"Where the hell am I…"

He groaned painfully as he eyes slowly opened and stared up at the ceiling, the bright light shining down on him causing him to painfully squint, presumably having not seen light in so long. He was confused and extremely fatigued. Where was he? He tried recalling what led to him being here but nothing came to mind right away. After a minute of an atrocious headache and his eyes readjusting, he heard the voice of an older man.

"You're awake…how about that." He slowly sat up, mumbling in pain as he did. When he sat up fully, his head spun and vision blurred a bit. The elderly man placed a hand on his shoulder to help steady him.

"Woah! Easy there! You've been out cold a couple days now. Just relax a second and catch ya' bearings. Let's see what the damage is…" His voice trailed off as he grabbed the medical clipboard of the small metal stand to his left. His eyes darted up and down the front piece of paper on the clipboard before flipping it up, shaking his head with a quiet sigh. While the elderly man did this, the man sitting up stared down at himself.

He was almost naked, only being covered by a pair of compression shorts while he was shirtless and nothing covering his feet or any other part of his body. He noticed there were no other new scars or surgical markings of any kind on his body. He thought it was peculiar and made him wonder how he ended up in what looks to be some sort of infirmary. His head continued to throb in pain which caused him to flinch his hand up and hold his head. It was then he realized something, when he felt his head he also felt some sort of gauze bandage rubbing against his palm. It struck him like a speeding train as he remembered what had happened…

"You got what you were after so pay up!" A man in strange biker-esque armor loudly demanded followed by a stomp of his foot.

His eyes slowly opened, his vision being greeted with the ground that his face laid on. Lifting his head up he then saw that his hands were tied together with rope while he kneeled on the ground. He hopelessly struggled with the rope in a last attempt to get his hand free. Naturally, it was futile.

"You're crying in the rain, palie." Another man mocked back, his voice was distinct as it was similar to that of a 1950's greaser. He was going to throw an insult at the man demanding his pay but was interrupted by one more person who abruptly raised his voice to get the other two's attention.

"Look who's waking up over here! Our Courier Six!" He laughed, followed by the captive finally looking up to see who his captors were. One was a tall, dark-skinned mall with a short fade and large beard, holding the captive's trail carbine and had his chest plate under his sleeveless jacket that had "Khans" written on the jacket flaps. The second man seemed to belong to the same group as him as he had very similar clothes on, the difference being that he wore the captive's leather jacket instead of his faction's. Finally was the last man who stuck out like a sore thumb. He donned a suave, designer made checkered suit that complimented his pale blue eyes, tanned skin and wavy dark brown pompadour. A cigarette hung out the man with the checkered suit's mouth, a small smirk growing on his face.

"Time to cash out." He blew smoke into the captive's face before tossing the cigarette away. The captive turned his gaze towards the direction the cigarette was thrown. He saw that it landed in an empty grave right next him that he now noticed. Piecing two and two together, he gritted his teeth and tried using all the strength he possibly had to try and break out his restraints despite how hopeless it clearly was. This only caused a few amused chuckles from the trio.

"Alright dude, can we get this over with it?" Asked the African-American man who now grew annoyed with the scene unfolding. This prompted a finger wag from the man in the checkered suit.

"Maybe Khans kill people without looking em' in the face, but I ain't a fink, dig?" He said in response followed by pulling out a platinum coated poker chip from his jacket pocket. He flicked the chip into the air before catching it with his palm and shoving it back into his pocket, sighing in triumph as he did.

"Seems you've made your last delivery kid…sorry you got twisted up in this scene." He spoke again, this time pulling out a beautifully custom made 9mm pistol as he did so. He quickly followed up his statement and action, "From where you're kneeling it seems like an 18-karat run of bad luck…"

He then raised the pistol and aimed it straight at the captive's head. "Fuck you…" The captive mumbled while panting and continuing to grit his teeth in anger. Anxiety and a feeling of defeat growing in his body as he knew his fate all depended on one pull of a trigger.

"Truth is, the game was rigged from the start." He spat at the man's feet and then his vision went all black as the muzzle flashes.

He was snapped out of his flashback trance by the doctor patting him on the shoulder and asking him a question, "Can ya' tell me your name?" He nodded yes in response.

An awkward pause of silence between the two as no one spoke. The doctor waited for his answer yet, he didn't know his own name. He tried so hard to remember but it was all a blur. He remembered random nicknames but yet, not one bit of an idea as to what his real name could be. Guess the bullet left him with a bit of amnesia. He did remember one thing though that was the most recent thing someone called him; Courier Six. The alias Johnson Nash gave to him for his delivery. It had sort of a catchy ring to it as well.

"Six. That is my name, Six." The doctor raised a brow and stared at Six for a couple of seconds with a confused gaze. He shrugged and spoke again.

"Well I can't say that's what I'd pick for you but if that's your name, then that's your name." He chuckled before deciding to tell Six his name. "I'm Doc Mitchell. You're here in a town called Goodsprings."

Doc Mitchell stood up and reached out to Six. He took the elder's hand and patiently stood up, his head hurting with each move he took despite the slow pace. He toughed it out and took some basic stretches after having been unconscious and his brain discombobulated for days. While he took his stretches he thought about the situation; A courier shot in the head and left for dead over a ten-thousand cap poker chip, sounds like the setup to a B-Grade action film. The whole situation left him wondering just what was up with that chip being that expensive and that people were willing to kill for it. Despite his memory not currently being the best, he was positive that he was not informed by Nash about just what the poker chip was used for. Six sighed as he thought about this.

Once he was done stretching out, Doc Mitchell made him take the Vitomatic Vigor-tester Machine test. Six scored highly on the endurance and luck portions of it, prompting a few impressed remarks from Mithcell such as the doctor saying that "he's built solid as an Oak", and "he's the luckiest son of a gun in the western wasteland". Next he walked him into the living rom and he had him take an art chart test which got a few confused and maybe worried glances from Mitchell when some of his answers were along the lines of "Two-Bears high fiving" and saying what looked like a cruise ship, was a…well,a vagina. Moving on from that, Mitchell then had him take a one word response and personality quiz which he did well enough in to make sure his sanity was fine. Once that was over, Doc Mitchell examined the clipboard, chuckling as he read it over and over again.

"Well I don't have anything to compare it to but you seem and sound sane enough. For someone who just took a bullet to the skull you seem perfectly fine." Six shook his head and a moment of awkward silence fell between the two once again. The silence didn't last nearly as long as Six brought up an important question. "So who the hell dug me up? I was buried alive, or well, I think so at least. Who the hell is around a graveyard late at night that also didn't happen to be some guys wanting me dead?" Six asked in a rather stern tone of voice that was dealt by the stress and emergence that poured over him. He was a rather bold individual, but not one to get snappy with someone who just saved his life. Doc MItchell understood it though.

"That'd be Victor. He's not so much a who but rather a what. He's a securitron that rolled into town around two decades ago back when it was just me and maybe five other locals. He's a fine fella, a bit peculiar, but he's fine, despite what Trudy says." Doc Mitchell said. Six raised a brow and tilted his head slightly.

So a securitron miles away from Vegas with a hero rescue, not the strangest thing to happen in the Wasteland like the Wanamingo mine back by Redding years ago, but still strange, more suspicious than anything. "Securitron? Like one of those weird-ass robots on the Strip? What the hell would that be doing out here, especially that long ago, that's around when the tribes got pushed out." None of this made sense to Six; the situation, his attackers, his savior, his package that was stolen…It was all confusing. One thing was certain, get to Primm. Why? His employer lived in Primm, maybe he could get more information. Six sighed followed by a facepalm. "My bad if I seem agitated, it's been a long however long I've been out now. Try saying that shit five times fast." The apology brought Doc Micthell to a small chuckle.

"No need for apologies, I understand how you feel, I've had something taken from me before…anyways," Doc MItchell changed the subject quickly. "Hope you don't mind that I went through your stuff, was looking for some sort of identification or something. Couldn't find anything except the delivery form. They took most of your supplies if you had anything, no weapons, no ammo, no aid, no food. Only a small handful of caps and the clothes on your back. It's in my office, I'll grab it for you." Doc Mitchell stood up and walked out the living room and to his office to grab Six's gear. He was a little annoyed that the doctor went through his stuff but at least it was for a decent reason and just wasn't to take his stuff like most others would do.

Six opened his mouth to tell Mitchell to keep the caps as his payment but as if on cue, Mitchell stepped into the room and sat the duffle bag full of Six's stuff at his feet, he then spoke to him. "No need to pay me, you being alive is reward enough, Shows off my penmanship to say the least, saving someone with a bullet lodged in the head. I'd want the same thing from someone else if I took a bullet to the head, I ain't an NCR doctor gonna leave you in debt. There's a bathroom down the hall for you to get changed." This MItchell guy was strange, how in this greedy wasteland having just saved a man's life and cared for him for days while he was in a coma, just not accepting a reward. It was strange, but Six wasn't questioning a "free get your ass saved card". So far this was a very contrasting greeting to Goodsprings; left for dead just to wake up being nurtured back to health by a charismatic man.

"Thanks for the hospitality. It's a nice difference to how most wasteland assholes would act, myself included." He picked up the duffle bag and quickly made his way down the hall and into the bathroom. He tossed the duffle bag to the ground and zipped it open, pulling some clothes out of the duffle bag. Six turned and looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, finally getting to see himself.

Six was 24 years of age and 6 feet tall with an athletic build and a heart shaped head. His fair tanned skin complimented his hazel eyes and dirty blond hair. His hairstyle was a low fade with wavy bangs down the front and slight facial scruff. What stood out most about him recently was the off white colored gauze bandage that wrapped around his head and a pad covering the wound underneath the bandage. Six reached his hand up and sat it on the bandage. He slowly shook his head back and forth. "Welcome to Goodsprings…" He dropped his hand to his side and started getting changed.

After a few short minutes, Six stepped back into the living room wearing a pair of jeans, combat boots and a black t-shirt. At his side was a 9mm pistol that sat in a holster. "Again, thanks doc." Doc Mitchell stood up from his couch, walked over to the Courier and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't mention it. Now I suppose you'd want to get on your way. I'll see you out." Doc Mitchell led him to the door.

Right as they approached the door, Doc Mitchell stopped in place followed by a snap of his fingers. "Almost forget something, wait here right quick!" He then jogged back off to his office. SIx stood there a bit confused, wondering what else the doctor had to possibly give him. Ater half a minute of waiting, Doc Mitchell approached the courier with a hand held device sitting atop a folded blue jumpsuit, "Here's a vault suit if you'd want it, but I'm pretty sure what you want is the Pip-Boy. I don't have much need for it but I bet it'd help you out, Probably get a lot more use out of it then I did." Six took the items and whistled once he saw the Pip-Boy.

"So you're from a vault?" Six questioned while he started unfolding the vault 21 jumpsuit and examining it.

"Yep. Born and raised in Vault 21 right on the strip. They turned it into a hotel and kicked us out…sucks but what can you do. I like it down here in Goodsprings better anyways." Doc Mitchell's voice faded off a bit and he looked away, a bit saddened as he recollected on his past and the years that went by. He seemed to have some sort of ghosts or sadness haunting his past. Six noticed this slightly and thought about it for a minute, maybe this is why Doc Mitchell was so kind to others. Six didn't want to bother him about it and decided to move on with bringing up his thanks, yet again.

"Doc, your hospitality is too goddamn much. The vault suit is alright but I don't need it, well…actually, I'm kinda feeling the jacket." Six smiled as he held up the jacket. WIth a tilt of his head he studied it: cool, light, yet durable. Plus he needed a new jacket after his leather one got stolen off his half-dead body. Six unzipped the jacket and threw it out. He adjusted a bit, succeeded y a whistle as he looked at how it perfectly fitted him. He opted to keep it unzipped though. Next was the prize possession, the Pip-Boy 3000.

Six held the device in his hand, turning it and flipping it as took it in. This may make him more of a target since he now held a very rare, expensive and useful piece of equipment on his wrist but he did not care one bit, it was a damn Pip-Boy and only a fool would decline it. Six unclipped the Pip-Boy and sat it on his wrist before clipping it back on. He flipped the device on and a green Vault Boy popped up on the screen with his thumbs up and a "Loading" showing up underneath it. After a minute, the Pip-Boy was fully on, showing him his vitals, mapping, and many other things. Doc Mitchell laughed as he watched the man stare in awe at the machine on his wrist.

"Well I see you've taken a liking to the Pip-Boy. I just hope it suits you as well as it did me when I had a need for it." Doc Mitchell said and crossed his arms. "Anyways I got something to tell you that might interest you. You've been out a while now and take that onto your injuries, I'd suggest you go see a lass named Sunny Smiles down at the Prospector's Saloon. She's a nice girl who can help you get back in the saddle, give you some tips and maybe even a place to spend the night. I'd talk to her If I was you. And if that's all then I guess I'll see ya' around." Doc Mitchell farewelled with a slight wave of his hand.

So Sunny Smiles, from what Doc Mitchell said of her then it might be worth the visit down to her. Following Doc's farewell, he gave one of his own in a simple "Goodbye" and wave, a bit anticlimactic for what happened but Six wanted to get started on his trip as fast as he could. Six turned and opened the door, he went to step out but was stopped by Doc Mitchell speaking up. "Also, Six", the Courier stopped in the door and turned his head back towards the Doctor.

"Welcome to Goodsprings"