AN: Well hello and welcome to this fanfic, this is a pseudo-novelization of my current Fallout: New Vegas playthrough that does have mods installed, you'll probably recognize a few. This will cover the main story, side-quests and DLC as well as some unique story arcs for characters. This Courier is 25 years old, so keep that in mind during later parts of the story. This will change some things from quests that allow options that don't exist in the game, so as to better fit the character and test my writing chops. I hope you enjoy.
Chapter 1: Ain't That a Kick in the Head
If you had told me a week ago that if survive being shot in the head at point blank I'd have called you crazy, but I suppose I'd have to take that back now. My name is Angelo, and I am a courier. I'm originally from a little village in the NCR, nothing fancy and pretty safe for the most part, I grew up looking up at NCR troopers and had for a time, been training to be one, I was taken out of the service for insubordination, so I took my skills to use as a courier, as I'd always had good endurance to run the long distances in the short time, I'd made a bit of a name for myself, that led to my being hired by the Mojave Express as Courier Six of Six carrying packages to the New Vegas Strip. I'd known this tactic before, hire several couriers to hide a single package, I'd done it for the NCR before, usually carrying troop orders and the like, confidential information, I'd realized that it's effective and agreed to carry my package, guessing that I probably had the valuable one, given the description of it. One oversized poker chip, composed of platinum, pretty valuable stuff pre-war from what I can gather, it wasn't until later that I found out just how valuable that chip would be.
I wake up and things are blurry, my head hurts, mostly just above my right eye, and my limbs are cold and heavy, but in pain and therefore still attached, chalking that one up to a win. My vision focuses and I see an older gentleman to my side, balding and with a neatly combed and very thick moustache. "You're awake." He says, appearing to be pleasantly surprised. "You'd been shot in the head, and buried in a grave up in the graveyard, a local robot dug you up and brought you to me, I tried to pull all the lead and sand out of your brain, and I pride myself on my skill, but I wasn't too sure you'd pull through. Glad to be wrong. Can you tell me your name?"
"Angelo," I respond, my voice is hoarse and my throat is dry, it hurts to speak slightly, but not too bad, a nice drink of water and I'll be fine.
"Well, at least you're talking, that's a good sign, do you think you can stand?" He asks as he rises from the chair he'd been sitting in.
"Only one way to find out," I say and I sit up and place my feet on the ground. My vision blurs and head hurts from the change in position, and I feel ever so slightly nauseous, but I remain standing.
"Let's check your vitals, try to walk over to that 'Vigor Tester' machine, that should give us a baseline physical exam." He gestures to a machine on the far wall, it fits with the décor, very western in appearance, wouldn't surprise me if it was used in a pediatric office pre-war, is almost swear it should read it's text in a southern drawl.
I make a few uneasy steps, then get my bearings and am able to walk with some amount of normalcy, given that I'd probably been out for a few days, it's probably expected. I place my hand on the thematic machine and it gives me the standard S.P.E.C.I.A.L score that got introduced before the war as a means of more easily identifying someone's strengths pre-war. According to it I'm of average strength, slightly less than average perception. Above average endurance, average charisma, the second highest intellect score recognized by the machine, average agility, and above average "luck" how it could perceive that I'll never know.
The doc makes a joke about how the bullet must have made me smarter and I give a chuckle, it's nice to see someone who could make light of my situation, as dire as it may seem it helps to laugh. "Come on, I have some mental procedures to go through before I can let you go in good conscience, I have to make sure that you are still able to process information effectively and without issue." He leads me into a room with some bookshelves, a couch, and a chair off to the side, he gestures for me to sit on the couch and takes a book off the shelf before he drops into the chair. He goes through some word association, then some agree/disagree statements, I follow through as well as I can, and then he shoes me some inkblots, I respond with what I see and he appears to be content with my answering abilities.
"Now, before you go, I have some questions for you, before this incident, what skills did you have? I need to know so I can monitor your recovery." The doc asks, taking out a pencil and some paper.
"I'm a pretty good shot with standard firearms, I never dabbled into energy weapons but would be willing to try, I'm very good at fixing things, and I'm able to figure out nearly any machine that I've found. I also dabbled in medicine, read quite a few medical journals and can perform the basic procedures and first aid, although I'm no surgeon." I respond, thinking back to the times those skills have come in handy. I ask, "What do you mean monitoring my recovery?"
"Did you really expect that I'd just be okay with possibly sending a possibly mentally disabled person out into the wasteland when I could monitor them first?" He asks, seemingly confused at my question, as though it was obvious. "I'm not going to keep you cooped up inside here all the time, but I am going to have to keep you in town for a while, if I'm comfortable with the state your in after a week or so I'll let you mosey on to wherever you go, and don't think about running off, I've radioed to the nearest towns a rough description of you, and I'll let them know that you're awake and not to be allowed outside Goodsprings, which is where you are by the way."
"I suppose that makes sense, can I have your name so I can properly thank you for saving my life?" I ask politely.
"People call me Doc Mitchell, welcome to Goodsprings, here, II have a few things for you." He reaches down into a duffel bag that he has had sat beside his chair that I hadn't noticed beforehand and pulls out a few items: a pale blue vault suit with a bright '21' emblazoned on the back in yellow, an object that i recognize as a Pip-Boy 3000A, and a pair of leather boots. "You'll want to put this on. I'd have given you the clothes you'd been wearing when you got here but they were so covered in blood and sand that it just wouldn't come out. I can't wear this old thing anymore anyway but it's around your size. The Pip-Boy is so I can keep a better eye on your vitals, but it's got all sorts of useful stuff for you, like a Geiger counter, holotape player, map, et cetera."
"Well thanks Doctor Mitchell, I do appreciate it. Do you mind if I step outside?"
"Put this on and you can go right on out, feel free to help out around town, I can't find anything physically wrong with you now, it's just mental health I'm concerned about." He says getting up from his chair.
"Do you happen to have an extra set of glasses lying around? My eyes aren't quite as good as they should be, so I need some kind of focusing lens." I say, rubbing my eyes.
"Yeah, there's a spare set lying on the counter next to the bed you woke up in, you can grab them on the way out. While you're out there you may want to meet some of the locals, Sunny Smiles in particular, they could use some help and you could stand to have a comfortable place to sleep, I've got to keep the beds open in case someone gets seriously hurt, you understand right?" He asks apologetically.
"I understand, I'll find someplace don't worry." I get up from the couch and walk over to the bed where i woke up, notice the glasses on the counter nearby and put them on, my vision gets a bit sharper and I smile, atleast knowing that I can see. I then put on the jumpsuit, which is easier than I thought it would be, and place the boots on my (thankfully) sock clad feet. The Pip-Boy latches on my arm and I feel a sharp pain rip through my body, as though every single nerve in my body fired at once. Doc notices this and runs over.
"Well lookee there. Looks like you get to use VATS." He says smugly glancing at the Pip-Boy that now resides on my left arm.
"What's VATS?" I ask confused, the pain was only for a brief moment, but I feel this weird, almost humming feeling in my arm, underneath my Pip-Boy.
"From what I can gather, when RobCo made the Pip-Boy they also created a system for more accurate weapon firing, since they originally planned to have them used in the military, they could never truly get the process functional for everyone as only certain individuals could actually manage to use the system, no one could ever figure out the correlation, so RobCo sent some to the vaults to see if they could keep it going even in the event of apocalyptic annihilation, figuring it would prove useful if the people ever found need to fight." He explains, he flips through some notes that are stored on the Pip-Boy and selects one. "This should explain how to actually utilize the system, I never could do it, but an old friend of mine could and I once saw him shoot the eye out of a radroach with it."
"Pretty cool stuff." I say giving a cursory glance through the document, I figure a true trial by fire test might be good later, assuming I keep this thing long enough. "I'm going to head out then, see if I can help out around town. If you need help with a patient or whatever give me a yell."
"Try to stay out of trouble kid, I'd hate to see you back here for more than a social call." Doc says.
"I'll try to but trouble seems to find me," I say, laughing heartily.
I open the door and take my first step outside, the light of the midday sun blinds me as I exit, but my eyes adjust quickly enough. I see a strange robot wheel itself around the house directly in front of me and follow the path towards the saloon. The saloon itself has a series of letters on the top section that identify it as the Prospector's Saloon, and next to it a similar building identifies itself as the Goodsprings General Store.
Taking a few steps down and into the road I see an old Poseidon Energy Gas Station on the mountain next to Doc Mitchell's home. Down the road that leads away from the saloon I see a few ranch houses and what appears to be an old school house that the fencing denotes as abandoned. A building next to it identifies itself as Pembroke Repairs. A few various farmers and ranchers mill about minding their own business.
I turn toward the saloon, and begin my quest to get my package back.