A/N#1- The courier finally wakes up to find himself in the care of an honest doctor, suddenly realizing he can't remember what happened except for a few select moments. When he finally leaves the clinic and enters Goodsprings it seems trouble has again already found him.
Chapter One
Ain't that a Kick in the Head...
At first all he heard was the ringing in his ears, like a soft wind chime tousled by a breeze. The light throbbing of blood began to make his skull ache as he groaned and rolled over in the bed. Next to the injured man on the bed sat an old doctor resting comfortably in a half destroyed doctor hadn't wanted to believe the robot, Victor, when it brought this man to him.
Shot once in the skull and still alive and kicking, as if the wastes weren't done with the man. Looking over him Doc Mitchell knew he was a traveler, tanned skin but parts of his skin where clothes covered was still white as a new born babe's skin. It had taken him him the whole day just to perform the surgery on this traveler and remove the bullet, being very careful not to cause any more damage while repairing all that he could.
This man was lucky, the Doc thought, though he would be able to come out of the medicine induced coma with full cognitive functions. Only a small pock mark on his face would tell what had happened but it was now covered by raven black hair. The man on the bed whined softly, his eyes beginning to flutter as his fingers twitched and gripped the ragged sheets he lay on.
The Doc leaned forward and placed a the back of his hand upon the man's forehead earning a sharp gasp of air in response. The man widened his eyes and the blurry world streamed through his hues, a fan rotating above making odd spinning shadows while he tried to blink away the flashes of light and blur.
"You're awake, how 'bout that." The Doc commented with a smile and leaned back, watching the other come back to consciousness. The man winced and clenched his teeth, holding his head as he sat up, earning him a soft aid from Doc Mitchell.
"Whoa, easy there. Easy. You've been out cold a couple 'a days. Why don't you take a moment, get your bearings." The man wobbled before managing to swing his legs over the side of the bed, toes brushing across the cracked and dried out wood flooring. The ceiling he had been staring at moments ago was no better, small fissures appearing from centuries of strain. Still hazy eyes peered at the doctor, confused and wary. He licked his dry lips and managed to form a few words that confirmed the doctors steady hand in surgery.
"Why...where am I? Who...are you..?" his voice was hoarse, cracking a few times from lack of use over the past few days. The doc scratched the back of his neck and sighed, if this man could survive a gunshot to the head, still thinking and speaking clearly, he would have no trouble surviving whatever the wastes had for him.
"Names Doc Mitchell, son." he twanged in a half worn southern accent, his eyes telling that he had aged past his years. "Right now your in my house which serves as a makeshift clinic for the town of Goodsprings." The guy nodded, he didn't look a day over twenty five obviously still new to whatever had gotten to him on the night of his near murder. "Well since your speaking clearly, you seem to be doing better..." though he noticed the man massaging his temples. He'd probably have a headache for a few days. The man looked over the Doctor who called himself Mitchell, he couldn't remember a thing except a man talking to him in the middle of the night, his hands bound, and a chip...something was seriously important about a chip. He growled and ran a hand over his forehead, then all the memories lead to was a loud gunshot and a flash...suddenly nothing but the cold black abyss.
"I want to start running diagnostics on you, first let's start with something simple. How 'bout your name, can you give me that?" The man blinked and locked eyes momentarily with the doc before nodding slowly. He bit his lip to contain another hiss of pain, his eyes looking around the simple home/clinic while his name bubbled from his lips.
"My names Lorne, Lorne Romanoivch." he muttered, his tongue feeling prickly while he coughed to clear some of the roughness from his throat. The Doc nodded over at Lorne and scooted his chair, creating a high pitched scraping sound that both the men winced at.
"Can't say that's the name I would have pegged for you, but who am I to judge?" the Doc smirked at his patient. "Now I hope you don't mind, I had to go rooting around in your noggin to get all the bits and pieces from the bullet out. I take pride in my needle work but you need to tell me if you feel any lasting pain..." he paused and blinked. Lorne rubbed his head and sighed, sitting back as the ache in his head dulled to an occasional spasm.
"I'm good Doc...considering what I lived through. Do you have a mirror though...I wanna see the damage." A pained expression crossed his face, he could just picture how disfigured he was gonna look. While he had been pretty handsome before he feared what he might resemble now...perhaps a mole rat. That made him chuckle as the Doc handed him a dirty mirror to examine his face with, the glass a bit fogged from the sweltering heat. Lorne moved to brush the glass off with his sleeve only to realize he was only in a pair of boxers. His cheeks flushed pink as the Doc noticed the man's discomfort.
"I'm sorry 'bout that, your clothes were covered in so much dirt and blood...I couldn't maintain a very sterol environment to operate." Lorne nodded, it made sense, but he still felt goosebumbs raise across his skin at his almost nudity in front of the stranger. He wasn't afraid of people seeing him naked, it was just awkward that he was barely clothed in a strangers house hardly remembering anything to do with his past. Lorene knew that the doctor was a good man and hand't done anything, though he could recall hearing about stranger stories that had happened to others.
Returning his attention to the mirror, Lorne gazed over his face and let out a heavy sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing gently. Still the same rough but masculine features with knowledgable but untrusting eyes, he had taken a sever blow to his ability to trust anyone after leaving...He looked up, after leaving...where had he left? A hotel? A...casino? Yes that was it...a casino but where? His brows dipped together and he frowned setting the mirror aside on the bed.
"How'd I do?" The Doc asked looking a bit concerned, though Lorne knew it was unwarranted. Scratching the light stubble on his chin, he gave a soft smirk and nodded his head lightly.
"You did fine Doc, long as I don' look like a Deathclaw I think I'll do just fine." He knew he'd need a shave, a shower, and as his growling stomach reminded him...a nice hot meal.
"Good, I'm just glad I got everything right...or at least the stuff that matters." The Doc rubbed the back of his neck with his rough hands and looked away from Lorne. "Well, I guess there's no sense in keeping you in bed anymore." Lorne looked up and steadied his hand on either side of his hips, he just wanted to get off the bed and stretch out his unused muscles. "Let's see if we can get you on your feet," Doc stood and leaned down, hooking an arm around the courier and helping him up off the worn sheets. As Lorne put weight on his feet for the first time in a few days blood rushed to his skull making him dizzy and light headed, the world spinning for a second as the Doc held onto him.
"Feel like I'm recovering from a hang over..." Lorne groaned blinking away the sudden feeling of nausea that made him almost dry heave in the Doctors arms. Finally after a minute or two of standing, the Doc released him and took a few steps back. After getting his vitals checked over, he was handed back his leather armor which he quickly tugged on after wobbling a few times while trying to balance on one foot.
"Good, why don't you walk over to the other side of the room where that vigor tester machine is. That should give us a good sense of how you should do out in the wastes." Lorne sighed, looking around the room and getting a better scope of what was in there. An operating table with many cleaned utensils sat in the far corner hidden by a wall and a hanging blanket half eaten by moths. "Take it slow now, this ain't a race," the Doc warned in a motherly fashion. Lorne nodded. "I'm fine Doc, if a shot to the head didn't kill me what will?"
The floor boards creaked each time he took a step making him wonder if the house wasn't just going to fall apart before him. It was only a couple quick strides and he was standing over the Vigor Tester, a series of knobs buttons, and a joystick showed him what to do. While messing with the machine, Doc Mitchell moved to his side reading the results as he went. When Lorne had finished, the doctor patted his shoulder.
"Looks like your stronger than what I thought you were, stubborn as a Big Horn too. Now we know your vitals are fine but that doesn't mean that bullet didn't leave you nuttier than a Brahmin herder. I want you to sit down so that I can get a sense for your psychological health." Lorne looked at Doc Mitchell and shook his head.
"Listen Doc...I'll always be grateful for what you have done to me dragging me from wherever you found me and caring for me but...there are things I need to find out. Who shot me in the head and why?" The doctor frowned but nodded, this guy seemed like he could handle himself well enough. "Alright," he conceded to the courier, moving into a small room just off the hallway and coming back with a small back of things.
"I didn't rescue you, theres a local robot that hangs around the tame. The metal fella's name is Victor...he might be where you want to start, if your looking to find the men who shot you." Tugging a small pistol and its holster from the bag, he handed it to Lorne who seemed to visibly relax when he was armed. He also pulled on a pair of leather boots and authority styled sunglasses.
"Those were all on you when Victor brought you in," he passed the courier a small paper note and gave a slightly sheepish smile. "I hope you don't mind I gave the note a look to hoping to find next of kin. But it was just something about a platinum chip." Lorne jerked his head up remembering the chip in his hands. The numbers 38 and the tower...he was headed...headed where?
Growling at his lack of the memory he put the note in his pocket and tossed his bag, with all of his ammunition and supplies, over his shoulder. Ready to discover just what had happened and who wanted him dead, maybe even a little revenge. The Idea sent chills up his spine and made his eyes glow with sadistic thoughts. "Thanks Doc, for everything. I know I probably wasn't the best of company since I was comatose and all." Both the men chuckled as the courier shook the doctors hand.
Lorne walked towards the door only to be stopped again as the Doc pushed something into his hands. He looked down, a wrist gauntlet...no a pipboy, he remembered them from old photos and journals about life in the vault. The pipboy 3000 was supposed to help with inventory, maps, quests, and generally anything the user needed. Some people described it as a personal computer on your wrist but Lorne had never been close enough to one to actually determine that for himself.
"Listen, if you're headed back out there, you ought to have this. I grew up in one of them vaults made before the war. We all got one." Lorne could see the memories of the past flooding into the older mans eyes and wondered what he might have seen. Was the Mojave any different in the past, when the NCR and the Legion weren't trying to rip the lands in two... Doc shook his head and dug his hands deep into his pockets, finding his voice again.
"It ain't much use to me know but you might want such a thing after what you've been through. I know what it's like having something taken from you..." The Doc trailed off, his voice solemn and eyes hazed with regret. Lorne felt sorry for the man but from that look on his face there was nothing that could be done about it. He nodded and slipped on the pipboy, it fit perfectly and hardly weighed more than a feather. The backlight on the device flickered on and the screen instantly inventoried all of the items he carried while marking his position on the glowing blue map.
"Thanks Again Doc, I'd be dead if it weren't for you. But right now I have some business that needs some tying up, and perhaps a few people who need a good kick in the head." Lorne cracked his knuckles and placed a hand over his 9 mm pistol, just thirsting for when he would find the men who shot him.
"Don't mention, it's what I'm here for. Oh, before you leave town be sure to stop in at the Saloon and see Sunny Smiles. She'll help you in whatever ways she can, she's a good girl with a big heart...plus an even bigger attitude. Other folks, might help you there too. Lastly, you ever get hurt out there..don't hesitate to come back. I'll fix you up, just try not to get yourself killed again." Lorne nodded and moved his hand to the doorknob, thinking that for a split second the door would just fall off its rusted hinges. Instead the door opened normally and a blast of warm desert air tickled his face, a very fine welcome back into the world.
He stepped out, shut the door, then turned to observe the town of Goodsprings laid out below. Just down the cracked and broken pavement of an old street was the Prospectors Saloon that Doc Mitchell had mentioned. It would be a few minute walk to the place, so he didn't bother himself with worrying about time. The sun was just barley reaching the height of its climb into the crystal blue sky. Fissures of heat rose off the baked earth between the scattered houses and ruins that remained in the town, the only other recognizable place was an old gas station further up the hill but Lorne wasn't to concerned with the abandoned shop. Running his fingers through his hair, he set off down the hill at a semi leisurely pace, when he reached the Saloon he stepped up on the front porch and noticed an old man. Easy Pete...his memory told him, the old man offered him a smile.
"Welcome youngster, 'sthere anything Easy Pete can do for you?" The laid back old man continued to shift back and forth in his rocking chair, eyes focused off down the road to the south of Goodsprings like an old bloodhound.
"Thanks but I'm fine, is Sunny in though...Doc Mitch said that I should talk to her..." Recognition flashed behind Pete's eyes and made Lorne wonder if the whole town knew about him. Pete shut his eyes and scratched his ear before responding in his always understanding tone.
"Sure, Sunny's in playing pool and listen-in' to the juke box. Cheyenne will probably be with her so don't get to worried by the rambunctious pup." Lorne nodded and thanked the man, pushing open the weary door and entering the Saloon. Just as Pete had said, Sunny was across the room, pool stick in her grasp as the cue ball clacked against a few other worn pool balls. Her dog, Cheyenne, was resign comfortably on a old leather chair that looked like a cat had been clawing on.
The dog perked an ear and opened an eye letting off a soft growl, Sunny hushed the animal and made another shot, looking up and smiling at Lorne. Just as he was about to speak to her, shouting came from the bar area. His brows tipped together and he took a few steps back, looking into the bar side of the Saloon. Two patrons sat in there booth, one dosing off the alcohol and the other cowering back in his seat. A woman with fiery eyes and her hands on her cocked hips was squaring off with a man in blue and black armor, white letters on the back of the armor saying NCRCF. The man was growling at the woman while he pointed a 10 mm pistol into her gut, the woman looked as though she were just receiving a weather report...stoic and calm.
"I'm being nice!" The man snapped and thrust the gun a bit harder into the woman who seemed to take no real notice. "Now you listen here, if you don't hand over Ringo...I'm gonna go and get my friends, then we'll burn this town to the ground. Got it?" The man was dark skinned sweating and gritting his teeth as if he were staring down a rattle snake. The woman scowled ever-so lightly and narrowed her gaze, as though ready to slap the man across the face.
"We'll keep that in mind, now if your not going to buy anything...Get out!" The man retreated, holstering his pistol and shoving past Lorne who fell back into the wall.
"Asshole," he murmured under his breath as the Bartender and woman who'd just starred down the pistol walked up to him. A name tag on her dirty dress was etched with the name Trudy. She crossed her arms and looked him over, judging every detail and making Lorne's skin crawl. She sighed and nodded to him, walking back behind the bar and beginning to clean it off with a rag even though it wouldn't really clean the surface. She motioned for him to take a seat at the bar, his eyes flicked to the patrons and then noticed Sunny leaning in the entrance way from where she had been playing pool. The tanned girl gave him a nod and disappeared back into the room. Still wary he sat and leaned his elbows against the bar.
"Well you've been causing quite a stir, nice to finally meet you. I'm Trudy and welcome to the Prospectors Saloon." Lorne looked around at the fractured glass mirrors behind Trudy...it wasn't the most high class bar he'd been to but it had a homey feel and he liked the place instantly.
"Thank you, names Lorne...I'm a courier." While he wanted to ask questions about the man that shot him, the argument still hung before then both. "So what was that about?" he asked pointing a finger towards the door and then relaxing again. Trudy growled and tossed the rag into a sink that looked like it hadn't been working in ages, rust stains petrifying and eroding the metal.
"Looks like our town got dragged into something that we don't want anything to do with. A week ago, this trader guy name Ringo shows up and says he was attacked. That there were bad men after him and he needed to hide. We just figured he was still in shock, so we gave him a place to lay low. We didn't expect anyone to come after him." Lorne nodded and thumbed the safety on his pistol, it seemed this peaceful little hovel was now apart of something a whole lot bigger and messier than they wanted. It seemed like he was going to have to put off his hunt for answers until this issue with Ringo and the NCRCF man was finished. Maybe the townsfolk would be more likely to help him if he settled the incident. But he knew that before the day was out, that man and his friends would return and if the town wasn't ready...It'd be a massacre.
A/N#2- Let me know what you think in the reviews...I might take peoples votes for what he should do...Help Joe Cobb and the Powder Gangers or Ringo and the People of Goodsprings, we'll see. Comments and constructive critiques are highly encouraged.
A/N#3- The next chapter will be a bit more action filled and gorey, but all this early set-up had to be said and done. Just laying the foundation for what will be an epic adventure.
