Courier Six, Chapter One

The Crew

I go by a lot of names. Courier Six, Death's Messenger, Thorne. But only one of those is close to my given name.

My name is Magnus Thorne. And I'm one of the most dangerous, tough-as-nails, proficient cold-hearted bastards on the face of the Wasteland. Hell, I'm even a boogeyman parents use to get their kids to sharpen the hell up. "Better behave or Ol' Thorne'll get ya!" Heh.

You can probably tell I'm not one of them local heroes who help the helpless and kill the baddies. Heh, my name may mean 'great,' but I ain't close to a great person. I'm great at what I do. And that's killing. My profession is death-dealing. You name the man to kill and the price, he's good as dead.

But, even the most cold-hearted killers have their families. Biological or not. My family is my crew. My, motley band of misfits, you could say.

And each family's gotta have the mother. That mother's name is Aelia. She used to be one of them healers from Caesar's Legion. Despite being part of that group, she's rather friendly. She was the sole survivor of an NCR raid shortly after they successfully fought off the Legion in the battle for Hoover Dam. That was about, ten years ago, I was thirty then, and she was forty. She basically mixes random shit together to make drugs strong enough to send a Super Mutant sky-high, and other medicinal shit. Never liked using it, though, not that gentle on my head. The others are alright with it, though.

My right-hand-man is quite a piece of work. He's a bit younger than me, mid thirties. Goes by this Code of Honour. His name's Gideon, he's the perfect guy to infiltrate a high-security building, but the only issue is that he refuses to kill anyone in cold blood. Sure, he'll sneak past pretty much anyone, but he'll fight his target head-on, and even though he uses swords, and swords only, he always somehow makes it to his target without getting hit more than twice. Gideon and I ran into each other during one of my contracts, and he happened to have been sent after me, then the guy I was after. Some sort of mix-up. After a long fight which ended up with both of us pretty cut up, me from his sword, him from my bayoneted Brush Gun, Deadeye, we were too exhausted, and too impressed, to kill each other. After I explained why I was there, trying to kill the guy he was also sent to kill after killing me, he seemed awfully confused. Apparently, the guy who sent Gideon told him I was hired by my target to kill Gideon's client. After realizing we were hired by the same guy, we agreed on killing him together.

And of course, I couldn't leave out our tinkerer and craftswoman, Blaire. She's made some damn fine contraptions, for killing, sneaking, moving, not dying, and her own... personal uses, but I ain't going to get into details. Blaire approached me one day while I was dropping by Goodneighbour, after a lengthy job that started in the Mojave and somehow took me to the damned Commonwealth. Still pissed off about that. Anyways, Blaire approached me rather excitedly, seemed like she was a fan. At first, I suspected she'd give me a good flashing, but then I realized she was much more proud than that, which was a relief, honestly. I hate dealing with that sort of attention. Instead, she offered me a deal. She would supply me with her own contraptions and such, in exchange for protection. Seemed like a good deal, stick around this chick to scare the piss out of anyone looking to cause trouble for free shit, but I wanted to see what I was getting in to, just in case this girl was actually shit at making things. I was pretty damn impressed by what I saw. She's repaired an old, burnt out Power Armour frame with nothing but a dozen old motors and a handful of broken energy weapons. So, I took the deal. Haven't regretted it.

And then, we've got Jared. The only way I can explain to you his usefulness to the crew is this. He's a waste of skin when he's sober, but he is unstoppable when he's drunk. If you believe there isn't a single person in this world that's useless, Jared's the living proof that you couldn't be more wrong. He serves absolutely no purpose when he's sober. He pisses people off, he can't lift anything for shit, he's dumb as a rock, he couldn't see a wall with a telescope, and he would end up stabbing himself if he tried twirling a toothbrush between his fingers. The only reason he's alive is because he's probably the luckiest person on the face of this fucked-up planet. Funny how that works, huh? When he's drunk, he ain't any smarter, hell, he forgot how to breathe one time, but something in his brain switches on once the slightest bit of alcohol shows up in his veins. One time, he foiled an entire Gomarrah-run plot to take over New Vegas, just by chatting up this girl while he was wasted out of his mind, and happened to overhear a conversation happening in the room nearby while they were getting it on. The girl quickly caught on that they should go somewhere else, but of course, he didn't. He ran into that room and yelled at them to shut the hell up because he was trying to get it on, and when they started to draw their weapons, he just went apeshit on them. Meanwhile, the girl was freaking out and not long afterward, I caught wind, then heard gunfire and heard Jared yell at the top of his lungs, "Can't a man have sex in peace!?"

That was the only reason I let him stick around. Because he is the only drunk that I know that could foil a plot carefully planned by some pretty damn dangerous masterminds, while he was wasted.

I hear the obnoxious, barely adult-sounding voice that always ruins my mood. "Hey boss!"

Shit, speak of the devil.

I turn around to look at the rather unattractive, spindly, whiter-than-white person, Jared, who just floundered into my room. "What do you want, Jared?"

God damn it, he's got that stupid grin on his face, he wants something.

"I couldn't help but notice that damn-fine boomstick Blaine's working on. Who's getting it?"

I was hoping that wasn't what he wanted.

"Not you."

"Come on! Why not?" He makes his "I-know-exactly-why-you-said-no-but-I'll-act-like-I-don't" face, the one I hate the most, accompanied by a "what the hell?" gesture.

"Do you remember the last time we let you use a sawed-off shotgun?"

He stops and thinks for a moment.

"It's a trick question, dumbass. You were wasted and you shot up the entire Ultra Luxe Casino!"

He speaks in an obnoxiously sarcastic tone. "Oh yeah! I also discovered that they were serving everybody human flesh!"

"Which would've been fine, if you didn't yell out to everyone, including the Military Police, who you worked for. Being "Death's Messenger's Messenger," wasn't nearly as funny as you thought it was."

"Come on, it won't hap-"

"You got your answer, now bugger off and bother somebody else, I'm writin.'"

With the most annoying groan, he complies and goes somewhere else. Probably to bug Blaire. Poor girl.

"Now, where was I...? Right. Just capped off Jared's deal."

You may be wondering why a stone-cold, near heartless killing machine who's only in it for the money would keep a journal. Trust me, I'm clueless too, I just thought it was a good idea.

Right now, we're in our Commonwealth Safehouse, just a little ways away from Vault 111. Some Brotherhood of Steel pawn came to us one day back at the Lucky 38 and offered us quite a deal. The Brotherhood wants us to get them a foothold in the Mojave, after the last of their bunkers over there got blown up. By someone who may or may not have been equipped with full NCR Riot gear, a custom Brush Gun with a bayonet that goes along the length of the barrel, and twin, custom, Desert Eagles.

Yeah, I blew up the Brotherhood, so what? They took my shit. If anyone touches my shit, I'll break their neck and piss on their grave. Or blow up their home, in that case.

Moving on.

The Brotherhood offered us a hundred thousand caps if we helped their forces gain a foothold in the Mojave. Why they just don't fly in there with their big-ass blimp, couple hundred Vertibirds, and giant, Pre-War Anchorage-Bot, I don't know. But with that kind of money in it for us, I'm not complaining. Though, before I took the deal, I wanted to talk with the guy in charge, make sure this is legit. And that they didn't know I blew their guys to hell and that this wasn't some trick.

We were told to head to Diamond city and wait at the Dugout Inn. Honestly, I'm glad they picked that place. Vadim Bobrov makes the only moonshine I like. Plus, we get along very well. A couple hours of subduing Jared brought us a little closer together. Long story short, we both learned not to give Jared Bobrov's Best, at least, not a single bottle. One'll put him into rampage mode, two'll knock him out.

I hear the door open again, and assume it's Jared.

"God damn it, Jared, I told you no!" Rather than seeing Jared's ghost-white, bony form, I see Gideon's muscular yet agile, black-skinned body.

"Oh, sorry 'bout that, Gideon. Jared's been antsy since he saw the shotgun Blaire's workin' on."

"Trust me, we've all been suffering, Magnus."

"Let's just hope this trip is worth it. And that shotgun is given to somebody very soon"

"Indeed."

"Now, what did you need, Gideon?"

He seems hopeful. "I believe I found someone who might prove a valuable member of our group."

"Really? Who's this person, then?"

"To really understand her potential, you'll have to see for yourself. She requested for your audience specifically."

"Really? Well, let's see her then. Where is he?"

"She said to meet her at the Robotics Disposal Site a ways away west. I'm sure you'll be impressed." The look on his face matches his confidence. It's usually pretty tough to impress Gideon, so I'm sure this trip will be worth it.

"Alright. I'll go take a look at her. You hold down the fort."

Gideon nods in his usual, respectful way. He's got a lot of respect in that Code of Honour. Since we first met, he's shown a lot of it. "Respect your equals," or something like that.

I shut my journal and shove it in a drawer in the desk, grab my helmet, then leave the room. Immediately after, I hear a small bang come from the room where Aelia and Blaire do their work, followed by Aelia cursing in a language none of us can understand.

As soon as I open the door and breathe in, I know one of Aelia's gas bombs went off and my vision immediately goes woozy.

"Gah, piss! Not this shit again!" As quick as my arms can handle, I put my helmet on, which purifies the air I breathe in.

Thankfully, it was only one of her "fuck with poor sods' heads as much as possible bombs." It's like making them high without the high part, just weird vision. The problem could have been much worse.

I hear Blaire, in her slightly British accent, yelling around the corner. "Where's my damn gas mask!?" She coughs. "Screw it! Too late!"

I look around for Jared, but it looks like he buggered off as soon as the bomb fell.

I chuckle at the thought. A lot of people wanted to bugger off when bombs fell.

As I open the door to vent the room out, I grumble to myself. "Damn idiot closed the door behind him."

Aelia speaks up in an accent none of us have really been able to identify, probably a Legion thing. "Very sorry about that, you two. Too many bombs, accidentally elbowed the pile and saved all but that one."

Blaire responds. "Don't worry about it, Aeli. Could've been worse."

"Yeah. Don't worry 'bout it." I help Aelia put the rest of the bombs away. When we finish, I grab my guns and head to the door.

"Gideon's told me of some potential recruit. I'm going to look at what she's got to offer. If Jared needs straightening out, let Gideon know."

"Alright. You behave yourself." Aelia says, rather mother-like.

"Yes, mother." I say with a small hint of jest. I never really change the tone of my voice. Not much. It's that little hint of emotion that most of the crew look for, to tell if I'm actually serious or not. Except Jared. I don't think he'll ever catch on to that.

I leave the door open, since the room hasn't completely vented out yet, and see Jared.

"Is the room vented out yet?"

"It's vented out enough. Leave the door open next time."

"Mhm."

As I walk past him, he heads back to the Safehouse, and as I expected, closes the door behind him. He tends to stop listening when his question's answered.

I stand and wait to hear see Jared open the door again, and laugh a bit when it happens.

I continue on my way through what used to be a forest surrounding the Safehouse. After a couple minutes, I run into Vault 111. Weird. That elevator wasn't up last time I was here. I would investigate, but I've been in my fair share of Vault-Tec's shit. From sentient plants to goddamned child army training shit, I've had enough of it.

I move on through a rundown place that locals call "Sanctuary." It's abandoned, and falling apart, and as usual, I see the lonely, slightly civilization depraved Mister Handy unit, trying to maintain his long dead master's house. Calls himself Codsworth. Major case of denial.

I continue past the Red Rocket station, and immediately upon entering Concord, I hear some rough, scratchy voices.

"Hey, asshole! Where do you think you're going?"

Great. Raiders.

It's not that I can't handle them, it's more the fact they think they can handle me. They know who I am; they know how tough I am. They know I traveled through the Divide and back, scaring the piss out of everything that lived there in the process, and they think they could do the same better.

"To hell, eventually. Just thought I'd get someone to save my spot for me." At that, I draw my pistols faster than they can point theirs at me, blast the middle guy's brains out, and then point each gun at the other two.

They immediately surrender.

"Listen up, children. If you think it's impressing to act like you're better than someone who could clearly kill you before you even let off a single shot, it isn't. It really isn't. It's just annoying. It's a good way to get yourselves killed." I laugh. "I dunno why I'm telling you this, I'm gonna kill you either way." Immediately after saying this, I shoot them both in the head.

After holstering Bane and Tempest, I reach into my pocket, and pull out an envelope and a piece of paper, that has my "emblem" spray-painted on it. I slide the paper into the envelope, shut it, and place it in one of the raiders' pocket. You could call it my calling card, but really, my bag came with a bunch of these envelopes and I don't like wasting things.

"Fuckin' idiots." I continue walking.

Once I make it to the Robo-dump, I immediately notice a Sentry Bot among the scrap heap. It notices me too, and quickly mobilizes.

"For the love of fuckin' God." Quickly, I draw Deadeye, and aim at the Sentry Bot's head. One mistake and I'm Swiss cheese.

I fire once, it ricochets off the face plate. I don't have time to pull the lever and fire again, so I just curse and dive to cover.

The Bot spins up its twin miniguns, but before it fires, it seems to just shut down.

I cautiously poke my head up from cover to see a woman tapping away on a Pip-boy, a much better Pip-Boy than my own.

And suddenly, the giant, three-legged rolling death machine whirs back to life and I immediately get down.

The woman speaks with a heavy Australian accent. "Don't worry, mate. It won't shoot."

An Australian? Damn. Don't see many of them. More likely to find one on the moon than here.

I poke my head back up. The hulking tin can just stands there.

"You controllin' that thing?"

"Yep."

I'm feeling pissed off and impressed at the same time.

"Fuckin' scared the piss outta me." I stand up. "I'm guessin' you're the chick Gideon was so impressed by."

"That's right, mate. If you thought you were scared, ya sould'a seen him!" She laughs. Quite lively, her. She seems like she can pull her weight, too.

Grinning under my helmet, I chuckle. "Well, we do share a sense of humour, it's a start. Anyways. I'm guessin' you're some sorta tech wiz or somethin?'"

"Yep. I can take this thing apart and put it back together blindfolded! I can even mash a bunch of bots together, to make a Frankenbot of sorts." Confident, too. Good to see.

"Frankenbot, huh? Sounds pretty useful. What about combat? You any good with a weapon?"

"Plasma's my specialty." She rests her Plasma rifle, which from what I can tell is actually a Scattergun, on her shoulder.

"I hope you know your way around those. Blaire's no good with Plasma weapons."

"No problem, mate. I know my way around these things." She might be handy. I'm sure she'll fit in.

"Good. One more thing." She's very attentive. Good to see.

"Yeah?"

"How tolerant are you?"

"Of what?"

"Stupidly obnoxious drunks."

She looks slight bewildered for a moment, but shrugs. Doesn't seem daunted yet. "I was raised by one, so I know my way around 'em."

I chuckle. "Jared's a different case. You'll see." I remember I don't even know her name. "I'm pretty sure you know who I am, but I don't know who you are."

"Becca. Nice to finally meet ya, Thorne."

"You can call me Magnus, kiddo."

"You'll be glad you let me stick around, Magnus."

"I hope so. Let's go. You bringing the tin can?" I'm good at hiding my excitement. After twenty years of having these tough sons-of-bitches thrown at me, I finally have one boss around.

"Yeah. If you don't mind."

"We got some space we can clear. A whole garage, actually, just crammed full of stuff we haven't gotten to searching. Now's a good time to clear it."

"That'll do perfectly."

I sling Deadeye snugly on to my back, then turn to walk back to the Safehouse.

"You'll have to show how good you are in close quarters when we get there." Before she makes a remark about her Scattergun, I add, "Too close for your Scattergun."

"No problem, I can handle myself."

"I can guess that, but can you handle me and Gideon?"

"At once?"

"I ain't merciless. I just want to see what you're made of."

"Phew. I was worried there"

I laugh. "Welcome to the Crew."

As we make our way back, I learn quite a bit about her. I didn't ask her any personal stuff, I'm not one to go that deep into a person's past. She was raised by her dad, who was a raging alcoholic. She spent most of her time in the garage not far from her home, and with the mechanic who worked there. She liked to help him when he was fixing the local robots. Hence her expertise. She tried to get the Mister Handy back at Sanctuary to come with her, one time, it refused though, and its dedication to maintaining its master's property convinced her not to simply wipe its coding.

When we get back, I let Becca rest up, she's been on her feet for a while, so she deserves it. When I return to my room, I place my helmet on the coat hanger in the corner of the room, place my weapons in their cabinet, and continue to write in my journal.

Despite how reluctant I was at the start, it's nice, having a family like this one. I may be heartless, but even the heartless have a soft spot, somewhere, at least I do. And if that means I'm not heartless, so be it. I can at least seem that way to others. There may be a day where I lose them, but, I think, it would be worth every moment I had with them. And Jared, if you're reading this, I will hunt you, (Or haunt you, if I happen to be dead.) until the end of your days.

I don't really know what we'll do with a hundred thousand caps, or where we'll keep them, but we'll have a metric ass-ton of spending money, that's for sure. Maybe we can deck out the Safehouse, get a couple turrets, maybe some better equipment and gear. Maybe one of those TAC things. Target Acquisition Computers, can see poor bastards through walls. If the thing's compatible with the Riot Gear, at least.

I fought a guy with one of those before, he was able to escape before I could finish him off, though. He almost got me. Just barreled through a wall into me. Nearly spiked me through a stray rafter. He was a good fighter, I'll give him that. Just too confident. If you're too confident, you make mistakes, openings.

So I took the advantage, and made a couple openings in his stomach. Not sure if he lived or not. I doubt it. Don't really care, either.

We're moving on to Diamond City tomorrow. Good opportunity to stock up on ammo and other essentials, and catch up with Vadim, see how he's doing.

I close my journal and have a quick bite to eat before calling it a night.