One light to another was all that my eyes had seen. One moment I was seeing the flash from the barrel of a gun, then the next I was staring up at a ceiling fan in some unfamiliar place; a well-built house, by wasteland standards. The first thing I thought was 'why do I have such a damn headache?', and I kept that train of thought until I finally remembered. I had been shot point blank in the face, and yet here I was. Was it a dream? Is the afterlife a wasteland shack or something?

A voice took me out of my racing thoughts. "Well, look who's finally waking up?" said someone to my left. I turned my head and saw a bald man, easily in his 60's, dressed like a farmer but obviously in the medical field. Slowly I rose up to a sitting position. The doctor placed a hand on my shoulder to steady me in case I was dizzy or something; I brushed it off as my vision suddenly blurred.

"Easy there." He said. "You've been out cold for a couple of days. Guess that's not so bad considering what you went through."

The doctor pulled out a clipboard, rife with medical jargon and the like that I didn't understand. "What's your name? Can you tell me your name?"

"Frost." I replied. I always liked my name. While the rest of the names out there in the wasteland include your old pre-war names like John, Jake, Dave, and Andrew or something, mine always stood out. My parents weren't the most orthrodox people, and it showed in my name.

The doc wrote my name down, skipping over the 'last name' space. "Hm. Not what I would have picked for you, but if that's your name, that's your name. I'm Doc Mitchell, and I'm the one who stitched you up." Said the doctor, handing me a small machine. "I did the best I could with rearranging your features after getting all those bits of lead out, so let me know how I did. Alright?"

I peered into the machine, which was basically a mirror with a few indications about my personal health and features. Caucasian male, long swept-back brown hair, blue eyes, stubble in the shape of a beard on my face. Yeah, that looked about right. I hadn't remembered the last time I had looked in the mirror, but the doc did a pretty kickass job. Pre-war medical technology was probably behind the near-absence of damage from the bullet; the only thing left visible from that was a scar just parallel to my left eye. "Looks great, doc." I said, handing the machine back to Mitchell.

"Great." He said, getting up from his chair and helping me out of bed. "Now. See if you can walk to that contraption over there against the wall. See if your motor abilities are still workin'."

I did as I was told and approached the Vit-O-Matic Vigor Tester. An old machine used before the war that basically rated your physical features and your intelligence with the press of a button. "Go ahead and give it a try." said Doc Mitchell, and so I did. I pressed the button and I felt a buzz. The machine sent a pulse through me and started calculating.

Soon after, the buzz stopped and the numbers starting showing up on the results panel. 4 S, 7 P, 4 E, 6 C, 6 I, 8 A, and 5 L. Strength, perception, endurance, charisma, intelligence, agility, and luck. I was always more agile than I was strong. More of a blessing if you ask me.

"Most patients don't get out of bed after being shot and then move like they were in perfect control. You're unusual, I'll say that." Doc Mitchell mused, obviously satisfied with his handiwork. "Now come see for a bit. We'll run a few psychological tests, see if your dogs are still barking."

I wanted nothing more than to get out of the clinic and go looking for the man who shot me, but I owed it to the doc to stay and go through his tests. He saved my life after all. I followed him into the next room and had a seat on the couch as he placed a few odd pictures on a stand, pictures that looked like random ink splotches. After answering his questions and telling him what the pictures looked like, he wrote down more things on his clipboard. "You've definitely got some good reflexes; I bet you're a damn sharpshooter with a gun. Got a quick tongue too, and you seem like you know your way around fixing things. But how about you look over the results, see if they're all correct?" he asked, handing me the filled-out clipboard.

I ran over the results. It all seemed in place. I nodded and handed the board back. "Yeah, it looks fine."

Doc Mitchell smiled and stood up. "Alright then. Let's get you out of here." He said, leading me to the door of his clinic. Once there, he picked up a pack and handed it to me."Here, this is all yours. I hope you don't mind that I looked through; I wanted to see if I could find a next of kin, but I couldn't find anything."

Of course he didn't. Even if he did, it wouldn't have done any good. My family, when they were all still alive, lived down in the swamps of what used to be Louisiana. They wouldn't be known out here in Nevada.

I accepted my things and slung the pack over my back. I definitely wished now that I had packed more than a 9 millimeter pistol with me for the trip. Maybe with a bigger gun, I wouldn't have gotten caught up in this mess in the first place. Then the doc held up something I definitely didn't recognize.

"This here is a Pip-Boy." He said, fastening it on my wrist. "I lived in one of them vaults when I was a boy, and we all got one. It's like a personal computer that does all sorts of useful things. I have no need of it, but I figured you could use such a thing."

I felt the Pip-Boy tighten to perfectly fit onto my wrist as it registered itself to me. The screen said "Biometric lock engaged", which I guess meant that no one was going to be getting my Pip-Boy off anytime soon.

"Doc, this is great." I said, truly thankful. I had heard about Pip-Boys and how they were a piece of wonder technology, able to do all sorts of things to assist the wearer. This was a remarkable gift. "Thanks for patching me up.

"Ah, don't mention it." Said Doc Mitchell. "Now get on out there, alright? Go ask around town about where you need to go; maybe check with the metal robot feller who dug you up. And if you ever need patching up, you know where to find me."

The doc patted my back and smiled. I slipped on the traveling clothes I had in my pack and stepped on out of the clinic.

The sunlight hit me like a fist to the face. I immediately realized that I had forgot to put on my lucky shades, and fumbled through my pack until I finally located them and slipped them on my face. Back in Louisiana where I grew up, sunlight never really shone through. A whole bunch of fog and old trees create a canopy over the swamps that block out most of the natural sunlight. As a result, most of us have very sensitive eyes, and need sunglasses in the open sun. Now able to see, I peered around. A billboard not too far into the distance said 'welcome to Goodsprings'. So unless the townspeople had renamed the town in the 200 plus years after the bombs had dropped, then Goodsprings was where I was.

I headed down the hill from the doc's clinic and immediately saw the 'metal feller' that he was talking about; a large, bulky robot rolling around on a single wheel. It had a screen on his body that showed a cartoonish cowboy face. "Well I'll be!" said the robot in a stereotypical western voice as he wheeled over. "I knew the doc was good, but hot damn, you got better quick!"

This robot was loaded with some serious programming. It spoke just as well as a human. "Hey there." I said to it. "Are you the one who saved me from the grave?"

"You betcha, partner! Name's Victor! Securitron model 2060-B" he said, doing the best bow he could with his robotic form. "What can I do you for?"

"The man who shot me. What can you tell me about him?" I asked Victor, assuming he knew about the incident.

"Well, from where I could see when the whole deal went down, and judging by that checkered suit, it had to be Benny." Victor replied. "Benny, the leader of the Chairmen down in New Vegas. Those fellers who own the Tops Casino."

I had never been to New Vegas itself. Heard about it, but never learned much about the groups who led it, so I had never heard of the Chairmen before. "Who are these Chairmen? Why did they steal my delivery?" I asked.

"Well, the Chairmen are one of the three tribes that run New Vegas." Victor replied. "You've got the Chairmen of the Tops Casino, the Omertas of Gomorrah Casino, and the White Glove Society of the Ultra-Luxe Casino and Hotel. They're all high and mighty, but it's Mr. House that calls the shots. As for why Benny attacked you, I have no clue. But that feller has a reputation for doing his own thing. It might not be the Chairmen after your little chip. It might have just been Benny."

The Platinum Chip was important, but I had no clue why. I looked up at Victor's screen and nodded with a smile. "Thank you, Victor. You're very helpful."

"Hey now, partner. After what you've been through, you probably deserve some answers right about now. How about you head on down to the Saloon, get some info on where Benny and his boys went off to?" Victor suggested.

"I'll do that. Thanks." I replied, turning and heading to the Saloon. I nodded to the old man sitting in a rocking chair just outside of the front door and stepped in, immediately smiling as I heard the old tunes on the jukebox blaring above the sparse conversation in the saloon. An armed woman sat in a chair with a dog right next to her, obviously her pet. I was about to strike up a conversation to find out if she knew anything, when suddenly I heard yelling from the bar.

I turned and peered around the wall, seeing a man dressed up in what seemed to be a prisoner outfit with security armor on top, yelling at a woman who was likely the barkeep. "Listen here. If you don't hand over Ringo, me and my buddies are gonna come and torch this town to the ground. Got it?" he said, leaning forward as if to menace her.

"Right, got it." She said, not intimidated in the slightest. "Now if you're not going to buy anything, get out!" she said, slapping him across the face. The man reeled and looked at her angrily, as if to strike back, but turned and angrily stormed out of the bar, pushing me aside as he did so.

Dusting off where he had pushed me, I approached the bar and took a seat. "Hey there." I said, looking at the barkeep. "What was that all about?"

She turned to me, smiling as she saw who I was. Her name tag said 'Trudy'. "Ah, you're the fella that Doc Mitchell patched up, huh? Good to see you're up and walking." She said, her face immediately dropping the smile as the conversation shifted to the man that just stormed out. "That there was Joe Cobb, one of those damn Powder Gangers. They say they're after this caravaneer who owes them money, and he holed up somewhere 'round here so they'd leave him alone. We've been hiding him for days, and the Powder Gangers are getting antsy to barge in and find him."

I knew what kind of people the Powder Gangers were. A little more civilized than your common wasteland raider, but not much better morally. Assholes, filth, degenerates who prey on others who can hardly fend for themselves. There was no way I was going to leave the town to its own devices against them. "Where's Ringo? I want to help."

"Look, I'm not going to tell just any stranger where-"

"I want to help all of you. I don't want the town to get torched."

Trudy sighed. "He's in the old gas station. Check there."

"Thank you, Trudy." I replied as I stood up. I could answers about Benny later. What was important was getting Goodsprings out of this mess. I left the bar and headed to the gas station, which was right next to the clinic.

Immediately after opening the door I was greeted with a gun in my face. "Who the hell are you and what do you want?" said the man holding the gun, who could only be Ringo.

"Put the gun down. I'm not here to hurt you." I said, crossing my arms.

Ringo lowered his pistol slowly. "Sorry about that. I can never be too careful with those Powder Gangers out to get me."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Ringo." I said. "They're going to be attacking the town soon. As the one they're after, I think you need to be out there, helping the fight."

"So they really are heading after me, huh? And here I figured that they'd be too scared to show their faces. Alright, I'll help. But we're going to need more people. Between you and me, we won't do much good." Ringo said, leaning against an old shelf.

"What do you suggest we do, then?" I asked.

"Talk to people in town. Sunny Smiles might help us. She's usually in the saloon with her dog. Trudy, the barkeep, might be of some help. She has a lot of pull with the people in the town, and she might be able to strike up a small militia. Then there's Easy Pete the prospector, who has a stock of dynamite we could use. Doc Mitchell has medical supplies, and Chet at the general store might have some armor for us to use. Talk to all of them and we'll see how well we can last."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll be back." I responded, waving and heading out.

I spent the rest of the afternoon chatting and talking with people to recruit our little militia. Sunny Smiles immediately agreed for the same reasons I did, and Trudy was able to talk a few of the townspeople into taking up arms. Easy Pete (the man in the rocking chair that I had met earlier) didn't give up his dynamite; perhaps if I had known a little more about explosives he would have; but he did agree to help us in the firefight. Doc Mitchell pledged his medical supplies despite being angry about people never ceasing to leave each other alone, and I was able to talk Chet into handing over his shipment of leather armor. In the end, four townspeople agreed to fight alongside me and Ringo; Sunny Smiles, Trudy, Easy Pete, and Chet.

I strapped on my leather armor as the sun was going down, inspecting the new Cowboy Repeater that I had got at the store with my last few caps. It was a decent gun, more than enough to handle the creatures out in the wastes, and it would do against a few raiders.

I heard a loud knock; I called for whoever it was to come in, and Sunny came in. "Time to look alive! The Powder Gangers are here. Everyone's stationed at the saloon."

"Got it." I said, rising from my seat and readying my gun. "Let's go." I said, letting her lead out of the little shack that I had set up in.

I could see the blue prisoner jackets in the distance; at least 8 or 9 men; as I ran to cover, right next to Easy Pete and Ringo as Sunny joined Trudy and Doc Mitchell behind some barrels on the saloon patio. As soon as the Powder Gangers were close enough, we began firing. The Gangers made their way to their own cover, and soon a full-blown firefight erupted in the middle of the town.

Leaning over cover, I fired at a single man leaning out of cover, catching him in between the eyes. He fell to the ground, dropping a small red object; a stick of dynamite. Easy Pete must have seen it too, because as soon as I caught eye of it, he yelled out "They've got dynamite!" as a warning to the rest of us.

I returned to cover as a bullet whizzed over me. Soon after, a loud bang shattered a few windows in one of the houses; they had started throwing their dynamite. By now I was sure that Easy Pete was regretting that we didn't take his dynamite out of wherever it was buried.

Chet fired his Magnum Revolver, catching one of the Powder Gangers fatally in the chest. Thankfully, only their leader; Joe Cobb, the man who was arguing with Trudy; was armored, while our entire militia had at least some sort of leather armor as protection. Doc Mitchell shot the arm of another convict, stopping his advance long enough for Sunny and Trudy to finish him off.

By now, our militia's morale was sky high. We were beating the Powder Gangers and we knew it; our numbers were pretty much even by now. Easy Pete shouted a "Woo!" as he leaned over cover to shoot another; instead a spurt of blood shot out of his forehead and he fell to the ground, killed instantly by Joe Cobb's bullet.

"SHIT!" Ringo shouted as he took Easy Pete's gun; he wouldn't need it anymore, after all. We all got the feeling of victory out of our heads as we saw Easy Pete fall, as if it was a reminder that we hadn't won yet. I looked back up for a second and saw that Joe Cobb was no longer in sight; he must've taken cover. I quickly rolled out from behind the crates we were hiding behind and dashed for cover behind an old house, barely missing the bullets whizzing past me. I pressed my back against the wall and reloaded my gun.

Suddenly, Joe Cobb emerged from around the corner of the house, drawing a combat knife and lunging at me. I caught his arm and fell to the ground, taking him with me. I pushed against his arm, trying to keep the knife away from my neck, but it was a losing battle; he stronger than I was, even if by only a bit.

A shot rang out and Cobb dropped the knife; Doc Mitchell had shot him in the arm, seeing my predicament. Seizing the opportunity, I grabbed the knife and plunged it into his neck, pulling it out as his life bled away. Pushing Cobb's corpse off and pocketing the knife, I returned to the fight.

The convicts were unloading all of the dynamite. Easy Pete's house crumbled in the face of several badly thrown sticks, sending rubble all over the place; Trudy narrowly avoided a large piece of concrete. The time for firing was now, lest the entire town be reduced to rubble.

I leaned out of cover again and unloaded an entire clip on one of the convicts, sending his corpse to the ground and making one of his allies lose hope and run; after two shots to the leg and chest from Sunny, his running was ceased.

Another spray of blood from our side, this time not fatal; Ringo had been shot in the shoulder, dropping his gun. Trudy beckoned that he get under cover to gather himself as the rest of us continued the firing; the last two Powder Gangers were finally taken care of, leaving the town quiet.

After the Powder Ganger corpses were cleaned up and looted of anything useful to the town, a short service was held for Easy Pete in the graveyard, where he was buried in a grave right next to where I had been buried. An engraved metal headstone was placed with his name on it, and he was buried with his old pickaxe, the object he could never be separated from.

I walked back to the saloon a hero, people congratulating me on saving the town and taking down Cobb. The Powder Gangers wouldn't be coming back; the group that attacked was a small splinter group that was relatively far from their base at an old correctional facility. People bought me drinks, food, and my first day after waking up in the clinic was shaping up to be quite nice. I knew I wouldn't be able to stay long, though, for catching up to Benny was my main goal. After talking to Ringo, he thanked me for saving his life, and directed me to the Crimson Caravan service should I ever be short on work. Trudy also rewarded me with information; Benny and his men had gone off in the direction of Primm to the south, and intended to loop around to the east and then go north to New Vegas. The direct north passage to new Vegas, a few miles directly north of Goodsprings, had been completely infested by Deathclaws, and I wasn't about to go get torn to shreds by those demons just to beat Benny to Vegas.

My next stop was the town of Primm, which meant going south into Powder Ganger territory, where I would find more convicts to shoot and more dynamite to dodge. The sad thing is, that was the easy part about the road to New Vegas.