I've been on and off writing this one for several days now. You'd think these would be written fairly quickly, but no, it actually takes quite a while to produce one of these. I thought I'd never finish this. The reason this one took so long is that I misjudged the amount of time I spent playing the game and played a bit too much. There won't be a profile at the end of this chapter because I don't have the approximate skill values anymore and it wouldn't be accurate.
I didn't want to delay this chapter for another two days, so here it is now.
The plus side is that now, because I cut a portion out that wasn't finished and put it in the next word document, I already have part of the next chapter written.
This one's 7000+ words. I'm spoiling you all.
Guest: As I said before, I'm only keeping it to two mods. Don't want to confuse the vanilla players too much. Along with all the DLC, those are the only mods I have installed on my game.
Chapter 3 – Geckos, Factions, and 4D Storage Oh My!
After I decided to stop lazing in the chair, which doesn't take long because it's hot out and I don't want this armor to burn me, I made my way over to an xander root I saw earlier. I pull it up by the very conveniently shaped green thing at the top.
It looks like a turnip from hell. Fuck it, put it in the backpack anyway.
Along the way down I pick some broc flowers as well. I'll figure out how to make healing powder later, maybe it'll come naturally to me. One lengthy walk later, I'm standing in front of the Sunnytime Cigar factory. It's actually HQ instead of factory, well excuse me.
This is one of the many new locations added by the A World of Pain mod. From what I remember, it has a minor problem of being absolutely infested by "normal" geckos. Time to kill a bunch I guess.
So I enter the factory, which the first minute inside is relatively boring, until I find an adult gecko and kill it.
And then another one comes. I kill that one too but…
There's another.
And another.
Is that? Oh wait. It's another fucking gecko.
There's a rather large number of them, and at this point the geckos are having a great time chasing me upstairs.
Then I jump on a sketchy bridge that's in the central room and golf swing the first unfortunate gecko that decided to follow me by jumping.
While it's in midair.
Suddenly opposed by an opposite force, the gecko stops moving forward in midair and unfortunately for it, gravity decides to make it its bitch. Judging from that crunching noise and the way it landed, it looks and sounds like it just broke its spine.
Good. I'll kill it later.
The next one, a gecko that looks like it's in the middle of the transitioning phase from baby to adult, gets a downward swing of the bat to the forehead, which gives it a concussion. I give it a good kick and it falls off the junk bridge, the shoddy railing not really saving it from rolling down the mountain of junk holding this bridge up.
The rest, which are babies, I kill relatively easily.
What's next? I hold my bat in readiness.
Nothing else shows its ugly mug, so for the moment I guess I'm safe.
Right, time to pillage some stuff. I could list everything I found, but that would take forever, so I'll just summarize.
A bunch of caps, bullets plus energy cells, some water, oh I also killed that gecko from earlier, pre-war money (it looks a bit like our money, but the faces are different), components for a weapon repair kit, killed the other gecko, and look a dead guy.
Not in that order, I picked two locks with my magical screwdriver, though all I found was prewar money, caps, and some 5.56 ammo. Just thought I'd let you know.
I found a note on him. Basically reads that the guy thought he could get laid if he killed a few geckos and brought proof.
Sorry dude, but no. If you want to get laid for killing an animal, try killing a deathclaw and taking their eggs. Red Lucy might think about it.
Also, you got killed by the geckos, so you kinda failed there anyway.
I'm taking that combat helmet of yours though, I hope you don't mind. And that frag grenade and two dynamite sticks.
Thanks.
Walking through a door and then another door, I go deeper into the factory. There's another gecko. I give him the one-two in baseball lessons. Translation: I swung my bat for a homerun, giving it brain damage and also killing it. Don't worry about it.
I also found an unopened Nuka Cola.
Guess what it tastes like?
Coca Cola.
Actually, warm, flat Coca Cola with a splash of radiation, but basically the same thing.
Whichever prewar idiot thought an irradiated drink was a good idea needs to be shot. Repeatedly. Seriously, I'm glad my world got out of the 1920's. These people were crazy. Thanks Great Depression. You were useful for something after all.
My thanks is actually genuine here, please accept it Great Depression Senpai.
I can't believe I just thought of that. Good thing no one reads my thoughts.
Unless an alternate version of me is sitting at a computer right now, dutifully typing away my thoughts and experiences, probably ending on some tangent or cliffhanger and wrapping it up as a chapter to post on a website somewhere.
Nah, the chances of that are ridiculous. Though just in case, I'll defend myself.
Disclaimer: I'm not a weeaboo, I swear it upon pain of death.
Wait. Does that mean that alternate me just willingly insulted himself for comedic appeal?
At the forth wall, a tiny, almost nonexistent fracture forms.
Most likely, I'm thinking too deep into this. Getting back to the previous subject; And don't get me started on the logs you find in the H&R Tool Factory in Westside. I'm looking forward to reading those again. For sheer hilarity.
For some reason, I always thought the hat that boss guy puts on was the one from the cat in the hat. Red and white. Commie-proof indeed.
There's some stairs. I'll go down them, because wherever the door in front of me used to lead to, the ceiling has caved in. Bummer.
At the bottom of the staircase there's a door that's suspiciously open. Sneaking, I sneakily look into the room that it leads to.
About five geckos are looking at me. My sneakiness needs work. I slam the door shut, and lean against it while I feel it rattle from the geckos scratching at it.
How to deal with this situation?
With dynamite, of course.
I don't have a lighter or a match, but I have a feeling…
That a lighter will materialize in my hand, which does as I hold the dynamite stick. It must be the same brand as the screwdriver, which is funky wasteland magic. Get one now at your local co-op for half off.
I'm going to get a kick out of this when I eventually join up with Courier and friends. It'll completely boggle their minds. Unless the Courier is an evil ass.
Then I'll do my damndest to kill them. Only I can have an unstoppable spree of stealing things that aren't mine. Though, honestly it'll be more along the lines of if they kill innocent people, eat them, that kind of stuff that will make me go on a manhunt for them. If they steal stuff, depending on what it is and just as long as it isn't mine, I could care less about.
Thinking about it now, I don't really want to toot my horn, but I'm essentially a backup protagonist. I know the players, I know the game (literally as well as figuratively), and I know how it could end. All I have to do is go to The Tops and brutally kill Benny, likely scaring any gamblers there for life as Benny has no reason to go into a room alone with just me as we've never met and for him, that would be sketchy as hell. So I'd need to kill him in public. House doesn't care who delivers the chip, just that he gets it.
So far I've also been pretty competent in killing things, though let's not let it go to our heads.
I'm likely to get a reality check soon. It's bound to happen eventually.
By the way, I should really toss this stick of dynamite that's wick has been burning while I've been thinking.
Oh fuck.
Quick, throw it through a crack in the door before it blows up in my face. I did that, and might have also ran away like a little bitch. Hey, who knows if the door will take the explosion without splintering?
boom
Ignoring that brief moment of smart cowardice, it seems I was right to fle- I mean strategically retreat. The door was blasted off its hinges.
Take that, incorrect Fallout physics! Realistic environmental damage that isn't scripted!
Any geckos?
Doesn't appear to be anything coming- oh hello level up screen.
Right. I decided to spread my points a little evenly this time, branch out a bit.
Wait, it's giving me a perk option?
I can't remember if it was Project Nevada or AWoP (That's A World of Pain) that gave you that option for a perk a level. Likely it was Project Nevada tho.
I'm going to get blown up or something soon for all these good things I've been receiving lately, I just know it. Hell I almost just did.
There. My Intelligence is an eight. Maybe I'll gain more common sense now.
The same sarcastic description plays, except it says INT +1 and Intelligence respectively now. To be honest, I was half hoping it would mock me for wanting to be smarter, but that's just me.
Stepping past the fallen door, I appear to be in an enormous room, bigger than the lobby with the trash bridge in it. Looking at all the machinery here, I'd wager a guess that this is where all the cigarettes are made. Five freshly dead geckos with pieces of their respective body parts are scattered all over the room. Seems I hit the sweet spot with the dynamite. I'm starting to get used to the gore.
That's good. Or is it? My hours spent playing this as a game is conflicting with the reality that this is my life now: I'm having trouble actually…
Feeling serious about the whole thing. Don't get me wrong, I'm beginning to feel tired, my heart stopped for a brief moment when I realized I was holding live dynamite, but it just doesn't quite feel real. And it's absolutely infuriating me. Combined with my general apathy, self-awareness that I'm basically talking to myself like there's a live audience watching as a way to not freak out, and the muddling thoughts that are more of imprints left by what I assume is Rick this is one big clusterfuck of confusion for my brain.
That sentence perfectly sums up my thoughts so far on this situation.
I sigh. This area isn't going to rid itself of geckos. Best get a move on.
Dust absolutely covers the conveyor belt. Guess geckos aren't interested in smoking. Maybe if I had Wild Wasteland… That reminds me, I don't even know what my trait perks are. I suspect one of them is Built to Destroy given the relative ease I'm having killing everything. The other I have no clue.
I go up some rusted metal stairs and onto a similarly rusted catwalk, which leads to an office. There are three geckos. The first, which is a baby, gets picked up by the weird skin scruff it has on the back of its neck and is thrown off the catwalk, where it goes splat.
The adult gets lucky and bites my leg, which feels like it's being slowly crushed. I lose my shit again like I did with Thorn, and utterly reduce the gecko's head to a crumpled pile of flesh. Said flesh spurts blood everywhere.
And I mean everywhere. The wooden bat is a surprisingly brutal weapon, considering it's essentially a glorified stick with a handle.
It could also be that I have eight strength so that fits into the equation as well.
I have a heavy suspicion my other trait is Hot Blooded. The "difficulty" must be on hard or higher, because every time I get sufficiently hurt, I tend to lose all sense of rationality and become a berserker, single mindedly focused on killing whatever's in front of me.
It also means that in game terms I'm half dead whenever the trait activates. While this is a good indicator of when I should stab myself with a stimpack, the loss of rationality is problematic. I'll have to temper my anger so I don't rush to an early death.
I'm also covered in blood now. Let me kill this last gecko that looks like it wants to run away, then I'll freak out about it. Last gecko, which is a juvenile, gets a nice serving of blunt head trauma.
Now I can freak out about being covered in blood. It feels nasty, smells horrible, and it is just grossing me out. I think I'll need to switch my not-bulletproof armor for something else, because I am not wasting precious water cleaning this.
I'm holding another stimpack. If there was ever a time to test whether or not the location of where I stab myself with it matters, now's the time.
Wiping some gecko blood off my neck with a rag I found on a table nearby, tentatively I take the stimpack and carefully press it against my neck. Slowly, I insert it and flinch as it pierces the skin. I don't have a fear of needles, but the sensation is uncomfortable. Administrating the miracle medicine, I sigh as I feel my body become tingly, signifying it's working. Thank goodness.
Then I retract the needle and discard it. Non-sanitary and useless once its purpose is served.
This needs to be done for every stimpack, as I lack the necessary things able to recycle stim needles. Namely, a bucket and a lot of alcohol for sterilization. While I could find a bucket, I don't have any alcohol on me. Why don't I?
I remember alcohol gives you Strength plus one, but here it also makes you drunk. No thanks.
Plus it tastes like crap. Shit, I left my whiskey at Trudy's saloon. Too late now to go back and get it, she's probably disposed of it.
I didn't want it anyway.
There has got to be a better way of doing this. Another point in favor of ditching this armor for something else, something that exposes the wrists or arms so I can stab myself in a less vital area and don't risk puncturing something I shouldn't. Stabbing myself in the neck during a firefight will not end well.
I find a safe I can't lockpick, indicated by my magical screwdriver not showing up. I'd call bullshit, but it makes sense in a weird way.
Does this mean if I find an actual screwdriver, I'll be able to pick any lock regardless of my skill? Something to try out later.
There's a message located on the terminal resting on the desk. Figuring out how it works isn't hard as it's literally an old computer. The message summed up says that Frank hired a bunch of mercenaries to scrub this factory clean of geckos.
Obviously, they failed.
I must have a case of competent person syndrome, because considering I've killed most of these things with just a baseball bat while mercenaries, who usually have guns, were killed by the geckos.
They must have been some pretty shit mercenaries.
Making my way down the steps, I pick up anything of value in my sight and continue on my merry way. Going up the ramp, I vaguely remember something about a gecko boss, one "Smokey" to be exact. I remember him being pretty big.
The fight against Smokey starts off with a bang. Taking the other stick of dynamite, I toss it through the metal door where I remember him spawning and stand to the side, ready to ambush Smokey should he come through. One boom later, the noise of what is likely a gecko being blown up, it sounds it's already over.
My assumption is proven wrong, when a very large and very angry gecko charges the door. With a ear piercing shriek, the door flies off its hinges, and would have hit me hadn't I moved away from the impact zone.
At this point, I realized how much of a fucking moron I was for taking on a boss monster unaided by chems. It's not my fault, I haven't found anything other than steady, mentats, and a hydra so far. I'm too close to use my grenade rifle either. I should have backed away further when I threw the TNT through the door so I could have used it goddammit!
Useless!
Smokey does not share my regrets. In fact, he's not at all happy that I whacked him on the head seconds after he busted the door down. The overgrown Gecko shrugs my initial assault off with ease, and swings his arm into me.
It feels like getting hit by a truck. A very ugly truck. The impact was so great, that it knocks me off my feet and lays me down awkwardly on my back. My backpack is still on, because for some reason I didn't take it off before fighting a fucking boss!
I feel like a turtle who's been flipped on their shell. Smokey, who is rushing forward clearly intends to take advantage of this. He leans forward, his mouth near my leg-
Crunch
It hurts. It hurts so much. Smokey is chewing on my leg. Hot Blooded activating, I bash him repeatedly on the head with the baseball bat in a panicked anger frenzy. Adrenalin is pumping through my system, I'm sweating. My flurry of repeated strikes do have an effect as a lucky strike hits Smokey's eyeball.
Smokey let's go of my leg, the thing clutching its forehead screaming in pain. I strangle the opportunity to get untangled from my backpack. Reaching inside, I grab my machete.
Trying to stand up, I cry out in pain as my leg, which has been mangled by its time adventuring in Smokey's mouth, burns. I fall over on my chest. A clump of swears escape my mouth.
"FUCKFUCKFUCKOWFUCKSHITBITCHCUNTFUCK-"
Suddenly Smokey, who only has one eye opened now, charges me with his mouth open wide, likely trying to bite my head off. Twisting awkwardly, I shove my baseball bat in his mouth, where it promptly gets stuck, distracting and confusing it. As Smokey is turning, I take the opportunity to jump onto it's back by a very awkward leap. More of a clamber, really.
My machete plunges into Smokey's backside and the thing once again screams in pain. Smokey thrashes on and on, but my grip is that of steel. Hot Blooded ironically turning into a cold rage, a focus, I ignore the pain and scale the gecko's back, plunging my machete like a mountain climber would their pickaxe. Reaching my destination in what seems like minutes but is actually fairly quickly, I plunge my machete into the back of Smokey's neck.
It goes in at an angle, sadly not severing the spinal cord, but given that Smokey is screaming bloody murder, I'd say it still hurt like hell. Unfortunately, he is then successful at throwing me off. I go bouncing off the ground, fortunately protected by my metal armor.
Luckily, he's very distracted by the machete in his neck. Throwing a temper-tantrum, he has completely lost it. Thrashing, clawing the surroundings, and much more, Smokey is not dying very gracefully. Sadly for him, gecko arms were not designed to reach backwards.
In fact, he isn't dying at all.
"Hey, fuckboy!"
Smokey turning to face the voice of its tormentor, is utterly unprepared for the present I give him. Namely, a piece of candy known as a frag grenade. It flies into his mouth and the giant fool swallows it.
Realizing what I've done, I cover my face with my combat helmet, expecting that what's going to happen next will be very, very, messy.
Smokey, through what little visibility I have behind the combat helmet covering my face is wondering what the hell he swallowed, and is standing there looking very stupid.
KABOOM
Then he blows up, and gecko blood goes everywhere.
I knew that pinning that grenade to my waist would come in handy. Man I thought that gecko bleeding everywhere from before was bad, but dam-OHFUCKMYLEGITHURTS! The adrenaline wearing off, I become very aware of my mangled leg. Hesitantly, I look at it to see how bad the damage is.
The metal is bent, torn, whatever. It's ruined. My leg is also bleeding. Quickly pulling off the armored leg piece reveals my extremely mangled leg. Not unsalvageable, but it looks really bad.
I feel queasy. And in pain. A lot of pain. I have to insert at least five stimpacks into my leg before I stop bleeding and the damage becomes mostly superficial.
It's just a flesh wound.
Bah, I should have saved that joke for another time. Too late!
My leg bone is certainly broken. Reaching for my backpack with a tad bit of difficulty, I reach inside and pull out the Hydra.
Now how does this thing work…?
Oh, now that I can actually look at it up close unlike in the game, it's a bottle of dubious liquid. For some reason, I thought it was a gas that you inhale. Blame the noise it makes every time you select one in your inventory.
I'm using this over a Doctor's bag because I have no idea if the bag will give me any actual medicine, or just a fancy splint.
I should probably check that later.
I drink the Hydra. It tastes terrible, which is expected as I remember the recipe to make this included radscorpion poison. It's sour, incredibly so. Seconds after drinking it, a feeling of numbness spreads to my injured leg.
Much, much better. To be safe, I give it ten minutes before I try doing anything with my leg. While I'm waiting, I gaze morbidly at Smokey's exploded corpse.
Frankly, he looks like a combusted grey watermelon. I found out where my machete went, though. It ended up in the ceiling from the blast.
I spend a moment, gazing at it. I owe that thing my life. Without it, I wouldn't have been able to distract Smokey enough to throw a grenade in his mouth.
A chill spreads throughout my body as I realize just how dangerously close I was to being eaten. I don't really want to take the plunge and test if I have save states or not.
The next few minutes are spent in silence, both in the physical world and my thoughts. Finally, after I feel enough time has elapsed, I try standing on my leg. It still hurts to say the least, and I should likely go see Doc Mitchell, but my foot doesn't feel like it's trying to murder me when I stand on it.
Wicked. Fallout chems are pure bullshit.
Well, I've just had my first limb broken and subsequently repaired to a degree. This will likely be the first of many incidents involving me breaking my limbs.
How should I celebrate this milestone of my time in Fallout New Vegas?
I know.
To celebrate, I put a bunch of nuts in my mouth.
Stop that train of thought right now.
Pinyon nuts you perverted idiots. Get those dirty thoughts out of your minds. Crunchy. Taste like nuts, which means they don't taste like anything.
Delectable nothingness, yum. Wash it down with some warm, purified water which is my first for the day, not counting the dirty water I drank when I woke up in the shack an hour or two ago.
I'm pretty sure it was two, maybe three hours ago. I don't have a clock or anything, so I can only guess the time by looking at where the sun is in the sky. Who wants to bet the pip boy has a clock in it? Hopefully the real life version does.
It takes some effort, but I'm able to push a crate slowly over to where my machete has bonded with the roof. Pulling it out takes even more effort on my part, but I manage. I put it in the backpack with a thankful pat on the handle.
Time to grab the loot and drag my sorry ass out of this cigarette factory. Two safes plundered, one I can't pick, are in the back of the factory. Damn.
I also find a crowbar on the dead mercenary in the back. I was unable to find my baseball bat, so it's probably in splinters.
You will be remembered for approximately ten seconds for your sacrifice, baseball bat.
Judging by the light outside, it's late afternoon. Stumbling out the factory door, I hobble back to Goodsprings, stepping lightly on my right foot.
Doc Mitchell frowns.
"Hydra works, yes, just don't go using it too often. It's known to cause bone degradation with overuse and since it's a relatively uncommon drug to find outside of a dedicated hospital, you won't find them often. Make sure you have a fixer on you before you go using one if you can't reach a doctor in a reasonable amount of time. Withdrawal symptoms are unpleasant, to say the least."
"Thanks doc." I manage to insert as much gratitude into my voice as I can possibly with my crap Charisma, which isn't a lot.
Doc Mitchell chuckles.
"No, thank you. Not every day I get patients, especially from the least likely person of our little settlement to come visit me. You're paying me after all."
Fun fact: Despite being terribly antisocial and hating of human contact, Rick was considered a resident of Goodsprings by a large majority of the population that live here. I'd like to ask the good old doc for specifics on any knowledge of Rick's past life before I kicked him out of the driver's seat but I can't do that without coming off as suspicious or amnesiac, neither of which I really want to be classified as.
Don't want him thinking I'm crazy. Which ignoring maybe-sociopathic tendencies, a propensity for wrath, and talking like there's a live audience watching, I'd like to think I'm reasonably sane.
"You got off lightly to say the least. You already healed most of the damage with all those stimpacks you used. The torn skin of your leg is mostly superficial. I've removed most of it, but your leg will likely scar."
I will now proceed to wave the fact I'm self-aware I'm talking to myself for the rest of my time alive in this place with the subtly of a powered neon sign in a dark room. Hello imaginary people, it's nice to meet you. I hope we'll grow to become great friends during our journey together.
How was that? Not bad I think I hear you saying. Good. Time to think about other things that are actually important and necessary to my survival. Like listening to Doc Mitchell.
I grunt. "Thought it be worse."
Doc Mitchell, bless him, chuckles. "You're awfully calm for someone who was covered head to toe in blood. We had to wash most of it off before I could even get to diagnose your leg."
It's true. When Smokey went boom, blood got everywhere. My armor was covered in blood, my helmet was covered in blood, and the backpack was covered in blood. My things are currently sitting outside since I didn't want to drip blood everywhere.
Gave the residents of Goodsprings quite a scare when I shambled into town.
I also had to remove dried blood from my skin with a towel soaked with water. Pleasant.
As a result, I need a new backpack. One that isn't covered in the blood of my foes.
"Not the first time I've been covered in blood. Wound." I add the last bit as the doctor raises an eyebrow for clarification.
When I was little I got a bloody nose. Little me being the fountain of knowledge that he was, he picked at it. And the result…
Very, very, messy.
"So what exactly did you do to warrant such an injury? Mess with old Smokey?" The doc says jokingly.
"Actually, yes." comes my deadpan response.
Mitchell stares gobsmacked at me. Reaching a hand up, he scratches his mustache and mutters, "Frank will be pleased. Especially after he wasted all those caps on those mercenaries."
I chuckle.
"Why'd you do it Rick? There's nothing I can think of you gaining from this. You've always kept to yourself in that cabin over yonder by that old memorial."
"Planning on going on a journey of my own. Need the caps and whatever I could salvage from the factory. Tired of sitting in my shack all day. Bored."
"Rick, you hate people. You've sat here for 7 years doing nothing, why now of all times?"
Apparently, Doc Mitchell was one of the few people who knew Rick personally. Not enough to be a close friend, but enough to be an acquaintance.
Must have been a hell of a story, how they met, but I can't ask him. I don't feel the same hostility to Doc Mitchell as I felt when I spoke to Trudy. Guess the old saying about not biting the hand that feeds, or in this case, the hand that heals rings true. Because I'm speaking to him like a normal, civilized human being.
He leans forward slightly in his chair. I've been sitting on the bed that the player character first wakes up on, clad in nothing but my undergarments.
"Maybe I'm having my midlife crisis early. I guess I'll just have to deal with it." With this statement, I carefully stand up, using the bed as support. My right leg is in a light brace made of metal, not really restricting my movement, but is there to make sure my leg heals properly. The Hydra's done most of the work, doc pretty much just shoved a brace on my leg and checked the rest of me for injuries. Mostly bruising, but I'll live.
"You sure? The Powder Gangers-"
"Doc, I just fought an overgrown mutant lizard, and won. Some convicts who have gotten too big for their britches don't scare me."
"Though-"I start, walking for the door "Expect to see me frequently. Explosives and fragile human bodies don't mix."
"You're going to fight them?" Doc exclaims incredulously. He's gotten up from his chair and started following me.
"Someone's got to do it. NCR's a no-show, and I think you know just as well as I they won't leave this town alone forever."
"You're just one man, against dozens of hardened criminals! What makes you think you can kill all of them? Even if you came from up north, you haven't-"
I wave my hand in a complacent manner. "I'll be fine Doc, you just worry about patching me up when I eventually get my ass blown up." Doc Mitchell looks like he wants to argue further, but likely he knows he won't be able to dissuade me. Walking out the door and into the night, I walk over to my bloodstained backpack. Rummaging through it, good the books weren't ruined, I pull out the Cybernetics book and present it to Mitchell.
Doc Mitchell's eyes light up at the cover. "This is-"
"A Cybernetic Surgery Standard Edition, I know."
He takes it from me, flipping through the pages. "Where did you even find this? I've been looking for one of these ever since I found that voice modular implant…"
"The schoolhouse."
The doc adopts an expression one might use if someone ran over their dog. "So close?"
"Guess so."
He sighs, and rubs his brow. "Thank you. I guess you'll want a discount for any installation of cybernetic implants you might find?"
"That would be appreciated."
After that, the doc and I talk for a bit out on his balcony in two rocking chairs, watching the stars. Eventually I get up to return to my shack for the night, but Mitchell insists I stay for the night. "Let your leg heal more" his words.
So right now I'm laying down in the patient bed, staring at the ceiling. I can't sleep.
Is it time to talk about my stance on the factions? Not like there's anything better to do.
Let's start with the Legion.
Fuck. Them.
I could go on a long spiel on how slavery is bad, but I won't because every decent human being says the same thing about it. I can see why people do it, the power trip of having someone under your foot, completely powerless to stop you…
It is in a human's nature to be dominating and cruel. Some of us are better at suppressing it than others. But. All of us, at one point or another, have thought of hurting one person at some point of our lives. Maybe we've even done it. Pride, greed, the rest of the darker parts of man… They all exist in us.
Me? I've accepted who I am. The darker parts of myself included. I'm not proud of them, but I won't attempt to justify my darker thoughts. Few people are willing to admit they have less than savory thoughts.
For me, I take pleasure in the suffering of those who prey upon the weak. The hunter becomes the hunted. Not proud of it, but it's there. You could say I see Dexter, the serial murderer who kills other murderers, as someone to be admired for his conduct against criminals.
TV show. Look it up. And I'm in a position to act it out. Poor Vegas raiders. You truly have no idea what's about to hit you.
I'll make what the Legion does to their prisoners look merciful in comparison of what I'm about to do to you, Fiends.
But I'm getting off topic and this is getting slightly personal.
Slavery. It's bad.
As for people who do it…
Well, that makes you a different kind of monster. At that point, you're an animal who only deserves a bloody death. I admit to being an individual who would rather resort to violence than forgiveness against people who deserve it. Nothing I can do will change that about me.
Basically my thoughts on the Legion? Negative.
They have no future either, as they are a society based on war. Once they run out of enemies to fight, they will turn on themselves like rabid beasts would an injured animal. They also pledge devotion to one man. If Caesar were to die, it would weaken them immensely. Caesar himself said that Lanius wasn't a fit leader. Kill Vulpes and…
It's not hard to guess what would happen next.
The NCR. A government based on prewar America values, such as democracy.
Totally not related: Fallout's America was blinded by extreme nationalism and they also bombed the planet along with the rest of the international gang of superpowers. Whose idea was it to base an apocalyptic government off that?
Ok, so there's that. It wouldn't be so bad if they weren't so damn incompetent and corrupt.
The NCR is completely helpless without assistance from the player.
Nelson? That's you retaking it, not them.
That spy at Mcarren? You killed him, not them.
The Battle of Hoover Dam? They would have likely lost against the Legion without your help.
It's also heavily implied that the shareholders have a little too much say in what the government itself does.
They hired Fantastic, who even a stupid Courier with an Intelligence of one can clearly tell that the man has no idea what he's doing. Funnily enough in the game, you can kill Fantastic in plain view of everyone and no one will care. He's that useless.
But you will fail "That Lucky Old Sun" so don't do it.
They're in business with the Silver Rush. Gloria Van Graff is an utter psychopath.
Note to self: Kill Gloria Van Graff at earliest leisure. Steal all their crap and sell it to Gun Runners as well.
The leader of Crimson Caravans isn't much better either. Alice McTaffy or something.
General Oliver is the one protecting Hoover Dam when that old guy at Camp Golf is clearly the better choice! They can't even protect their lands from raiders!
If the Legion was good for one thing, it's that. This is going a bit far, but I'd sooner have the Legion control the Mohave than the NCR. That's how much I hate them.
The NCR soldiers are mostly good people, the government? Not so much.
General assessment of the NCR? Not impressed.
Mr. House. A dictator, but compared to the other two, he's a much better option. He disregards those who live out in the wastes, yes, but he has a plan for advancing humanity into the stars, and off this godforsaken irradiated ball of rock. Compared to the other two, that's considerably better. Legion? Throwing civilization back into the dark ages. NCR? More interested in annexing everything in sight and accumulating territory that they don't even have full control over.
The Brotherhood of Steel New Vegas Chapter, aside from Veronica, are a bunch of asses. I wouldn't shed any tears if they died. House does make a very good point in committing genocide of that faction as his robots are very susceptible to energy weapons and power armor.
Also, their ideology is stupid. It sure as hell didn't stop the Fiends from getting ahold of Laser RCW's, though I wouldn't be surprised if Gloria Van Graff is selling energy weapons to the Fiends.
Remember people, House is taking us to space. Think about that before you get pissy. Speaking of which, Victor is nowhere to be found. Earlier, I looked everywhere, but no sign of House's spy.
Independent Vegas. This one's a toss-up. If I find that the Courier is a saint, I'll jump onboard in a heartbeat. If they are an evil bastard, I'll do my best to kill them. Should I be successful, I'll find Benny, kill him, take the chip, and get in contact with House. I do not have what it takes to lead a nation and it's not because of my Charisma.
Some people are born leaders and others followers. I'm more of a follower, however if things get to the point where an Independent Vegas is necessary and I find that House is off his rocker, with no Courier to lead, then yes, I will take the reins reluctantly.
God, I hope not.
So here's my list of candidates in order, starting from what I think is best to worst.
House (SPACEEEEE), Independence (Only if a Courier with good karma), Legion (Slavery, but no raiders, short term stability), and NCR (Corrupt as all hell, overstretched, and incompetent).
Dictatorship, Whatever the Courier decides, Traditionalist Slaver Society, and a corrupt Democracy. Such wonderful choices.
That reminds me.
I get up from the bed and hobble to the hallway next to the vigor tester. If this world has AWoP "installed" then the starter box should be here. Doc Mitchell has gone to bed and all lights save for the one on the porch are off.
Ah, here it is. Just like in the game, it's a nondescript crate that has no visible way of opening up. I scratch the back of my head. Maybe I should touch it?
Slowly I reach out a finger and yup, there's a floaty menu. I adopt a deadpan expression on my face. C'mon at least try to be real life…
There's only two I'm interested in. Pocket Warehouse and Home Buyer.
In AWoP there were these things called "4d storage devices". Don't ask me for the specifics, but I remember reading on a terminal in game somewhere that they converted objects to "hard light", similar to how a pip boy converts things to data. At least, that's how I remember it working.
Don't quote me on it though. It's not like I can look it up online to make sure I'm right.
Home Buyer would give me five thousand caps, which I could take to Frank's and buy a house, the abandoned one next to Doc Mitchell's house. I remember it carrying all the basic amenities like a worktable, reloading bench, a bed. More importantly it had things like a water purifier and an auto-doc.
What should I choose…
I'm planning on picking a fight with the Powder Gangers, so the auto doc would certainly be useful. But the backpack is cumbersome and limited, and I'm not willing to run the gauntlet of sneaking past the Deathclaws to get to Vegas early. It will likely be a long time until I have an opportunity to get my grubby mitts on a pip boy.
Unless, as I've said before, the Courier is evil. Then I can take it off their dead corpse. The only other 4d that I know the location of is in The Underground, and I'm certainly not going there without being my level being 20 or higher.
I select Pocket Warehouse. A merc charmer outfit materializes above me and something that looks like a sensor model falls into my outstretched hand.
The outfit is now draped over my head. I can't see anything. Put it on the floor.
Walking closer to the light I can look closer at the 4d storage, or rather, the Gen IV 4D Storage Device that's printed proudly on the back in white. The device itself is a small black rectangular box, with a central antenna on the front, like one of those remotes for remote control cars.
On the front there are several red buttons. There's an "on/off" button at the top right, accompanied by a button labeled "materialize" slightly inward. Four buttons serve as inventory management, one for up, down. The other two are assumingly for counting out how much of an item you want to take out. These buttons are centered around a screen that looks like it could belong on one of those old school calculators. There's also a hole labeled "emergency eject" near the bottom, but I'd need a pen or similar shaped object to use it.
Looking closer, the "antenna" isn't an antenna at all, rather a tube with a small led lightbulb at the end. It isn't long, only two or three inches in length. The antenna is retractable too.
Time to see if it works. I press the on button. The calculator screen flashes red, signifying it's on. I point it at the merc outfit on the ground and press "materialize". A white beam shoots out, hitting the outfit. It glows white, and is sucked into the device when the beam retracts.
I hold the device up looking at it. The calculator screen flashes and reads in red text: Merc Charmer Outfit Mark II x 1
I grin.
This will be so useful.
I'm still dead set on getting a pip boy, don't worry. Also the 4d storages are amazing cuz they increase your carry weight. They just deserve a shout-out.
For anyone worried that this character is too strong, I'm planning an inserting more real life difficulty factors. Plus my game is on hard difficulty and I have Hardcore on. If you were in my position, you'd be trying to make yourself as powerful as possible as well.
You're welcome to dispute my stances on the factions, just know it won't change my mind with how I'm deciding to end this fanfic. Next chapter will be similar to this one, though expect timeskips after that one.
Edited 2/5/2019.
