Courier's Journal: Week One

Day 4: October 22nd 2281

Today was pretty horrific all around. Probably the worst day I've had in quite a while. I made it to Nipton, and I wasn't ready for what I found. But I'm getting ahead of myself. I should start at the beginning. It'll make it easier to talk about.

So my morning didn't start great to begin with, since last night was pretty rough. I picked up a copy of Tales of a Junktown Jerky Vendor amongst my salvage in the Bison Steve, and I had wanted to read it, but the lights weren't working in there, and reading by Pip-Boy light is tiring on the arm. Not to mention that I was sleeping just across the hall from a load of dead convicts, and yeah, I know, I should be a lot more jaded about dead things by now; killing and looting bodies are both necessary wasteland survival skills, and I've done more than my fair share of both. But I'm sorry, I still get squeamish around corpses. I just find them icky. So I didn't sleep well.

I was up early, and Primm was just getting back to normal when I was heading out. They'd gathered the bodies in the street already, and were dragging the rest out of the Bison Steve to throw on a big pyre. I'd have stayed to help, but then I'd have been there all day; while I do like to show my due to the dead where I can (especially those I put down myself), there were just far too many of them. So I gathered my things, and me and ED-E moved on.

When I headed out this morning, it was with my submachine gun, revolver, laser pistol, baseball bat, and varmint rifle, plus a few explosives and stealth boys. Mostly light weapons for easy carrying and storage, and a variety so that I don't run out of ammo. All my other weapons I either sold or sent off to slim down our weight. I wanted to bring the sheriff's repeater with me, since it was a good gun, and I want to get practice using it, but the thing was completely busted, so it would've been dead weight. This is ironic, because not long after leaving Primm, I promptly found two more .357 repeaters of the exact same make and model that I could've used to fix it. Live and learn, I guess.

Now, normally I'd say that this many weapons is more than one man should ever reasonably expect to need in a day, but I've really been bucking that trend recently with the Powder Gangers, so who knows what I'll need now? I joked about it before, but really, I think that VATS may have actually been the key to the Vault Dweller's success. Not a few days ago, I was just another schlub whose shots only hit about forty percent of the time, if that. Then a kindly doctor lends me his old pre-war wrist computer, and now suddenly I'm a wasteland badass, saving whole towns and defeating entire gangs by myself, even with my trembling hands. It's all the power I ever wished I had. So many people would still be alive right now if I could've fought like this back when I really needed to. Maybe even Nipton, if I'd been faster.

But that's what I do, I guess. Every time they kill me, I come back stronger. Or as a drug addict. But mostly stronger!

So anyway, I spent most of the morning heading towards Nipton down I-15, along with ED-E. Along the way we came to the Nevada Highway Patrol station, which was overrun with Jackals (the cannibalistic raider tribe, not the canines). They were just standing out in the open, so I saw them before they saw me, and I was able to get a read on them through my scope. Once I'd identified them, I considered taking cover by the side of the road and sniping them from afar; it's usually not worth taking the chance with Jackals, and even the Pip-Boy displayed them as hostiles, despite them not even seeing us yet. But I hate shooting first, and they hadn't actually done anything yet, so I tried to give them a chance anyway.

It was a mistake. We approached openly with weapons holstered, and at first it seemed like they were going to let us pass. One of them just told us to get out of there, and I fully intended to. But I guess we just weren't fast enough for his liking, because we didn't get far before he started shooting. Then his buddy joined in, and some more came out of hiding from behind the station. Fortunately, I was anticipating betrayal, and between VATS, ED-E, and the fact that I'm... well, me, it was hardly a fair fight. Hard to imagine that these guys were once big enough to rival the Khans, but time and the expansion of greater civilization isn't ever kind to outlaws.

The station's interior was a different story. We walked right into an ambush with that one. There were two more Jackals inside, and one of them had a fucking grenade rifle. Luckily I dodged in time, and she didn't get off a second shot, but I was nearly history. And even once we'd cleared out the gang, the rest of the place wasn't pretty. There were giant mantises everywhere, and the prison cell in the back had a half-eaten dead prospector lying in it. I gave him a quick and dirty laser pistol cremation, since no-one else was going to, and took whatever I could from the station.

The repeaters and that grenade rifle were my favourite finds, though I did also pick up a BB gun and another star bottle cap, as well as an issue of Guns and Bullets. I've seen copies around before, back in the Hub and such, but I've never actually read them, so it might have some good advice for improving my shooting. I plan to give it a read after I'm done with this entry, along with all of my other books.

I proceeded down the highway from there, fighting my way through ants and radscorpions on the way. Just before I hit the Mojave Outpost, I came across the Nipton Road Reststop, an old pre-war store, where I found more than a few items of interest. Some graffiti mentioning New Canaan, which sounds familiar to me, but I'm not sure where I heard it. A dead robed ghoul with a plasma rifle, a macabre twin to the dead robed ghoul with the laser pistol I found back near Goodsprings. And most worryingly of all, a journal belonging to one Joseph B. Steyn, the apparent Mayor of Nipton.

According to the entry I read, he had met with a member of Caesar's Legion who went by the name Mr. Fox, and had agreed to sell out the Powder Gangers and NCR in town to him, so that the Legion could "make an example" of them. The reststop was apparently a safehouse where he was storing supplies in case he had to make a run back to NCR territory in a hurry. This was pretty shocking, and I was immediately worried for the town. Given what he did, I had no qualms about stealing the contents of Mayor Steyn's stash before I got moving, which included a stealth boy, some energy cells, a few caps, some food, and bizarrely, a BB gun. The store also had a copy of Pugilism Illustrated and another star bottle cap, but I don't think they were part of his stash.

I picked up the pace after that, especially after I saw the smoke rising in the distance, but instead of going straight there, I stopped at the NCR's Mojave Outpost first, the one with the two giant statues shaking hands to commemorate the Ranger Unification Treaty. I didn't stay long initially. Mostly I just quickly sold off some useless baggage like the plasma rifle and the BB gun, and asked around to find out what was going on at the outpost, to see if there was anyone who was aware of what was happening in Nipton. It seemed that the caravans were all stuck for the moment, and a woman named Lacey had taken the opportunity to set up a bar in the barracks. I talked to her for a bit and was directed to Ranger Ghost, who had also noticed the smoke. She asked me to head down there and check it out for her. So I did.

On my way there, there were other distractions. I was ambushed by a gang of Jackals in the ruins of the Nipton Pit Stop. I did try to just knock some of them out with my bat, but they all died anyway. They had some explosives and healing powder there. Then further up the road I encountered a man and a woman shooting at each other. The man killed the woman, and told me that she had randomly attacked him. I soon figured out that she had been a collector who had attempted to murder him for his lucky star cap necklace, which he had made without knowing how valuable (or dangerous) they really were. I talked him into handing it over to me, both for his sake and mine. Between those two, I netted nine more star bottle caps.

When I finally reached Nipton proper... it wasn't good. The deal had gone through, and the Legion had already killed everyone. The place was in ruins, there were bodies everywhere, they were burning piles of tyres to deliberately make the smoke as visible as possible, and the Legion had erected crosses along the street to crucify a number of Powder Gangers. I tried to let the Powder Gangers down, but upon closer examination... they were too close to dead already. They wouldn't have survived either way, I don't think, at least not without proper medical attention, and I didn't have the supplies for that. I put them all out of their misery before I left, which sure brought back some unpleasant memories.

Worst of all, the Legion were still there when I arrived. I even met the "Mr. Fox" that the mayor's journal mentioned, and the name's not inappropriate; he was wearing a fox's head as a hat. He was the leader there, and as much as I feared that I was about to die, he stopped to speak with me instead of putting me on a cross too.

He told me exactly what they had done, coldly, and without shame. It turns out that the Legion's trap had been for everyone, not just the Powder Gangers and NCR. Mayor Steyn and the townsfolk were put to death right along with the rest. The sadistic bastards even ran a lottery, and made everyone watch as they called them up one by one and crucified them in full view, all apparently too terrified to even fight back. The "winner" of the lottery was some crazy Powder Ganger. Him, they let him go. I actually ran into him as I was coming into town, and as far as I know, he was the only survivor of the incident. Last I saw of him, he was running out into the scorpion-infested wastes for some fucking reason.

Well, after he told me all this... I wasn't sure what to do. I told "Mr. Fox" that his crimes were unforgivable, and I thought for sure that he'd kill me on the spot for speaking against him, but he just challenged me to attack him if I really believed it. And I wanted to, but... I couldn't.

I'm not good at initiating fights even at the best of times. Whenever I have before, it's only ever been when I thought that a fight was inevitable, and taking the first shot was the only way to survive, or at least the best way to ensure it. Through the distance of a scope, or in the heat of a battle, I can disassociate from it. I can justify it to myself. I don't have to admit to myself that I'm a coward. But up close like that, like I was in Nipton, I can't do it. I can mercy kill. I can kill in battle. I can even kill from afar if I need to. But I can't just look a man in the eye and shoot him in cold blood for no other reason than wanting him dead, not even a monster like him.

Or maybe that's not it. Maybe I was just scared. There were so many of them, all hardened Legion soldiers with thick, padded armour and machetes. Even with the advantages of VATS and ED-E, there was no guarantee that I'd be walking out of there. I'm on my last life now, all out of second chances, and I didn't have even an armour-piercing round to my name. A few overcharge cells from my laser pistol might've done the trick, but even then... I just wasn't sure I could win.

It's a good thing my older brother isn't around to hear me moping like this. If he could see me now, he'd probably laugh, call me a pussy, smash a door on my head, dislocate my arm, and then shoot me again. Which reminds me, I should send a letter back to Mom soon.

So Mr. Fox and his troops just walked freely out of Nipton, and I ran terrified back to the Mojave Outpost. It was getting late when I arrived, but Ranger Ghost was still on duty for me to report to. She was understandably not happy with the news. One other guy I told, Sergeant Kilborn, was downright depressed. I actually kind of regret telling him now. The Legion only let me go because they wanted someone to spread the word of what they had done, to help break the NCR's morale, and now I'm afraid that I did exactly what he wanted. I guess there's no covering up the razing of a whole town, and keeping that information secret would have probably done more harm than good in the long run, but in hindsight, I probably shouldn't have immediately told the first person I saw when I ran into the outpost.

Well, what's done is done. Once I was back, I did some trading with the caravans that were hanging around. I sold most of the excess supplies I picked up today from all the Jackals and Mayor Steyn's stash. I even got rid of the grenade rifle, since I don't have any ammo for it. In return, I purchased some better parts for my 9mm submachine gun, including a lighter bolt to improve the firing speed and some larger drums so it can go for longer; might help me against the Legion next time. Lacey at the bar also sold me an old copy of Duck and Cover!, which is also relevant to my interests, and a maple baseball bat with a cork core, which should be lighter yet sturdier than my old bat. I probably didn't necessarily need it, but I've gotta spend all that NCR money somewhere.

After that, I sat down to drink in the barracks for the rest of the night. Talked with a girl called Cass for most of it, a caravan trader being held at the outpost by the bureaucracy, despite the fact that her caravan was recently wiped out. I guess life sucks for everyone right now. I eventually left and found a free bunk to sleep in for the night, since they're free to use for anyone, and that's where I am now, writing this. Once I'm done, I'm also gonna read through my book collection at last. It's been a pretty crappy day, and I need distractions at the moment.

Hail to the Keeper.

Killed: Powder Gangers, Jackals, ants, scorpions, mantises, and unfortunately no foxes.

Today's dinner: I didn't eat today.

Had sex with: None of this either.

Author's notes:

A challenge I came across when originally writing Courier's Journal is that it demanded an entirely different style of humour from Wanderer's Diary. The main character still gets into all kinds of crazy shit, but since he's not quite as unhinged as the Wanderer, I couldn't have as much black comedy about the protagonist doing terrible and outrageous things. And while there are plenty of comedic moments in New Vegas, I couldn't just recycle jokes from the game either, because that would be lazy.

My eventual solution to this was to craft a suitably elaborate and bizarre backstory for this character which I could draw upon as another source of comedy, and to crank up the Courier's dry sarcasm to the maximum level his characterisation would allow for. But that still only allows for so much.

Nipton is a good example of this limitation. If the Wanderer had been the one to meet Vulpes Inculta here in this chapter, this encounter would have played out a lot differently. The Wanderer would be able to be much more flippant about all of this death and destruction, and Vulpes would be very, very dead at the end of it. But with the Courier, I kind of have to treat this moment somewhat more seriously, especially since I want Vulpes to actually be a recurring character in this story.

Another problem is that Courier's Journal is also written with a lot more attention to detail than Wanderer's Diary was, because there's a lot more complexity to the quests and characters to describe, and I also wanted to make a more active effort to describe the locations clearly to properly set the scenes, which of course makes the story much longer. And since New Vegas is (in my opinion anyway) a much more solidly written and designed game than Fallout 3, I also don't have quite as much material to mock at any given time. Again, see Nipton.

All of these problems together mean that Courier's Journal (especially the original version) ended up having a much smaller joke to word count ratio than I would like, which is something that I've attempted to correct for in this rewrite, and which I hope I can adequately compensate for going forwards. I have ideas. Trust me, I have a lot of ideas. I've had eight years to think about this, after all. But only time will tell if they'll be enough.

But in the meantime, if you'd prefer to read more of my style of dark comedy like Wanderer's Diary, then Survivor's Testament is what you're looking for. Or hell, if you don't mind magical talking horses, check out Dragonfall. It's got Lovecraftian monsters, a Hitler horse, and an orphanage waging a gang war. What more do you want?