Charlie was sitting just outside of Freeside, nervously picking the petals off of a broc flower and trying to work up her gumption to go into the place. She could see the Kings gang members, milling around the outside of the gate. The sun beat down on the asphalt, making her sweat just a little too much.

Boone coughed, kicking up dust as he turned to face her. She knew he was watching her again. Why he hadn't turned her over the NCR at Nelson―given her up to the soldiers, after she told him she was a criminal―she didn't know. It probably wouldn't make her feel better to know, and she couldn't bring herself to drag the subject into the light, but something didn't sit right with her about it.

If he was waiting for her to acknowledge that she couldn't―that she'd forgotten what happened after she'd told him about the NCRCF breakout―well, she didn't know if she could do that, either.

She shuddered to herself again. The metal armor she was wearing was hot as hell, catching the bright rays of the midday sun and burning her fingers when she touched it, but she was cold inside. She'd told Boone the truth. That was important. And he'd... not gone away, but stayed on, and she hadn't a clue as to why.

Supposed beggars oughtn't be choosers. Maybe after she'd blanked out... she'd told Boone something to help him understand? Maybe.

Whatever it was, he wasn't talking and she wasn't asking. Charlie dropped the flower to the ground, stood up slowly, and breathed out.

"I guess we should go in there," she said, dully. One step closer to finishing her delivery―one step closer to remembering who she was. That thought was frightening on its own, but she was so tired of being scared...

Boone turned himself back to the gate and cleared his throat. "What's the plan," he asked, tonelessly.

"Um..." She tried not to be nervous, the dread lying in the bottom of her stomach like a brick. Her legs wouldn't move, even though she was willing them to walk. "I was supposed to deliver to someone in North Vegas," she said, slowly. "But that's not an option, anymore."

Boone nodded, watching her carefully. He'd been doing a lot of that, too, and she wasn't sure what to make of it. His eyes cut into her like a knife.

"I guess all I can do is get onto the Strip and see what happens," she said, sorely. "The man who shot me... he's supposed to be here."

"How'd you know he was from Vegas, anyway," Boone asked, quietly.

She didn't remember telling Boone that the checker-suited man was from Vegas. Had she? It was all very confusing to her. But... now that she really thought about it, that flashy suit and the gold gun, the way he'd talked... he had to be from the Strip. There weren't that many showy people in the Mojave―and it got you killed a lot faster if you were highly visible―

"Someone in Goodsprings told me," she said. Chet had, but she'd buried it under his attitude and the excitement of dealing with the Powder Gangers and her own memories. Said the guy was a Vegas-type, a city boy, flashy with his pretty golden gun.

Charlie knew she'd been up on the Strip at one point. She remembered the lights, the action, that fountain outside of the Ultra-Luxe. Maybe she only remembered because she'd lived in Vault 21... or maybe she'd been back in the five years Doc Mitchell said she was missing from Goodsprings―

Her chest wrenched again. That hurt was never going away. She and Boone had the pain in common, at least. Maybe that was why he stayed on; maybe she'd told him about her mom―

She let out the breath she'd been holding and tried to focus. Didn't need to go off into memories, had to deal with... this. Like Jason Bright said, business first.

"Huh," Boone said. "Wonder what he wanted to kill you for, then."

"He stole the package I was delivering," she answered. "I don't know why. Talked about a game being rigged."

Boone shot her a critical glance. "Sounds like Vegas," he said, shaking his head.

"I thought so, too," she said, sighing. "No clue as to why it's so important."

She listened to the low hum of Vegas for a moment longer, trying to imagine what could be so important about a platinum chip that it required her to die. Damn wasteland, she thought. Could've been anything, really. Maybe the guy didn't like the way she wore her hat, or something.

Or maybe it was something really stupid, like money. Money got her into too much trouble, anymore. Once she was done with this...

God, she was tired. She just wanted to go home.

"Okay," she said, trying to gather her wits about her. "Let's go... let's get in there."

Just wanted to go back to Goodsprings and try to make things better.

They walked through Freeside, neither one saying a word. The bright lights, the ramshackle gate, everything, she remembered it pretty clearly compared to other memories.

She had been back to Vegas. Because of the courier job. That made her breathe out in relief, thinking about it. Nothing in Vegas had ties for her anymore, only the job that she'd taken on. She would have come here if the suit hadn't shot her, to make her delivery.

She wondered what Boone made of the whole business. Was tempted to ask, but he wasn't from the city. Not that she could tell. Maybe he wasn't even from the Mojave, maybe he'd settled down like Manny said after coming to the desert with the army.

He still intimidated the hell out of her. But... he wasn't as angry as he had been. Almost acted like he felt sorry for her, now. She wasn't sure if that was better or worse.

Didn't really want him feeling sorry for her. She had it bad enough without some pity being laid on top of everything else.

Keep climbing, Charlie―

Freeside hadn't changed. She remembered the Mormon Fort―made a mental note to come back through. The Followers, from what she now reliably remembered, helped a wide variety of people. Might be able to figure out what was going on in her head.

Kept her feet moving toward the Strip, kept her eyes forward. Watched the shifty thugs that hid in the dark corners near the Wrangler, gave them her best angry look when they dared to step a foot into the light.

No one was messing with her, today. Today she was determined to do better.

"Do you have caps," Boone was asking, as they approached the Strip gate.

Charlie slowed to a stop, looking back at him. She'd forgotten about that; the credit check required to get onto the Strip. But―

"I have a passport," she said, more confidently than she felt. It had been a part of the agreement with House, when he filled in the Vault. A long disused memory stirred and reminded her that all residents of Vault 21 had been issued passports, to allow them back onto the Strip. Because of... Sarah, Charlie remembered the blonde woman and her cheerful nature.

Hadn't been very familiar with the woman, or with her brother. But Charlie remembered Sarah's happy attitude and how she'd always made friendly jabs at... at her dad. Yeah, she remembered. To have that concrete thought in her mind wasn't as comforting as she'd hoped it would be, but at least it answered one question.

Charlie remembered the Vault. Knew she was Doc Mitchell's daughter, now. There was no other option.

She pushed the thoughts from her mind. "It's okay," she told herself. Almost there. After this, there would be time to think about all the other things, and sort out what needed done. Like Jason Bright had said, she would get herself back once she had the time to sit down and think.

Boone didn't say a word. Charlie started walking again. Marched herself up to the gate and moved right through it after presenting her passport to the Securitrons. Keep climbing, she thought.

Just keep climbing.

Once on the other side, the memories flooded through. Her knees went weak for a brief moment as she stared up at the lights flashing in front of her.

Still... couldn't put all of it, together. But she was definitely Charlotte Mitchell. And she had such a high price to pay for her sins, that ladder felt like it stretched all the way to Jason Bright's Great Beyond.

The shuffling of feet around her jostled her, away from the memories of running about the Vault corridors and back into the shock of the wide open world. That first step out of the Vault and onto the Strip, the first step out of Freeside and their feet on the road toward what was promised―California―where life would be different, where they could live without anyone stealing their home from them, again―

Charlie took a deep breath, and gagged. Forgot the smell of the place. The stink of the neon lights that burned so brightly in the wastes, the stale smell of booze and people that milled around. The fire that burned day and night at the Gomorrah, the wafting stench of cooking meat from the Ultra-Luxe, the occasional hint of the dry earth blowing in from the desert.

City life smelled so different from the empty smells of the wastes. Even the Vault smelled different than the Strip. It was jarring, what the smell alone brought to her mind.

She grabbed her rifle strap as if she was going to fall off the face of the earth and stared about her for a long time, trying to will herself to move. For a moment she was the only person in the world, everything that moved around her taking on a blur, her feet barely connected to the cracked concrete under them.

Then the sound of a mechanized wheel caught her attention and she found herself staring down a Securitron with a cowboy face, blinking in surprise as it started talking to her.

"Howdy, pardner! Didn't think you were gonna make it!"

Charlie nodded to Victor. She knew him. He'd helped her, before. Owed him her life, for digging her out of that grave in Goodsprings. He'd been puttering around that place for a while, from what she'd been told.

Why he was on the Strip... she couldn't begin to guess. Felt too tired to think about why. "Hey," she said, weakly. "What's up, Victor?"

Victor's face flickered for a scant moment, then he launched into a speech about something she could barely pay attention to. Something about the Lucky 38―about her job, the delivery, about―

Mr. House.

Charlie's mind sharpened like a knife across a whetstone. She focused herself onto Victor. He was inviting her to speak with House. No one had spoken with House―inside of his own casino―ever. Not even when Sarah won the right to turn the Vault into a hotel. Everything had been done through his robots―

And she was being asked to meet him in person? Because of her delivery―the chip. What―?

Charlie's eyes went wide. Her delivery was to House, the proprietor of the Strip? And it was just dumb luck that she was from Vault 21? She couldn't believe that. It felt―it felt too contrived.

The Strip was where she was born, where she'd come from. She might have been a small player in the scheme of things, and spent her formative years out in the wastes―working as a courier, even―but she remembered how people were, on the Strip.

Everyone out to get something for themselves, manipulating and thieving. No one in Vegas looked out for each other unless they belonged to one of the Families. Even the people in the Vault hadn't really stuck with each other after it was filled in, preferring to go their own ways and get away from the place.

If House wanted to speak to her―on a personal level, even―

Something big was going on. Something she didn't know if she was confident enough to be a part of.

But if memory about past events served correct, she really didn't have a choice.

Charlie sighed, painfully, and told Victor she was on her way.