint rifle strapped to her back. "Yes my lady?" There came a strange look on her face, presumably from the title I gave her. "Name's Sunny Smiles. Your friend Walker told me to check on you. Is Ringo in?"

"Well I hadn't got the chance to ask him yet…"

"Yeah, I'm in." He said with surprising confidence.

"Great. Help us move some jersey barriers." I put my back against the rotting door, then stepped out after Ringo on his way out. Looking up at the horizon I was once again greeted by the sight of a beautiful pink and blue sunset, provoking thoughts of my arrival. I have hardly been here a week and I have narrowly escaped execution, saved a man's life, and now we're about to hold off a gang of murders from destroying a town. I wonder if I should've stayed in DC… as I thought this Walker put a hand on my shoulder.

"How you feelin' Pilgrim?" I gave my response with has much courage as I could muster.

"Uh…" He let out a laugh.

"It's alright to be a little scared. You got some iron?" I looked to the massive revolver strapped to his hip.

"No sir, I'm afraid I sold my gun for food on the way here." A question seemed to appear in his mind, but he kept it to himself. "Do you want some?" He reached for the pistol, but I held up my hand in decline. I watched him read the look on my face. "Not everyone's a killer Nigel, but these days you won't make it far without gettin' a little blood on your hands." The truth of his words put a heavy weight on my shoulders. "I suppose you could stick it out in the saloon or the Doc's house. I'm gonna make sure everything's in order." With that he tipped his hat and headed towards the General Store.

I decided to take a seat on the saloon porch. Looking around I admired the preparations underway. Trudy was crouched behind a barrier, inspecting a double-barreled shotgun. To my right Sunny and Ringo were pushing another barrier out into the street, facing the road that intersected from the north right in front of the saloon. Then I looked to the old man as he…

"Bloody hell." My mouth gaped at the sight before me.

"What? You never see 20 pounds of dynamite!" The old man let out a wheezy laugh. In his hand was a wooden box of dynamite from which he was pulling three stick bundles. "Fer God's sake man! You could blow up half the town with that!"

"Hell, I got enough TNT to make a crater out of Goodsprings!" Before I could picture the amount of dynamite required to do such a thing, a voice called out down the north road.

"Alright ya cunt! You and your friends are gonna burn for what you did!" Six men were standing abreast, Joe on their right, holding a small revolver. Two more goons held shotguns, and the remaining three had… baseball bats? "Burn in hell yourself, Joe!" Yelled Trudy. A stick of dynamite frizzled in her hand, and she lobbed it over the barrier. With a loud boon it went off just out of range, Powder Gangers diving for cover. The firefight had begun. Feeling terribly exposed I jumped off the porch and behind a third barrier. Pushing my left side against the barrier I watched Sunny and Ringo take turns shooting over their shared cover. Trudy's shotgun was discharging behind me, and I could hear the pop of Joe's pistol in the distance. A thought made my heart sink.

"Where's Walker?!" I yelled out. Sunny ducked behind the barrier and dropped a magazine from her rifle. "I don't know!" She turned to Ringo, who put his back to the k-rail to reload. "Where's Walker?" Ringo shrugged. Sunny mouthed a silent cures. Then Trudy's shotgun went silent. Nothing. Everyone was reloading! Then a conjoined shout came from ahead, and two baseball bat thugs came charging up the road.

Before I could piss my pants a loud knocking noise came from behind me, followed by a thud and sizzle at my feet. My eyes turned to dinner plates. One of the old man's explosives had deflected off the sign and landed inches from me! He let out a gasp. Without thought I grabbed the bundle and chucked it downrange as hard as I could. My heart sank. It was tumbling straight for a house! The thought of it landing on the roof and exploding burned in my mind. But instead it bounced off the eve, tumbled through the air, and exploded a foot above the charging Powder Gangers. The pair dropped like a sack of potatoes, glass exploding from the nearest house. Sunny let out a holler.

"Woho!"

"Damn son!" said the man on the porch. Trudy made a small laugh.

"Nice throw Nigel." I felt a low chuckle of my own escape.

Did I just laugh? Where did that come from?

Peering over the barrier I scanned the battleground ahead. The two thugs I'd taken out remained motionless and covered in glass shards. Looking past them I could Joe moving just behind a rise that met the road. The metal sign in front of him had been shot to hell. But where were the other three? I heard a yell from the right. A Powder Ganger with a bat ran from cover towards the next house on the right.

What the hell?

Without warning Walker stepped into the open, grabbed the man's bat mid swing, and exploded the chap's head with the hand cannon. An agonizing scream echoed from ahead. Did he hit two men with one shot? The pistol roared twice more as Walker stepped behind house the Powder Gangers were presumably taking cover behind. Movement from the left caught my eye. Joe was turning to get a shot on Walker. Right as Joe swung his arm around an explosion ripped through his elbow, sending the pistol flying from his hand. Walker stepped onto the street.

"NononopleaseWAI-!" BOOM!

Without hesitation Walker strolled over to Joe and turned his head to ground beef. I cringed at the sound of brain bits splatting on the ground. It was over. The six of us could hardly believe it. Even after watching Walker empty the cylinder of his revolver and begin reloading we remained behind those jersey barriers, ready for anything. Only when he was halfway to the saloon did we start relaxing. Trudy yelled out to Walker.

"WHOOOEE Walker! You're a one man army!" Sunny joined the commendation.

"Yeah, the hell you need us for?!" Walker's mouth became visibly wider as he looked down at his revolver. "Y'all played the very important role of providing a distraction so I could get close and personal." He looked back at the two thugs laying in the street. "Who took them out?" The people around me were not going to let my quick thinking go unpunished. "Why Nigel did of course!" Sunny said joyfully. "Bounced a stick of dynamite of that house like he was takin' a pool shot!" Yelled the old man from behind. Walker looked up and beamed at me. "I'm mighty pleased with you, Nigel." I felt the need to clarify the story. "Well I wasn't planning on throwing it." He made a clarification of his own.

"Wasn't talkin 'bout the dynamite."

After that we cleaned the mess we made, looting bodies, burying them, and then distributing the loot amongst us and the townsfolk. The typical wasteland doctrine. Afterwards Walker asked around about Benny and learned they were heading to New Vegas, but were taking highway 95 to avoid a recent Deathclaw infestation. Ringo promised we would get paid by the Crimson Caravan if we stopped by their headquarters near New Vegas. A short walk to Victor's cabin was rewarded with a new microfusion cell, which Walker quickly installed. We said our goodbyes, I dumped my bags into the bed of Walker's truck, and before I knew it the sand was streaking by as I looked out the window.

"Now what?" I looked to Walker.

"Gonna stop at Primm, see if we can get some more supplies, maybe find more on this Benny guy." I paused for a moment, then got my guitar ready. I put on my best commentator voice. "I think it's time we played a song for a man who did a smashing job saving some townsfolk today. A man, with big iron on his hip." I started strumming, and Walker rolled his eyes. "Oh brother…"

"To the town of Agua Fria rode a stranger one fine day,

Hardly spoke to folks around him didn't have too much to say" Walker interrupted me.

"Waiwaiait, how do you do that?" I looked at him innocently.

"Do what?" I knew exactly what he meant.

"You went from yer 'brit speak' to American in a snap. How'd you manage that?"

"Oh, y'see my father was all American, but I was raised by an English man in my early teens. Needless to say I picked up his accent. Now I can switch between the two like I was blinkin'!" Sarcasm seemed to spill from his eyes. "Aright keep playin'." I picked up where I left off.

"No one dared to ask his business no one dared to make a slip

For the stranger there among them had a big iron on his hip, big iron on his hip"