Whoots, another chapter! This one didn't go as far as I wanted it, but Sparrow is rather a stubborn girl that doesn't care what I want. I expect the next chapter will cover more ground.

Ums, I feel the need to defend her weapon of choice, the 10mm. In-game, she uses pistols: she carries a silenced 10mm, a .44 magnum, and a hunting revolver. Early in the game she used a varmint rifle, but I prefer one handed weapons. Of course, they're all fully repaired and the guns skill is almost at 100. Her SPECIAL is fairly skewed- high agility, charisma, intelligence, and perception, with low strength and endurance. I figure that skills like intelligence and agility can be learned, but unless she's lifting weights, not strength; due to this, she doesn't use larger weapons, and even an SMG is too much (so is the hunting revolver, but I think someone can handle a kick a lot more easily than controlling constant spray firing). I'll prolly put one more point into endurance, just because she's running around all over the place.

Anywho. Getting shot in the head does a number on a gal.


Another day out on the desert road, the sand-blown wind hitting her skin like a million miniscule daggers, making her even more grateful for the large sunglasses she had pilfered from a scavenger. She was on her way to New Vegas, package tucked into her pack, and was looking forward to entering the strip for the first time- especially with the payout that had been promised as a bonus for this delivery. Laughing out loud, enjoying the morning sun beating down on her head, she began a brisk jog down the road. Maybe it was the good humor she was in, or the fact that she hadn't read about any gangs in the area, or even just pure stupidity, but she didn't feel threatened when she saw a person on the top of the hill ahead of her. Instead, she waved both arms to show she was unarmed, and continued towards them. It wasn't until reached the top of the hill and saw a group of more men off to the side of the road that she began to worry. She slowed to a walk, her fingers twitching, not ready to reach for her gun quite yet.

"Hey now. I'm just a courier, not looking for any trouble," she said with a smile, laying on the charm and trying to appear friendly and open.

She wasn't the most skilled sharpshooter in the Mojave, but she wasn't bad, and her upbringing in New Reno had given her a great reaction time. Her travels with the caravan and the Express had shown her the value of being charismatic. Nonetheless, the men's faces remained hard, and she still wasn't agile enough to pull away when she realized a man had come up behind her. She was only fast enough to spin around, just in time to see a baton come down on her head.

"Mmph!"She sat up in bed, breathing hard. Looking at the window, she saw that the sky was beginning to become light, and she tried to calm her breathing. She sensed Boone was awake, and with a silent prayer that she hadn't given anything away in her sleep, she rolled out of bed, pulled on her fatigues, and went to the drawer where she kept her supplies. Pulling out a bag of coffee and grabbing a beat up tin pot, she nodded at Boone in greeting before leaving the room.

The sky was still a deep, dusky blue, but only a few stars were still visible. She padded down the stairs quietly and went to the campfire that was sitting in the middle of the yard. With some mild cursing, both towards the fire that didn't want to start and the cold air that the sun hadn't provided warmth to yet, she managed to get a small flame going. Shivering, she carried the pot over to a faucet and filled it with water. Setting it in the coals with one hand, she opened up the bag she had taken out earlier with the other. Despite herself, she smiled a little as she smelled the stale aroma of coffee grounds that wafted up, kept only barely viable by the plastic packaging they were sealed in. Waiting for the water to boil, she looked around, and waved to No-Bark as he walked into the courtyard; in turn, he looked at her suspiciously and quickly went the other way, shaking his head. She shrugged, and then lay back and gazed up the sky, watching it turn from blue to purple to pale red, becoming lighter as the sun came into view. Finally, just as the sun peeked up over the horizon, she heard the sound of water bubbling, and, unthinking, reached out to take the handle.

"Fuck!" She snatched her hand back fast enough to avoid blistering, but still had an angry red mark running down her palm. Muttering to herself, she took out a cloth and wrapped it around her hand several times before picking up the pot again. Carefully walking so as to not to spill a single drop, by the time she made it back to the room, she wasn't cursing anymore, but instead felt a deep and desperate need to pour herself a cup and nurse it over her burnt hand. She didn't see Boone when she first walked in, but heard muted sounds of splashing water from the bathroom. In a sour mood from a mix of the bad dream and burn on her hand, she didn't call out a greeting, but instead began pouring coffee into two of the chipped coffee mugs she'd found in the room. She forgot about her dreams, about the sniper, looking forward to the first sip-

"You made coffee?" Boone had come out from the bathroom and was staring at her incredulously, a scrap of cloth that he'd been using as a towel in his hands.

Oh. Shit. I didn't even ask if he wanted any. He's probably mortally offended or something now. Good going, Sparrow.

She responded with something nonchalant, taking a sip from her cup. For a moment, everything was forgotten again, as the hot, bitter liquid ran down her throat, and she smiled unconsciously. She opened her eyes to meet Boone's, and realized that he had just expressed surprise in her habit. Embarrassed, especially since she'd just been caught treating her cup like it was as precious as any drug, she snapped back at him.

"I enjoy the drink as well," the sniper replied, an eyebrow raised. Immediately, Sparrow felt her anger ebb, and she raised her cup to take another sip, only to realize it was empty. Trying to cover up her multiple embarrassments in the face of the sniper's slight smirk, she quickly stood up and started rummaging around for food. After getting apples for both of them, and stew for Boone, she plopped back down and smiled gratefully at the sniper as he poured refilled her cup with dregs from the pot. And so, relaxed and contentedly buzzed from caffeine, she began to talk about her past with a little urging from her compatriot.

It had been a while since she'd really talked to anyone about California, but as long as she kept talking, she didn't have to think about it in great detail. She found herself smiling as she spoke about the caravan, purposely not going into detail about her youth in New Reno, and becoming nostalgic for the crew at the Express HQ. She almost laughed when she recalled her optimism and pride for becoming one of the first couriers for the Mojave Express, but then quickly remembered exactly how that turned out. Abruptly ending her narrative, she stood up and stepped towards the window.

And then, after only a few months on the job, I was shot in the head. And now, even though I'm still alive, everything has changed. I was happy. HAPPY. Checkered suit ruined that.

Although the light hurt her eyes, she gazed into the ray of sun that shone through the window, swimming with dust, and clenched her fists. Although she sensed Boone was curious, she also knew he would be too polite to ask, and so she ignored his questioning glance and began to put on her armor.


A few hours later, and Sparrow was feeling much better. She always liked travelling; an odd trait for someone brought up in the city, but she equated being on the move with being free, probably why she'd taken to the caravan and courier life so well. She was walking at a fairly fast pace, and was about to suggest a jog, when Boone stopped moving. She glanced over her shoulder at him and saw him reach for his rifle.

"We've got company," he said, peering through his scope up at an underpass ahead.

Sparrow nodded, adrenaline pumping into her system. She didn't bother with a reply, but sprinted down the road, pistol ready. She heard a loud "CRACK" from behind her and saw a figure ahead go down; then she heard the screams of feral ghouls who had just scented prey. She realized she was baring her teeth, as much as a grimace as a grin, and aimed at the ghoul that was running straight at her. Her weapon's discharge was quieter but no less deadly- the ghoul went down, just as another rifle shot rang out. She imagined she felt the breeze of air displacement as the bullet sped over her shoulder and straight into the ghoul's skull. She stopped and blinked, her arms wavering slightly before she holstered her pistol and turned back to look at the sniper. He was standing up, reloading his weapon, acting as casual as any man who'd done anything but blow heads off from a goodly distance away. She jogged back to him, laughing, the adrenaline reminding her that she was alive, and she reveled in it. The adrenaline high kept her going, cocky and confident, until they reached the REPCONN test site.


She had removed her sunglasses and tucked him in her pack, and was now wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. They had just travelled through an entire factory, fighting for their lives, and now she was getting chewed out for killing ferals. She glared at the lecturer, her lips thin, and snapped.

"We were defending ourselves! They attacked us! Your little human lackey with the major case of identity crisis never once told us to NOT kill the ghouls, just to hurry up. And if you hadn't noticed, there aren't exactly maps up on the wall telling us how to navigate this place. We got here as fast as we could- soooo sorry if we took out a majority of would-be brain-eaters on the way."

She flushed as the glowing ghoul in front of her, a one Jason Bright, folded her arms and pinned her with a state.

"Ah. Sorry. What I meant to say was that we, um-"

"You meant exactly what you said, Child," the robed ghoul said sadly. "This is why we must leave this place; the stereotypes and hatred of your kind."

"… they were trying to kill us though," Sparrow mumbled, beet red. It wasn't that she hated ghouls or anything, but they were pretty creepy with their skin flaking, and ferals really were vicious…

"And so, if you can take care of our attackers in the basement, that would be of great assistance to our cause," Jason continued, unaware of Sparrow's lack of attention due to her internal argument.

Boone cleared his throat, and she startled guiltily. "Right. Basement. Got it."

They left the area the ghouls were staying in, and Sparrow winced under the glare of the human assisting them, Chris. As they went down the stairs, she heard a guttural scream and froze as a feral ghoul came running around the corner. She couldn't move, staring at the creature, wondering what kind of a person it used to be…

CRACK

The ghoul's head exploded and she jumped backwards, colliding with Boone who was beginning to put his gun away. He caught her, awkwardly, and managed to regain balance before they both landed on the floor. He held onto her arm, gingerly, until she nodded at him. Panting, she collapsed against the wall and buried her head in her arms.

She heard the sniper kneel down beside her, not saying anything, just waiting. Taking a few deep breaths, she looked up at him, tears in her eyes threatening to spill over.

"He used to be someone. She used to be someone. Maybe a mother. Or a caravaner. Or a soldier. Or-

"No." Boone's voice was quiet but authoritative, and she looked at him desperately.

"But you don't know. It was someone with a life. It could have had a life again, you heard what Jason said. It could have-"

"No," Boone interrupted again, his voice a little louder. "You need to stop this. Now."

"Why?" Sparrow stared at him, unaware she was biting her lip.

"You can't start questioning every kill. Yes, this creature was someone once. That someone it was died when it became a feral ghoul and attacked you. If a Fiend attacks you, yes, it used to be a person, but now it is just a drugged-up, killing machine. Trying to kill you."

"But… but Jason said these ghouls have a chance."

"Not a chance that you or I would understand. We have killed the majority of ghouls in this building, but they still attack us. They are not intelligent, thinking individuals. They are territorial animals without a notion of self-preservation. We kill them, or they kill us."

Throughout his short, unemotional, and very calm speech, Sparrow had been hanging on to every word. Slowly, what he said sunk in, and she nodded, seeing the sense in it.

"I… yes. You're right, of course. It's just- it's hard, y'know? They could just leave us alone, but they don't, and then we do have to kill him." Sparrow sighed deeply, and ran her hands through hair and pulled it back lightly, feeling the iron vise around her chest lessen a bit. "I never really thought of them as people before. And I don't really think they're… zombies… I met ghouls back in California. I just… they're not like ferals. I'm sorry, I don't know what I was doing. Thank you for taking the shot."

Sparrow glanced back up at the sniper, surprised when she saw him staring at her, hard.

"Boone?" She asked, her voice trailing off.

"What the fuck is that?"

"What? What are you talking about?" She stared at him, her mouth open in surprise. She jumped when he reached out and touched her face. No, she realized a second later, he was touching her forehead, pulling back her bangs… oh.

She reacted automatically, throwing herself backwards- slamming the back of her head right into the wall. Thousands of little lights flashed in front of her eyes, illuminating the blackness that overpowered her vision even though she would have sworn her eyes had been open just a second ago.

Blood. It was the first thing she thought when as regained consciousness- she could smell the sharp, irony tang of blood. Her second thought was that her head hurt a great deal. Her third thought was that her limbs weren't working because she was trying to move them but nothing was happening. And then she remembered what had happened, that she'd been hit in the head, and now she was tied up. Only that couldn't be right because it had been morning, and now it was the dead of night, stars merrily twinkling overhead-

Gasping, she lurched forward and vomited, her head hurting and a bile growing deep inside, deeper than anything her body could expel. She began shaking, waving off Boone, wanting to tell him she was fine, that she'd be fine, but unable to find the words. She heard a soft keening, and wondered where it was coming from, when a sharp slap on her face startled her. It wasn't until the third or fourth slap that she was pulled completely back to reality.

"What the fuck are you doing!" She glared up the sniper, beyond angry, her cheeks smarting.

"You were panicking."

"You slapped me!"

"You stopped panicking."

Sparrow opened her mouth to curse at him again, then closed it. Damn his cold logic, and damn him. He had a point. "Whatever. Right. Don't fucking touch me again, okay?"

Boone merely nodded at her, then handed her a bottle of water. She chugged it, not caring that it was irradiated, and threw the empty bottle when she was done. It bounced against the wall and floors, the plastic making a strange echoing sound as it rolled down the hallway.

"Come on. We've got a job to do."

Still angry to a degree she couldn't explain, she lead the way to the basement door they'd found earlier, and pushed it open, pistol ready. She was itching for a fight, but rational enough to know picking one with the sniper was a bad idea.

Who cares that he saw the scar? What's your problem? So your brains are a little fried, not like it-

"MotherfuckingOW!" she yelled as she ran full into something hard and fell backwards- and not into Boone, who should have been behind her, but smack into the cold floor. She glared back at him, about to yell at him, when she saw him pointing his gun at her.

She was about to scream at him when she heard his voice, quiet but urgent order, "stay down," and barely had time to register his words before a bullet whizzed above her head and into-

Oh. Shit.

Straight into the torso of a big blue mutant with an even bigger club, that had just appeared out of the air. A club that was, for all intent and purposes, heading straight for her head.

She rolled out of the way, feeling the floor reverberate as the rebar landed next to her. She scrambled for her gun as Boone fired another shot, this one hitting the mutant's left leg. The thing roared and raised its weapon again, still focusing on Sparrow. She managed to pull the trigger, a 10mm bullet slamming into the monster's leg, and roll away- but not before the rebar came down hard on her calf. She hissed at the pain of it and knew that her bone was crushed. She could barely move, her leg useless, and raised the pistol to aim at her attacker's head in a last ditch attempt to defend herself. She squeezed the trigger, a feeling of calm infusing her, and felt a kind of pride as the bullet imbedded itself in the mutant's eye. She watched the rebar raise, the mutant's arm tense before he brought it down on her- and then, in muted amazement, as a streak of brown and red threw itself past and over her, attacking the mutant in a blur of grey and silver. Feeling increasingly detached from the situation, she watched as Boone attacked the thing with a combat knife, vicious and unrelenting. But even with that, blood seeping from the wounds on its body, she could see it was winning. And so, with the last bit of strength she had, she raised her pistol one last time, held her breath, and fired.

Boone threw himself from the mutant as it went down, the final bullet to the brain becoming its death sentence. Sparrow dropped the gun, her fingers going numb, as she stared down at what was left of her leg- now just a mess of blood and crushed bone. She blinked at Boone as he knelt down next to her.

"Nice shot. And I told you not to go running into things headfirst."

She laughed weakly, then winced with the pain. She sighed and cursed, then muttered something.

"What's that?" Boone asked as he fished around in the pack.

"I really hate those things."

Pain and confusion pervaded her thoughts, and she barely felt the sting of the stimpack needle. She gazed up at the sniper with blurry vision and hiccupped.

"There's not even any brahmin here…"

Sighing, she closed her eyes, and didn't even notice when Boone picked her up.