Alright, here's some clarification before we get into the meat of things: I do not own, nor did I create The New Vegas Bounties Mod series, nor did I create any of the affiliated mods in the SomeGuy series. What you'll be reading, should you proceed, is my crude novelization/textualization done to make the the first of the mods (NVB1) fit in line with another story I am writing. If you're aware of my other story, Dust in the Wind, and do not like it, consider this your warning to stop reading now. This story is itself already finished, and will be uploaded either weekly or fully depending on the result of the poll currently posted on my account. If you have not played the NVB mods, or the SomeGuy series in general, I encourage you to do so, as they are high quality, well worth the time, and this story will spoil the events of the first mod's story. You have been warned.
To SomeGuy2000: I apologize in advance for butchering your work.
Fallout is owned by Bethesda game studios and (formerly) Interplay.
And, as always:
**Special thanks to Mecharic for Beta-ing**
After taking a day off to rest and eat some surprisingly tasty stew, Cass and me went looking for work. I'd elected to take some time off from helping the NCR in favor of finding more, shall we call it, gainful employment. There were probably other places I could've checked, there was trouble no matter where I looked. But I'd been given a pretty good tip for work courtesy of Dhatri. He hadn't given me a whole lot of information regarding it, save for where they were located. Considering the related work had been for bounty hunting though, something told me I'd probably get what I needed to know once we started.
The coordinates Dhatri gave lead back towards the Sunset Drive-in. An old outdoor movie theater from before the world caught fire, just a short ways south of Goodsprings. What I was looking for wasn't the drive-in though, it was a small shack that'd been erected on the hill overlooking the theater proper. They were standard fare around the Mojave. Rusted metal siding and girders bolted together in slap-dash enough fashion they could crop up anywhere, but done well enough not to fall inward. Most of the time anyway. Out front of the shack, bolted next to the door, was a sign.
'Randall and Associates LLC.'
"Guess this is the place." I said
"Surprised there's actually an office." Cass said, walking the hill beside me "Most of the time these guys go solo. At least, back west they do."
"You meet many of 'em?"
Cass shrugged. "A few occasionally, while walking the caravan routes. Most of them were either assholes or full of themselves. Met a few good ones though."
"By the measure of the work, I'd assume they'd all have to be good."
"Hmph, probably, some of them were just more… fulfilling, I suppose."
I looked to Cass, giving her a look, partially obscured by my motorcycle helmet. She gave me a coy one right back, paired nicely with a wink.
I rolled my eyes and shrugged. "Shall we?"
She motioned, and we walked the remaining distance to the shack.
I opened the door to the shack with a creak, afternoon sun slipping past me to the rest of the room. Most of these shacks tended to be single room buildings, due to the constraints of their construction. This one was no exception to that. However, it felt much more lively than most of its counterparts. Off to one side of the room sat a table, topped by a coffee maker, some scavenged tableware, and a few odds and ends of food. Beside it was an old cork board, with a worn-out and smudged wanted poster tacked to it, and further down from that was a wall safe. Which was a bit curious, seeing as the walls weren't particularly thick. Across from them, on the opposite side of the room, were a pair of old-world posters and a shelf. One of the posters being an old sunset sarsaparilla one, saying you could 'Build Mass with Sass!'. Appropriately, it failed to mention said mass would be fat tissue and diabetes. The other was for an old singer, Dean Domino, that I'd seen hanging around here and there elsewhere.
Straight ahead of me though, were items of more important note. A locker in one corner of the room, a set of filing cabinets in the other, and between them a large desk with a painting hung behind it. The painting depicted a scene of two angels, armed with torches and swords, pursuing a man. A second limp man lying near to him, deathly pale in contrast to the painting's warmer tones. A murder perhaps? Either way, it didn't matter beyond the fact that the painting existed. Considering the local scarcity of oil paints and canvas since, y'know, the world's kind of burnt out. It was honestly more of a surprise than anything.
As for the aforementioned desk, it had the usual accoutrement. Lamp, typewriter, fan, a bottle or two of whisky, and a 9mm in close reach of the typewriter. Standard office equipment.
Behind the desk, typing away at the typewriter, was a man. I couldn't get much of a read on him. His face was largely obscured by a pair of motorcycle goggles and a dark bandana, like the kind I used to wear before finding my motorcycle helmet. The top of his head was covered by a dark cowboy hat, similar to the ones I'd seen some rangers wearing. The rest of him was covered in a brown leather overcoat with the sleeves rolled up. He looked up from the typewriter for a moment, then motioned us in with a wave. Cass and me approached him, and I let her take a seat in the chair set in front of the desk.
"I take it you two are here on business?" The man asked, his voice smooth, if a bit tinny.
"What gave it away?" I asked "The armor, guns, or our general lack of personal hygiene?"
That got a small chuckle from the man. "Well then, welcome to Randall and Associates. The name's Steven Randall, Owner and Operator. If the joke's an indicator, I'd suppose you're both looking to make some caps?"
"Assuming you got some spots to fill?"
"Hell yea I do." Steve said, setting aside whatever he'd been doing with the typewriter "If you're ready, we can do the interview now."
"Really, that quick?"
"Mm, only got one question for you really: Are you willing to kill people for money?"
I looked at Steve for a moment, confused. I gave Cass a look, and if I didn't know her, I'd have said the idea didn't seem to bug her. Though I could see some level of apprehension in her eyes.
"… You sure we're bounty hunting and not just assassinating people?" I ask, turning back to Steve.
"If you can't, then we've got no further business to discuss." Steve said "Job's simple: somebody puts out a bounty, either the NCR or a private party, and we hunt them. If you ain't got the stomach for it, then we're done."
"I never said I've got a problem with it-" I said "… ok, maybe some small ones-"
"Then friend, do yourself a favor and walk out." Steve said, turning back to his typewriter "I don't have time to debate moral bullshit. I've got work piling up, and need another contractor. Either you're willing to work, or you're not. I'd rather not have to deal with the paper work just so you can go and get yourself shot in the head because you hesitated."
I shook my head at the irony of that statement. "Look, Steve, I'm just trying to make sure I'm understanding you correctly. You're saying I've got to go out and kill people because someone paid me to do it. I'll be up front with you; I've done it before-"
"Then what's the hold up?"
"- The holdup is I knew they were bad people, that they had it coming. I don't have a problem taking out a couple of scumbags if it means a few more people are safe for it."
Steve stopped typing at the typewriter and looked back to me, apparently, I'd re-caught his attention. I leaned a little closer in. "I caught wind of this place because of it, and have no qualms about continuing that kind of work. But before I go off acting like a triggerman, I've got to ask: Who are we hunting, and can you ensure I'm not just going to be somebody's killer for hire?"
A stretch of silence passed. Steve seemed to be studying me, just like I was now studying him in turn. If things didn't pan out in the next few seconds, it'd be no skin off my nose. I've got no problem hunting criminals and monsters. But if this was just going to turn into something where I was being asked to kill people for the allure of caps, it wasn't going to be pretty.
"… I've had a bunch of prospectives come through here." Steve said at last "A lot of them don't ask questions. They come in, take jobs, and ride out on the wind. You though? You're the first to actually stop and ask if I, and by extension my business, are on the up and up. Questioning both my integrity and pride, at the risk of actually getting the job."
"Is that going to be a problem?" I asked, keeping a cool, even tone.
"Hmph, not at all." Steve said, sounding amused "Aside from the shot at my pride and integrity, I find it a welcome change. I think the two of us could be friends if you live long enough."
"Funny." I said, mirthless.
Steve stopped talking for a moment, and seemed to think. "… More often than not, when jobs come down the line, it's because the people with price on their head have done something to earn it. You'll learn that."
"Fair enough. But jumping straight to killing someone for stealing a box of sugarbombs doesn't sit right with me."
"Ha!" Steve laughed "You think I get that kinda work? No, all the bounties I chase are high risk targets. People too dangerous to take a chance on. I'll admit that the NCR, and most bounty commissioners, do offer an opportunity to take a bounty in alive. But I've got it as a business policy that you don't. If you work a job or two, you'll understand why."
"What if I find one that I can?"
"Then I still suggest you follow company policy." Steve said, jerking a thumb to the painting "But, hey, the day that happens is the day somebody puts a knife in Cain back there."
"If it happens, I'll take my chances." I said, trying to sound friendly "Only person risking their neck at that point would be me."
"Don't count me out." Cass said "I'd still like to live long enough to get paid."
"Well, if that's all, I'mma ask again-" Steve said "Are you willing to kill people for money?"
I still didn't like the wording of the question. But by this point, Steve seemed at little more on the level to me. Maybe that would change given time, but hey, if it did, nothing was stopping me from burning this place to the ground.
"… I suppose I am." I said.
"Good to hear." Steve said, sounding relieved "Trust me, you'll see that with most of these jobs, people are safer with them dead anyway."
"I guess we'll see." I shrugged "So, what's the pay?"
"Well, like I said, most of the bounties are for high risk individuals. Dangerous folks. However, the pay is also scaled accordingly. The more danger, the bigger the payout. Plus, the more dangerous jobs you do, the higher the number of well-paying ones I can let you take. Not to mention they're all cash."
"Hm, sounds a bit too good to be true." I said half-joking "Where's the bad news?"
"Well, the downside is you're taking out high class targets, whose high-class friends may want to take a shot you in revenge in turn."
'Ah, there it is.'
"Are you still up for it, knowing that?" Steve asked.
"Psh, like that's gonna stop me, I'm always pissing in someone else's pot anyway."
"Heh, well alright then, we'll get to the legalese in a bit. Before we do, let me formally welcome you… well shit, I reckon I didn't ask for you or your lady friend's name, did I?"
"No, no you didn't." I answered, placating "You can call me Courier Six."
"Rose o' Sharon Cassidy" Cass said.
"Pleasure to meet the both of you." Steve reached under his desk, and retrieved a set of clothes. He held them out to me. "Normally I'd offer you both a uniform, but I'm a bit short on them at the moment, so you'll have to make due. Most bounty hunters eventually use their own outfits anyway."
I held up a portion of the outfit and got a better look at it. Overall, it was near identical to the one Steve was wearing. Considering he'd called it a uniform, I guess it made sense. Looking at it though, the over-coat was longer than I'd first though, reaching down to just above my knee caps.
"Duster's standard bounty hunter clothing." Steve said without prompting "Sturdy, keeps the dirt off you, and has deep pockets for extra ammo. The NCR's veteran rangers wear them, so they should be good enough for you."
"Seems fair, thanks."
He gave me a nod. "Go get changed into that, and I'll get everything squared away in the meanwhile."
