Prologue: The Final Delivery

Tom

6 Years Ago,

2282 A.D, July 15th

A rush of warm air blew across eastern Freeside, passing through the valley one hot midday summer down the streets of New Vegas. An insipid heat caught within the several warm laps that crashed wastefully against the old world walls of the refurbished Mormon Fort. The compound inward; a lazy show of wounded souls and tending doctors grazing about, scampering around the tent quickly, eager to avoid the raging sun. For a while all was still, then, peeling himself off the slow noon background as a quiet man stepped into the sunlight from one of the tents within, turning as he met the doctor one last time. Nodding to the woman in doctor-whites he started to move out of the compound, removing the inward ledge as he creaked the old door open just enough for him and stepped outside. The man then stalked the road left, seeing the small crier girl as he crossed the rubble through the old bus door.

Khakis in saffron stood around the old Elvis building, catching one short glance at the old pre-war establishment he then walked onward wordless. Leaving the Wrangler, a ruined storefront and the Freeside hovels behind him to soon enough be greeted by a host of securitrons. The modified versions humming dangerously as a few turned towards him, their shoulder clasps seeming loosened, recently opened to rain hellfire, probably.

He showed them his face, a second later being permitted entry into the elusive neighborhood in the midday sun. A few lazy NCR youths eyed the quiet man who walked soberly through a carnival of drunks, stepping across the red-lined panels, parting crowds, and twisting around the unmovable ones without complaining. Tired eyes with khaki-wrapped shoulders watched him lazily walk slowly up those empty stairwells and pause before a sliding door guarded by no one. Soon the curved doors unraveled to allow passage into its dark recesses within. The Lucky 38 answering the solitary man's silent call.

The cavity here was vast, down far in the depths of old inventions and technological marvels. Here was a frenzied byproduct of a mind that had nestled away for hundreds of years, alone, in a frantic attempt to seek life and conquer. Tom stepped slowly onto the platform that housed the case, a narrow metal bridge above contraptions hissing and buzzing down below. The entire room a low hum radiating out from the device surrounding where he stood alone. The mechanism was more extensive than he had first imagined it to be, coming back here often had given him, well, perspective.

The smooth glass casing over stainless old world steel showed the fraying man, sleeping. Alive, well, breathing at least. At his leisure, lest the old man forgot.

He turned then, moving back to the terminal to begin. The console having master-level privileges allowed a direct line to the old man himself. Here where Robert House had been kept in a slumber, a reduced state, primary functions kept working while some tertiary ones had been taken away.

Tom typed the words, quickly now as his fingers had taken to memory the letterheads of the old world.

"I've made the decision; we'll do it your way. No tricks this time."

Straight and direct, let the old man know his intentions early enough, no point hiding it. In the end, he had been trapped, almost like the old man had seen through it all from the start, the thought left him troubled.

"Don't worry, the treatment is permanent. We operate quid pro quo, do we not?" the words came at an instant, Tom working it out in his head.

He folded his arms, leaning over while closing his eyes, his mind going back to the repercussions his actions would bring; the lies he would have to bargain with, the words he would have to sell, promises he would have to carry on his back, people he would have to set in place. Boston, a lifetime away, seemingly a century away from the side of the world he knew. The green-tinted letters of a newly appeared sentence lit up as another few lines soon took over the screen after the previous question had been left unanswered.

"Prudence is your most arresting sin, Tom." the line on the terminal screen read, surprising him upon finding the old man had used his name, the mechanized voice had never uttered them but reading them now, he could place the knowing swagger his voice usually had. The lines came on after, "This is the last time we will speak for a while, I feel, But I trust we will speak again. You will make sure of it."

Tom reached for the words, feeling a mouse trapped in a maze.

"I will", he wrote in, the first promise amongst many more to come, no doubt.

Then came his instructions on the screen next, peculiar as only House could make them. For a second the room was loud again, his thoughts returning to the cavernous interior he was in. As he looked about he saw something, moving beyond the terminal to find the small darkened porthole at the edge of the device, had it always been there?

The chip, all this time, he shook his head.

Composing himself, trying not to comprehend the magnitude of the events that reached far into the past as well as into the future, he reached into his pocket, kneeling as he got a better look at the round hole. It looked well lit enough in the energized glow of the fluorescent tubes, calling for the chip in its smoothly cut grooves created to entertain the enigmatic token in his possession. He had never brought on anyone down to this room, he found himself thinking out of nowhere. Not even after Yes Man had come over and taken charge, not even Veronica in her infinite pleading gestures. Perhaps, if someone would have seen him now, he could have been forced to make a better decision, for now, he seemed only caught, moving at House's instructions.

"Arcade will be fine, better you take him with you. I think he would like that, yes." the ending lines had said, "Also, let it be a demonstration of what I promise you, in the future. You will find him, rejuvenated."

More words were exchanged, dates and locations, the usual planning rituals for a business transaction done right. Tom took them all to heart, storing them deeply for he knew not when he might need these pieces of facts. As the lone man exited the deep bowels of the Lucky 38, feeling light somehow, a weight lifted off him, he stepped out into the sun and found it already down behind the Gamora in the orange afternoon.

He paused as he reached out the main strip road, in the reddish hue of the afternoon he saw scant tourists, a few soldiers most likely not sober; skulking about the casino opposite him. From up the steps, he saw Emily, walking along with a lean-looking soldier in dirty khakis wrapped all over. They walked arms entwined towards the strip within. A song came on the radio not long after, Mr. New Vegas having found a new cache thanks to a mysterious benefactor.

Marty Robbins' slow, velvet voice sang out in the afternoon glow as a cool wind brushed past his hair, drying off the sweat. He turned his head, looking below; the compass glinting in the orange sunlight, a stylized 38 engraved with shiny white pieces of ivory surrounding it. Tossing open the clasp to reveal clear glass over circular readings marked around a metallic needle spinning slowly, almost like clockwork.

Yes, a long road indeed. Tom placed the compass back in as he started walking, idly wondering if this was the beginning of something that was far from being over anytime soon.

Thank you for reading if you made it this far. Stay tuned, a meaty first episode will be coming shortly!

Any questions, comments, corrections, or criticisms are gladly appreciated!