Hah, forgot to put in my author's note. xD I'm starting to delve into Minerva's history a bit more - I've plotted it all out, but I'm only going to reveal it in segments. There's a lot to go through. Thanks for all the story alerts and stuff. Reviews brighten my day. And I agree with Shadow-Ocelot... Bethesda really needs to make a Fallout: Florida. Can you imagined an irradiated Everglades? Makes me wanna jizz and shit myself at the same time. _; PS. Sorry in advance for any typos. I think I need one of those beta people. I can never seem to catch my own mistakes. Anyway, on with the show!

Rather than sit and have drinks with the people of Primm, listening to Deputy Beagle rattle on about how he'd escaped from the Powder Ganger's perilous clutch (with "minimal aid" - Minerva rolled her eyes at the thought), she returned to the Bison Hotel - it was a hotel after all, so why not take advantage of its services? Exhaustion had finally settled over her, and it was the most she could do to drag herself back inside, loot the dead, and head up the stairs for some much-needed shut-eye. Running on pure adrenaline and anger for more than ten hours was taking its toll. Add recent head trauma to the equation, and, well... falling down and passing out seemed like a close possibility at this point.

To her chagrin, convicts were hiding inside the second floor of the hotel - though they didn't attack right away (probably heard the ruckus earlier) she drew her pistols out, two revolvers she'd found, and took care of the remaining criminals. Powder Ganger... what kinda dumbass name was that anyway? Minerva kicked the fallen corpse by her feet and wiped beads of sweat off her brow. She would have preferred not to sleep in a slaughterhouse, but beggars couldn't be choosers. She'd slept in the near vicinity of worse things.

Minerva set her stuff down in one of the rooms that wasn't cluttered with debris and rubble and began to explore the rest of the building, gathering ammo and useful items she found. She felt particularly pensive now that she had time for relaxing, and unsurprisingly, her thoughts strayed to what Beagle told her.

Through Nipton to Novac.

She entertained the idea of cutting across Primm pass and heading them off, but decided against it. Minerva was no stranger to the Mojave terrain, but even she would have trouble managing such a feat under conditions like these. Sure, she could handle a firefight and come out relatively unscathed, but the dangers of the wasteland weren't limited to gun-wielding lunatics. Radscorpions, Deathclaws, Cazadors - god, she hated Cazadors - all posed serious threats. She wasn't fully prepared for that right now.

Stripping down to her underwear, Minerva rummaged through a dusty wardrobe in the room she'd holed up in, producing a grunt outfit similar to the clothing she'd worn before... before. Minerva closed her eyes tightly, jaw clenched as she tried in vain to shut out her thoughts, but the ship had sailed - once again, the three faces of her murderers stared at her, seared into her eyelids. She flirted with death constantly - never made it to the grave, though. There was always a time for firsts, Minerva supposed, but in her case, that first should have been a last. It... it scared her. Minerva hadn't felt that scared in a while.

She cast her inky brown gaze towards the crumpled vault suit she left in the corner of the room, pain flashing across her features.

Orlando, Florida circa 2248

"Minnie, hand me some of that scrap metal and my wrench. This heap of junk's giving me more trouble than it's worth."

That heap of junk was Vault 64's water purifier, but Minerva knew her daddy would fix it. He fixed everything in the vault, and she helped him. Sometimes she just handed him tools, but lately he'd started teaching her how things worked - and how to repair them when they stopped working. She was ten years old now, old enough to pull her weight around the vault. At least, that's what the Overseer said. She didn't like him so much, and neither did her daddy (or her mama, for that matter) but he took care of everybody, and he trusted her daddy to help him take care of everybody, too.

"What's wrong with it?" The precocious child leaned forward, wide almost-black eyes peering over at her grease-streaked father, calculating the situation. He sounded pretty frustrated and not as lighthearted as he usually was when he tackled these jobs. Allen McAdams sighed, running a large hand through his damp blonde hair and crawled out from beneath the filter with an expression of defeat.

"I can't fix it this time. I'm going to have to leave the vault to find the parts I need, Minnie Mouse. Go find your mother for me - I gotta talk to Paul." He stood up, ruffled his lanky daughter's hair affectionately and headed for the Overseer's office. Unsure what to think about this piece of information, Minerva watched him leave and skulked towards the school room, where her mother taught and entertained the vault's children. Maria McAdams was a beautiful woman of Cuban descent, with strong bone structure, dark hair and dark, almond-shaped eyes that her daughter had inherited. Though Minerva was decidedly whiter in complexion - pale as a ghost, really - their relationship was clear. Minerva loved the stories and songs her mother knew, especially when listening along with the other children. She was always proud to point out that her mama could make that music on her guitar, not anybody else's.

Minerva poked her head inside the classroom and saw her mother sitting at the desk, studying papers. She approached her and relayed the news - Maria's face fell and she knocked her seat back, standing up quickly.

"I've got to talk to him."

Seemed like that was all grown-ups did... talk to each other. She wished they'd talk to her for once.

A week later, her father left the vault, promising he'd be back for her 11th birthday in a month - he just had to buy a very important part for the purifier so they could generate clean water again. She stood at the vault's enormous steel entrance, hugging her mother's legs and watching her father disappear through the tunnel, turning to wave at her right before the thick, circular door groaned shut. She never saw him again.

Minerva busied herself with the tedious task of freshening up - the point was moot, really, since she'd only get filthy again tomorrow, but it felt nice to splash the lukewarm water over her skin. Soon all the layers of grime were washed off and the cracked mirror reflected a woman who, as hardened and weathered as she was, glowed with youth and energy. A solid afternoon's sleep (she'd gone to bed closer to three in the morning, though it didn't matter since she preferred to travel at night anyway) definitely treated her well. Her eyes were bloodshot, too large for her face, and the pink scar that cut into her right eyebrow sure wasn't pretty - but she still saw her mother. The image haunted her, twisted her gut into knots and constricted her throat, so she looked away and swallowed thickly. She didn't want to think about...

With a grunt, the courier pushed away from the faucet and stalked into the adjacent bedroom, robotically getting dressed in fatigues and wrapping a scarf around her head, which was covered in a dusting of mocha hair that continued to grow like a weed. Settling a pair of amber-tinted sunglasses over the bridge of her nose, Minerva double-checked her pack and set out to bid Nash farewell and start for Nipton.

She noticed at the entrance of his store that - and this amused her more than it should have - a young man's decaying body was sprawled like a sack of rotten meat by the building's window. Not exactly the most stylish welcome rug she'd seen, but upon further inspection (curiosity killed the cat, but she'd only used up a few of her lives so far) she identified the corpse as Daniel Wyatt. A courier. One from the six-part delivery that'd gotten her shot in the head. She clenched her fist around the Mojave Express paper she'd dug out of his pants, wondering what could possibly be so damn deadly about the North Strip packages. Wyatt's delivery was an equally strange item, which sped up the gears turning in her brain. This stunk of conspiracy... or laughably awful coincidence.

Minerva entered, spoke with Johnson and had another lovely dinner of radscorpion casserole and Sasparilla. During their conversation, which mainly centered around what the fuck Primm would do with a deadbeat deputy moping around and no real sheriff, she inquired about the metal pile taking up space on the counter.

"Oh, that's EDE, an eyebot. Can't figure out how to fix it - you're welcome to try. If you do, you can keep her."

Intrigued, Minerva gave the robot a thorough inspection. She could fix it, but there were wires that needed to be replaced - wires that, when she asked, made Nash tilt his head to the side in utter confusion. The courier chuckled and shouldered her sack, thanking him and his wife for the food.

"If I run into the parts EDE needs to work smoothly again, I'll come back and take another look. Good luck with finding a new sheriff - if you get desperate, try reprogramming that security bot. Here's a universal code that might help." She wrote down a series of numbers and protocol commands on a notepad he handed to her. "The night's young. I've got business to take care of."

And so the courier departed for Nipton.