Guest (2): If by TTW you're referring to Tale of Two Wastelands, I'm afraid I'm not well versed in Fallout 3. I'd love to play the game, but my computer is windows 8 and Fallout 3 doesn't work on any computer that's running any windows operating system higher than windows 7. Fuckin stupid if you ask me. I know there's fixes to make it work on Windows 8, but this story is going to be LONG enough already, because there's so much I want to address in Fallout New Vegas.
Plus, Rick/I, by the time he's/I'm done exploring (pillaging) the Mohave, (we) will practically steamroll through apocalyptic Washington DC. Max level and all that.
It's still very early in this story to be talking about sequels, so I can't really guarantee anything assuming I even get to finish this. I intend to, but real life is a bitch. This fanfic could take years to complete for all I know.
Assuming I can finish this, maybe a "dropped in another universe crossover fic" or an original fiction fic set in fallout-verse with Rick showing up to kick ass and take names?
Dude, I would be pissed if I got dropped in Skyrim after surviving the world of Fallout…
This chapter's also 8000+ words, though it's only b/c of the author notes at the end. Enjoy.
Chapter 4 – All I need now is the ability to fly
It's morning. I awake in the patient bed, cracking my neck as I rise.
I feel stiff. And unclean. Usually I take a shower before bed. Obviously, I can't do that now. Nor can I brush my teeth.
Shit, are my teeth going to eventually rot?
I don't care if it's two hundred years old, I need some toothpaste and a toothbrush ASAP. Wonder if I can use something as breath mints until then?
Maybe I should have picked Home Buyer after all. I remember that the house had a bathtub that probably works.
I'd say first world problems, but seeing as the ruined nation I'm in doesn't even count as first world anymore, the saying isn't really valid.
I don't think anywhere can be called first world anymore. A pity.
Now that I've got a TV remote of holding, time to zap anything of value in sight. When I get five thousand caps, I can buy myself a nice home in Goodsprings.
Not waving goodbye to Doc Mitchell, knowing full well from experience that old people don't like to get up until lunchtime, I walk out of his house. Aside from the merc outfit and the 4D which I got sorta legitimately, I didn't steal anything from his place.
That would have been a dick move. Also, I expect to see him a lot in the coming days.
Don't steal from your doctor. Or the man who cuts you open to put implants in you.
Today, I'm planning to go mess with some Powder Gangers, visit Sloan and Primm, and go to Hidden Valley.
Why the last one? I hear you say.
See, I remember the location of a little implant known as Bionic Eyes. If I remember correctly, which I hope I do, they're in Hidden Valley, behind a "hard" difficulty locked door. I'm not planning on waving hello to the Brotherhood of Steel if I can, though if I do come across them I'll need to make a run for it.
Stupid lockdown. Their "hidden" base is so obvious too. Especially with the sandstorm that occurs at night that's only in the fenced area. I mean, what else could be there?
Communists?
They should have put a big sign saying "Home of the Brotherhood of Steel." An NCR platoon could come across it and they wouldn't look twice at it. Because the NCR are a bunch of overextended incompetent dipwads wrapped up in bureaucratic red tape and don't even show up to take care of the Powder Ganger and Deathclaw problems, so that would never happen.
There was that one ranger, but he was a special case by actually taking initiative unlike the rest of the boy scouts.
Boy scouts. That's a good insulting name for NCR troops.
Hidden Valley. It sure was hidden alright, so put it in the name. It's not even a valley. More like a collection of weirdly shaped hills with AC units sticking out of the ground. And no one suspects a thing. Totally not an occupied bunker or anything under the surface, nooooooooo, that would make too much sense.
While I've been thinking, I've taken all my crap to the abandoned gas station on the outskirts of town. Going inside, I see that whats-his-face hasn't moved in yet. The Crimson Caravan guy. Sorry dude, I'm bad with names. I only remember important people. Though why am I thinking of "Bingo" all of a sudden? No matter.
Pulling everything I've accumulated during my time here out of the backpack, I lay it down on the counter. I could do an inventory check, but theoretically if this is a fanfiction and I was a reader, I wouldn't care diddly squat what the si guy has, only that he get his ass moving and go do something that involves ACTION.
So I won't. The only things of real value I have are the Stealth and Medicine skill books. These aren't to be confused with the magazines, as they provide permanent skill raises as opposed to the temporary skill boosts of the magazines. But I'm sure anyone who has played FNV knows this, and is tapping their foot impatiently silently urging me to get on with the story.
Fine, you impatient bastards.
I zap everything with my 4D storage and it all goes into the magic box.
Was that short enough for you?
Got nothing to say to that, do you? That's what I thought.
…
I need friends. Talking to myself like this cannot be healthy. Dumping my broken, bloodied metal armor, I put on the Merc Charmer Outfit Mark II. It feels much nicer to wear and ooh, protective padding. Probably won't stop bullets, but it's the thought that counts.
Taking a freshly moist towel, the same one I used to remove Smokey's life juices from my body, I begin vigorously scrubbing the bloody combat helmet.
Wash off, damn you!
Ten minutes of scrubbing later, I finally lose patience and give up. I've been successful in removing some of the blood, but a large amount still remains.
Stupid gecko blood.
Shrugging, I put it on my head. Maybe if I find another combat helmet and do my voodoo repair ritual, the helmet will magically become clean. I wouldn't be surprised.
By the way, I did look and see exactly what a doctor's bag was. It basically is a tiny field kit for treating an injured limb, complete with braces, surgical tools, some kind of nondescript bottles labeled "painkillers" and "antibiotics "respectively , that kind of stuff. Not as useless as I'd thought it would be.
Lastly, I tie a surgical mask I found in a metal box somewhere around my mouth. Now if only I had goggles or sunglasses now, I could be edgy and hide almost all my face from view. Though if my plan for Superman eyes goes off without a hitch, I might not need eye protection anymore…
Tucking the 4D remote in my pocket and slinging the grenade rifle on my back, which is secured there by creative usage of a combination of two leather belts, and making sure that the crowbar is secured to my waist, I walk out the door.
Walking through town is nerve-wracking as usual. There aren't many settlers up yet, not that I can blame them as there's not really much to do around here. Unless you're like me, who tries to get so very hard to get killed every day. Makes life interesting at least.
I'm going to eat those words one day I bet. Still no sign of Victor, which means he's probably off doing House's dirty work. Just as well, as I don't really want to talk to him. I walk past Frank's store, passing the modded girl who sits outside. She waves at me. I wave back.
How nice.
Now that this isn't a game anymore, well sorta… I notice how fucking boring it is walking to places. I can't pull a game avatar's constant jog either, meaning I have to walk to my destinations. I'm an indoors person, so my sense of wanderlust is almost none.
Now I really wish I had a pip boy. Then I could at least listen to some music. But who needs music when you talk to yourself on a regular basis? Not me, that's for sure.
…
I really need to find and conscript a companion as a following buddy soon. My sanity cannot take this. I refuse to be like that one Nightkin and use a brahmin skull as an imaginary friend. Raul, as soon as I find a missile launcher, I'm coming to rescue you. Whether you like it or not. I need you. No-homo. Your body is too sexy for my mind to even comprehend having sex with you.
That was sarcasm, in case you missed it. Not into necrophilia. I know they're technically not dead, but ghoul bodies are just better preserved corpses. That still move and stuff. Brainzzz… now that I think about it,"zombie" is probably a racist slur for ghouls. Stopping now.
I've arrived at a place. Jean Sky Diving. I open the door. A Powder Ganger is sitting in the seat, staring at me. This is awkward. Right, AWoP makes one spawn in here.
"Who the fuck are yo-"
Not wanting to be shot again and throwing what little morality I have left out the window, I bum rush the convict. Unluckily for him, he's still halfway in the process of getting out of his seat and reaching for his sidearm, a 9mm pistol. My crowbar's blunt end slamming into his face ensures he doesn't get a chance to use it.
The guy falls over backwards in his seat, his head colliding with a metal locker. He doesn't get up. I slit his throat with my machete. Can't leave any chances.
That's two now. Two people I've killed, this one a little less justifiable than the first. It's a pity with my apathy and new found sociopathy I don't give a damn. Though I'll keep count.
Can't become an absolute uncaring monster, now can I?
Grabbing the key on the desk I use it to unlock a locker, which has ammo and weapons in it. I found boxing tape. You didn't ask for it, but here's some information on boxing tape.
Boxing tape doesn't magically appear on your fists. Instead it's presented as a couple of loose, sticky strips that I would have to wrap around my hands to use.
Here at Fallout self-insert incorporated, we teach you stuff alongside providing a great source of entertainment.
Looting the guy's body, I take his gun and some spare ammo I found in his pocket. And some dynamite, about five sticks of it. There was also a key in the vest he wore, which probably goes to the basement in this building.
Touching a dead body is a novel experience, and you should totally try it.
P.S. If you decide to commit murder after this, I don't know you and am thus blameless. Check with your doctor before deciding to try murder, it might cause unhealthy side effects, like death.
AWoP again. Original building didn't have a basement.
Unlocking the basement the two trapdoors open to what looks like a bunker. Carefully, I step onto the stepladder that provides a way of getting down.
Walking through the slightly musty halls I open the first door I see. It leads to a cramped room full of rusty lockers and file cabinets. A dresser greets me at the end, turning to the right, the room leads into a bigger room that might have once been a miniature hospital.
Except for the fact that's its completely trashed. An operation table turned over here, some sarsaparilla crates thrown haphazardly here…
God, what a dump. Looting everything in sight yields a couple stimpacks, some empty syringes, couple medical tools, and my first "melee" drug.
Med-X.
For the sake of not being an idiot and getting high, I don't stick myself with it. Besides, I have enough dynamite to blow everything in this cramped space away.
Walking out through an additional side door, I see some graffiti.
"Quit your whining." Who the fuck was whining, and was it really so bad as to have to write your response on the wall for the world to see?
"Fuck the NCR!" As these were former convicts of the NCR, this one at least makes sense.
Looking down the stairs, I guess I could walk down there…
But I also remember there being guys down there, so I have a better idea. Taking a dynamite, MAGIC LIGHTER~, and lighting it, I toss it down the stairs and back away.
I cover my ears. The dynamite goes off and it isn't long before angry voices can be heard from around the corner. Taking another TNT stick, I'm already lighting it as the first Powder Ganger comes across the corner. Giving him a cheery wave with my hand clutching the lighter, I throw the lit dynamite at him.
It bounces on the steps, and comes to a stop at the guy's feet. He dumbly looks down at it, eyes widening when he realizes what it is. Powder Ganger goes to backpedal and run away, only there's two more guys who have shown up behind him, and are blocking the way.
He yells frantic curses at them to move the hell out of the way, but to no avail as the dynamite goes off.
The bright light of the explosion covers the men for a brief second and in the next, chunks of flesh fly off, blood sprays everywhere and I should really stop before this gets too nasty to read out loud in my head.
So that's what a human looks like blowing up in real life. My morbid curiosity has been satisfied.
Don't look at me like that, I bet you were thinking it too, you self-righteous hypocrites. If I'm apparently a sociopath now, I might as well make the most of it.
I wait, holding another stick of dynamite.
And wait.
And wait.
Either I got all of them, or real life Powder Gangers are more smart then their in-game counterparts. Not going to stop me from killing all of them, but I guess it means they're not all stupid.
Putting away the dynamite and un-slinging my grenade rifle, I carefully turn the corner. Ignoring the dead guys, I make eye contact with another Powder Ganger sitting there, looking awkward as he's holding some dynamite with a lit match next to the wick.
We're at an impasse. I'm too close to him for the guy to throw that dynamite without getting caught up in the explosion himself, and he's too close to me for usage of the grenade rifle.
For a couple seconds, we stare at each other, neither of us wanting to move for fear of the consequences. Then, another guy appears. Shit, he has an advantage.
"Holy shit, Deathclaw!" I yell out and point, causing the guy in front of me to turn his head hurriedly, because unlike players of the game, deathclaws are the literal devil for wastelanders.
Also, he's an idiot.
Pressing the trigger, the second guy gets blown to pieces while his friend in front of me watches. Then, taking the grenade rifle, I bash the other guy atop the head with it, causing him to stagger and fall over. Dropping the rifle, I pull the crowbar from its fixed position on my belt and begin hitting the guy with it. To his credit, the Powder Ganger rolls over from his position and catches the crowbar. Now we're in a tug of war match of who gets the crowbar.
"The fuck you have against us man?! We didn't do nuthin to you!"
I go for a cheap shot, and stomp him in his privates. While he's rolling on the floor cussing, I stand over him like a Sword of Damocles.
"Nothing?" I put my foot on his chest to stop him from struggling. He doesn't try to kick me, likely still paralyzed from the waist down due to my kick. He gazes fearfully at me.
"Who says I need a reason against people like you?"
With this statement, I raise my crowbar over my head and swing it down. It makes contact with his face, causing his head to slam down on the metal floor of the bomb shelter.
He doesn't move again.
A feeling of sickening satisfaction makes its way through my system but I mercilessly crush it, forcibly inserting a feeling of indifference.
No matter how many people I kill, I must never take pleasure in it. To do so would be becoming no better than the common murderer, even if I only kill the guilty.
As much as I admire Dexter, I don't want to be him. Only kill because I have to, not because I want to.
That's what, seven now? Seven people I've killed.
And yet, I feel nothing.
Getting up from the dead man, I loot the bodies of his comrades. Stepping into the next room, my gloomy thoughts on killing suddenly disperse as I find a body.
A half-eaten body.
Chunks are cut out of it like one would a dead cow or pig. The head is missing, the bloody neck exposing it's insides for the world to see. The right arm and left leg have been removed, and looking at a nearby table I see a bloody piece of what is likely human meat lay there on a plate, with a fork stuck in it.
I stop feeling disturbed at my thoughts of sociopathy as they turn to indignant rage.
Cannibals.
If I felt guilty for killing the guys before, those thoughts have taken a trip to another planet, no, solar system.
Now I wish I didn't kill the guy from before, if only so I could torture the ever loving fuck out of him. For example, I could stick an empty syringe in his eye, suck it out, and feed him his own eyeball.
Walking past the mutilated corpse I offer a silent prayer for whoever the poor bastard might have been and proceed to take everything of value. In the refrigerator I found some "strange meat", which is called that because fnv developers were skittish and too afraid to call it a human steak.
Walking into the next room, there's another body chained to the wall. This one has knives sticking into it, like it's highlighting the "tasty" sections of the human body.
Disgusting.
Resisting the urge to vomit, which has returned with a vengeance, I sit down and read the nearby working terminal. The first four entries document the life of a family as they are subsequently discovered by Powder Gangers and are fighting them off.
The last entry details how one of the cannibals will make a nice stew out of the boy.
Feelings of rage consume me, and I spend the next few minutes sitting at the terminal, doing nothing but reading the logs over and over.
You don't understand. Before, this was a game and players had a feeling of disconnection to the game as there are no real consequences when you can save and reload. No real attachments to anyone beside companions, for why should anyone else matter when you would likely only see them once per playthrough?
But this is real life now, and that feeling of disconnection and apathy is absent, replaced by a sinking feeling in my gut.
My eyes parse over the beginning sentence of the last terminal entry.
Heh. That stupid kid will make a damn fine stew.
My fist clenches and my teeth grit. There's a faint prickle at the back of my neck.
Slowly, I stand back up, and proceed going back to looting anything of value. Eventually, the result of my scrounging has pays off. I found a Chinese Stealth book in the bathroom. I-
I…
…
I feel sluggish. With my inward rage having no output, I feel…
Empty.
After I trudge out of the bomb shelter, I walk behind the table, managing to retrieve the chair from my second human victim to sit down. I collapse into it, and put my face into my hands.
Why am I here?
The charm, the novelty, it's all worn off now. Seeing that dead family, all cut up like food to be eaten has scraped away my previous positive thoughts and left a hollow feeling in my stomach.
Right, Fallout. A game that often shows the worst of what humanity has to offer. Where criminals, rapists, and worse can get away with what they please, because there's no global organized superpower looming over them like big brother. They build their petty kingdoms out in the wastes, getting drunk off their own power and preforming heinous acts with no fear of retaliation, because who will stop them?
I sit there for at least an hour or two, pondering my previous outlook on life. I don't move at all during this time, electing to remain with my face in my hands, elbows on the desk. My thoughts churn with acts of violence, crimes against nature, and lack of organized government.
Stupid kid will make a fine stew…
It was at this point that "Rick", whose previous thoughts on the scum of society were low to begin with, boiled over and as a result, Rick became more and more steadfast in his hatred. His mind clouded with anger, and a cold, primal rage burned within him. Silently, he swore that day that any raider, cannibal, or criminal he came across would meet a brutal and lengthy demise at his hands.
Companion perk gained: Marauder Antipathy- While "Ricksaw" is a companion, you get a 20% damage boost and damage resistance against Raiders, Cannibals, Lowlifes, and NPC's with negative karma.
The perk icon is that of a frowning Rick in vault boy style, holding a struggling Fiend by the neck, other arm raised over his head poised to drive a combat knife through the Fiend's throat.
I found an answer to my troubles.
If the scum of humanity commits crimes without abandon because they have nothing to fear, what might happen if someone or something were to fill that gap?
Someone who commits crimes of nature so horrible against those that deserve it that preforming such acts in the area is tantamount to suicide?
I think… I've found my calling here.
How ironic. Becoming a sociopath is beneficial in this case. No need to worry about such silly things as "ethics" and "morals" when dealing with scum, no, not at all…
Eventually, I get up and go outside.
Three Powder Gangers. Two pacing about, one standing next to a crate.
I blow the first and second men up with my grenade rifle. The third I walk up to, and proceed to murder the panicked third man with my crowbar's sharp end ending up in his neck. I pull it out.
Good riddance.
Yesterday, I bought a shovel from Chet's.
It'll be finally used for its intended purpose now. Under the desert sun, I dig two graves. It's hot, and I have to take breaks every ten minutes or so to take a drink of water.
Finally, I finish. I go back into the building, and down into the bomb shelter. Reaching the first mutilated corpse, I pick it up and drag it upstairs.
The experience is not pleasant, but I pay no mind to the cumbersome shape, or the muffled stink of days old carcass. My surgical mask is working as intended. I lay the first body in its hole, and bury it.
Then I get the second one. This one is more difficult to remove, as some monster has chained it to the wall, cutting limbs off but leaving the stumps.
Sliding the bloody chains off works. I also remove the knives. On the way out with the body, I "accidentally" step on one of the cannibal's heads, electing cracking and wet squelching noises due to the combined weight of the corpse and I.
Oops.
Dragging the body out of the shack, I place a photograph I found of the family with the body.
I suspect this cadaver I dragged out is the son. I bury him. The shovel is left standing between the two graves at the edge, serving as the marker. The graves are located near the strange plane.
Before I became Agnostic, I used to be Christian. Ironically, what drove me apart from the church was my violent hatred of murderers, rapists, and the like. I felt unfit to be a Christian, and too accepting of religion to be an Atheist, so I chose to sit on the fence between Religion and Atheism.
I'm sure God won't mind if this lost sheep says a prayer for these poor souls.
I clear my throat, and clasp my hands together in genuine prayer, something I haven't done in a long, long time.
"In your hands, O Lord, we humbly entrust our brothers and sisters."
"In this life you embraced them with your tender love;"
"Deliver them now from every evil and bid them eternal rest."
As if God himself was listening, a slight breeze picks up.
"The old order has passed away: welcome them into paradise, where there will be no sorrow, no weeping or pain, but the fullness of peace and joy with your Son and the Holy Spirit forever and ever."
"Amen."
My first true prayer in years. Likely my last, as the crimes I'm about to commit for the good of mankind will damn me to hell. With that final word, as if Fallout New Vegas was waiting for a signal, the level up sound plays and the wind, which is causing dust to scatter stops.
Everything stops.
It waited for me to think my life out and bury the bodies before popping up?
I don't know whether to be thankful or exasperated.
The menu pops up in front of me. I stand there silently for a moment. Mechanically, I allot my points. Lockpicking is now 55.
All the perk options from before are here as well as three new ones. The first newcomer is…
Cannibal.
I stare blankly at the perk, expecting rage but finding none.
Cold indifference is all I feel. I gaze upon it like one would a half-dead rabid animal: Ready to put it down for good, but also possessing the wisdom that a cornered animal is a deadly one.
I elect to pretend the perk doesn't exist.
The next two, the only ones that are new, are Educated and Comprehension.
Educated will add two extra skill points I can direct to whatever needs leveling, while Comprehension will double the gains of reading temporary skill boosting magazines and adding an extra skill point gained when I read skill books like the Chinese stealth book.
Considering that there are a lot of books like that around in the wasteland, Comprehension would be the better choice. So I pick it.
Comprehension – You understand books better. Nerd.
Kinda short. The sarcastic description brings some life back into me and slowly but surely, I return to treating everything as a joke once more.
But I'll never forget what I witnessed today. I won't forget the bodies, the fork, the human meat, and the logs anytime soon.
I'm glad I killed those men.
As time resumes I stand silent in front of the unmarked graves, my hands clasped behind my back. Then I turn around, and forcibly make my demeanor do a one eighty. Even back on my old earth, I was remarkably prone to mood whiplash.
…
So, how does reading in this version of kinda-real-life FNV work exactly?
Taking my 4d remote out and selecting the Chinese Skill book, which doesn't take long to select because it lists everything alphabetically, with numbers before the letters, I press the button labeled "materialize". The storage device shoots a beam of light out of the antenna lightbulb thing at the front, where the light takes shape of a book. The glow dies down, and there lays Chinese Army: Special Ops Training Manual, proudly displaying its bright red cover in the dirt.
Picking it up, I brush some sand off the cover. I open it. Surprisingly, I don't "eat" the book. To be honest, I was half expecting to.
Damn, I actually have to sit down and read this. That explosives crate will make a good seat.
Just need to push this dead guy off first, give me a min.
It's actually an interesting read. The Chinese were surprisingly resourceful at being sneaky. The portion that was available for me to read talked about breathing techniques they would use to reduce noise output when they had to take a breath of-
Your Sneak has increased by 4.
Hello, disembodied gender neutral voice in my head. That's going to happen for every skill book, isn't it? Oh, the book disintegrated into nothingness. In hindsight, I should have seen that coming.
I have another Chinese sneak manual in my 4d. Materializing it, I stare at it skeptically. Will it say the same thing?
Only one way to find out. Opening it, I read about the complexities of crawling, which has to be done carefully depending on what said stealthy person was wearing. Normal clothing and light armor are easier to sneak with, while heavy armor has to be handled more carefully. The Chinese compensated for this by-
Your Sneak has increased by 4.
Once again, the book dissolves into nothingness. Hey, I wasn't done reading that out loud in my head! Now the imaginary people will never know how the section finishes.
Inconsiderate skill books.
We have a Medicine one as well. Guess I'll read it too.
The forearm is composed of two bones, the ulna and the radius. The hand bones are split into three different parts: carpus, metacarpus, and the phalanges. There are eight bones that make up the carpal group: pisiform, triquetrum, lunate, scaphoid, hamate, capitate, trapezoid, and the-
Your Medicine has increased by 4.
Trapezium. I wasn't done reading that, you fuck.
Sloan, quite frankly, is a shithole. The buildings are constructed out of dirty sheets of metal. There's a stink of rust that accompanies you wherever you go in this town, if you can even call it that. The guy in the road warned me of the deathclaws, and I told him I wasn't interested going that way.
He looked at me like I was crazy, which I don't blame him. For him, this place is a dead end, no work happening and the workers are just milling around.
For me, it's the location of two skill books.
But first, time to use the outhouse. There is toilet paper provided, if anyone was curious. Looks like the NCR can at least get that straight.
After my bathroom break, I go and fix Snuffle's leg. Taking some antibiotics from my doctor's bag, I slather it on her leg. Using the boxing tape from earlier, I wrap up her back leg and attach a splint to it. I think this is how you did it in the game. Regardless, it seems to have worked, as she's nuzzling me in thanks.
I also assemble the generator, which I actually put together piece by piece fully aware of what I'm doing. Weird, because I sure as hell couldn't do this before. Having your life become an actual game is weird in general.
I don't bother talking to that guy from earlier because I really don't care about NCR rep.
Also, talking.
Ugh.
Using a stealth boy for the first time is extremely strange. The device, when placed on the wrist, snaps on and awaits usage. You then have to push the little red button and fwoosh, you're invisible.
It muffles your footsteps too. I stomped the ground as loud as I could, and the noise that came out was a pathetic puff noise. Invisibly, I shrugged.
Sneaking inside the worker's barracks is easy. I merely wait for a wind to pick up outside, then open the door as if the wind blew it open. Rickety. Poorly made. Sneaking on my legs, I walk in. The guy who always watches the other's stuff is here.
He gets off a bed to close the door. While he is, I take the opportunity to nick a Duck and Cover off the shelf. When he returns to fix the generator, I then nick a Deans Electronics.
The books both turn invisible while I'm touching them. Opening the door as if a strong breeze blew once more, I leave.
That was easy. To celebrate, I go into the office lounge and steal all the workers' paychecks from the trunks. Doesn't net me much, but it's still caps.
I love using that line about celebration. The workers weren't working anyway. Ignoring omelet lady, I leave Sloan and continue on to Hidden Valley.
Surprisingly, I only trek for less than five minutes before reaching Hidden Valley.
How, how have the NCR not found these people yet?
Before I go in and do battle with Bark scorpions and possibly run from Brotherhood members, let's read these books first.
Dean's Electronics teaches me crap about engines.
Most common engines have 4, 6, or 8 pistons which move up and down in the cylinders. On the upper side of the piston is what is called the combustion chamber where fuel and air mix before ignited. On the other side is the crankcase which is full of oil. Pistons have rings-
Your Repair has increased by 4.
Finally. I was getting tired of reading that.
Duck and Cover!
Class A explosives are defined as possessing, detonating, or otherwise maximum hazard; such as dynamite, nitroglycerin, picric acid, lead azide, fulminate of mercury, black powder, blasting caps, and detonating primers.
Your Explosives has increased by 4.
Big words. I know what everything is except picric, azide, and fulminate.
Now that that's done, we can continue onwards in our journey. Arriving at Hidden Valley proper, I'm beset upon by three Bark scorpions. They're not terribly hard to kill, as their carapace falls victim to my crowbar fairly easily.
I harvest their stingers. You just take a sharp bladed object like my machete and saw away at it. Don't use this as a guide for de-stinging pet scorpions as these ones are dead and abnormally large.
I take one step forward, and piss off about six more. They don't all come at once, though I have a hell of a time fighting them, trying not to be stung.
Little bastards.
After I kill and loot them all, I take my first steps inside the enclosed area. It looks just like it does in the game. Which means it looks suspicious.
AC units as far as the eye can see…
The first bunker I enter, I come across has a locked door I can pick. When I do manage to open it, I am greeted by a lot of crap in the way. I almost leave, but remember that things are hidden in these crap filled areas. Going back I squeeze between the rubble and am rewarded for my efforts by finding two mini nukes and a full ammo clip of 5.56 bullets.
I very carefully handle the mini nukes, as dropping them would be a really bad idea. Carefully, I set them on the ground and zap them before a stray bullet from nowhere hits them or something.
I use my surgical mask to wipe the sweat off my brow. Phew.
The second bunker I find, holds the discovery of something nastier behind its locked door.
A giant ant nest. I grab the box of 5mm ammo I found and scadoodle.
I think that leads to a redoubt actually…
I plan on checking the redoubts out later, I'll explain another time.
The third bunker leads into the camp of the NCR ranger guy I talked about earlier. He isn't here, but I do find a dirty water in a sack on the counter.
I can't unlock the door. This is likely the one I want.
Pulling out a sole Locksmith's Reader I found in the mailboxes of Goodsprings I flip it open. Unlike the skill books, the words blur before my eyes, kind of like when you do some last minute studying for a test.
Using my temporary insight, I lock pick the door open. First glance reveals a frag grenade to the left, but it's not what I'm looking for. Some shimmying through the tight space to the right reveals a wondrous bounty.
And when I say wondrous, I mean it.
An implant labeled "Bionic Eyes" is sitting on an ammo box.
Yes!
Along with the implant, I found various ammo, most notable being a missile, as well as some scrap metal and a steam pressure thingy. The steam pressure thingy's important for upgrading an implant that increases your carry weight if I remember correctly.
Unfortunately, not everything is sunshine in rainbows. As I walk out of the bunker I see movement in the corner of my eye. I turn my head.
A five man squad of Brotherhood Paladins are looking at me from roughly fifty or so feet away.
Really? Fucking really? I shouldn't have talked about meeting the Brotherhood, curse you Murphy's Law!
It's only made worse as it looks like them spotting me is purely accidental. They all look like they were just heading back to their bunker, just as I decided to walk out of one of the abandoned ones.
What the hell are they even doing out here?! I thought there was a lockdown!
One of them walks forward, raising a Gauss rifle threateningly. "Halt!" he calls out.
Do you really expect that to work, ever? I don't want a bomb collar on my neck!
I decide to give the tinhead a worthy response to his idiotic statement. Slowly, I raise my hand and give him the middle finger.
Then I run.
In hindsight, this is simultaneously the best and worst idea I've ever had. The best, because with them wearing that heavy rusted power armor I can certainly outrun them, and worst because I'm now dodging all manner of laser and plasma weapons.
You know that "chubby bubble girl" meme? That's me right now, only instead of bubbles, I'm holding an implant and there's BOS paladins behind me shooting Christmas death at me.
These guys have Star Wars storm trooper accuracy. How are they missing me so much?
A laser grazes my helmet, barely missing my ear.
Fine, I'll stop tempting fate.
Oh good, some asshole decided to close the gate at the other entrance. Ducking for cover behind a conveniently placed rock, I fire shell after shell of grenade shells at the approaching paladins, reloading frantically.
That one just fell over. Hah.
That one too.
I don't expect this to actually harm them, it's more of a distraction. Convinced I've made them wary of getting any closer temporarily, I pull the gate open and run for it.
After a lot of running later, all the way back to the area near Goodsprings am I finally convinced I lost them. I stop, resting my hands on my knees, panting. I made sure to run laps around the surrounding Powder Ganger camps. They probably won't kill anyone in Goodsprings because they don't know I hang out around there.
Was funny watching Powder Gangers look at me, and then see the scary armored men behind me chasing. They started throwing dynamite and firing shots at the Brotherhood members.
They're probably dead now, but their criminals, so who cares about them?
I don't.
My feet hurt. I was running with that brace on the whole time too.
Worth it. I hold the implant up triumphantly. Judging by the position of the sun, it's two, maybe three in the afternoon.
I skipped lunch. Damn.
Luckily on the way to Sloan I took all that hidden food supplies in that overturned truck you find nearby.
Banana yucca. It's an unholy (but delicious) combination of a banana and a pear. Tastes like a banana, but has the texture of a pear. Also is dry on the outside, moist on the inside.
It actually isn't as bad as it sounds.
Walking back into Goodsprings I make my way to Doc Mitchell's house. What happens next…
"Of all implants you want to start out with, you want me to replace your eyes?"
Considering this is the guy who was able to save a life by pulling bits of lead out of someone's brain, yes this should be child's play for you, Doc Mitchell.
Too bad I can't tell him that.
"Just do one eye at a time. If you fuck up, I'll still have a working eye."
Since I don't use a gun, losing an eye wouldn't be as bad for me as some people.
Doc Mitch grumbles about me being young and stupid. In his position, I don't blame him. To spare you a long process, this is a heavily abridged version of how the cybernetic surgery went.
Doc Mitchell strapped me down to the bed. Then he used knockout gas, which I'm surprised he even has. While I was in dreamland, Doc Mitchell took my left eye out and put it in a jar with some kind of preservative fluid in it. After connecting all those nerve endings and installing it proper, he woke me up.
"Well?" asked the doc. I was covering my still organic eye, looking out my robot eye.
My vision in this eye is lacking imperfections. 20/20 vision woot!
"Any idea how to trigger the alternate view modes?" asked I.
Doc Mitchell turns a page of the Cybernetics book and looks at it for a minute.
"It says try squinting."
I squint, and woahhh everything's green. Squinting again, the environment turns blue with the color red clinging to heated surfaces.
Common sense dictates I shouldn't remove my hand from my organic eye right now, not if I want a migraine. I squint once more and it goes a grayish white.
Doc Mitchell is sparkling like a Twilight vampire. The absolute horror.
"Yeah it works alright." Comes my gruff response as I squint once more and turn my vision to normal.
Then he installed the other one.
I've just replaced my eyes: the first of many body parts that will be likely removed in the future.
Yay, cybernetics!
Cybernetic Implant Perk acquired: Bionic Eyes- Through the power of SCIENCE (and modding), you can now see the world in night vision, thermal vison, and electromagnetic vision.
Bidding the good doc goodbye, I leave for Primm to acquire friends.
ED-E. He's like the Glommer in Don't Starve. Being around him gives you a sanity boost.
When I arrive in Primm, the Boy Scout that warns you in the game isn't there. Actually, there isn't an NCR presence at all. Where their camp was in the game is just a bunch of sad, lonely looking buildings.
Guess the original sheriff is still alive. How early to the party am I?
I squint twice, and turn on thermal vision. No human shaped heat signatures here, no sir. There are however, moving heat signatures in Primm itself, which means they're outlaws or residents.
I don't have a scope or binoculars, so I'll have to get closer. Hopefully they're residents, because I don't want to be shot again.
Aware of the fact that this is similar to how I entered Goodsprings, I slowly walk across the bridge devoid of mines across to the town itself.
Getting closer, I see they are residents. Rick's misanthropic ass is growling at the residents which is another way of saying I feel the same pissed off and uncomfortable feeling I felt in Goodsprings and Sloan.
Just in case, I take a mentat. Tastes like a Mentos, a chalky, stale peppermint flavored Mentos, but one all the same. Hopefully it'll boost my Charisma to the point of not speaking like I hate the world and be nicer to Jonathan Nash.
I could use these as breath mints, if I wasn't so worried of getting addicted to them.
Glaring at curious residents and poor caravan people coming to play at "budget Vegas", I stand in front of the Mohave Express building, which also doubles as Nash's house. Sighing, I push the door open.
Inside, the residence is faithfully similar to the game, which is appropriate. A blue Mohave drop box in the corner. Better condition than the Goodsprings one, likely due to the fact that it isn't exposed to the elements. EDE's busted up robot body, which looks like a steel basketball with antennas and a bunch of random junk grafted on it is on the counter, looking very sad with itself.
I've half a mind to fix him and take him with me.
No, the Courier…
Can go suck a dick. I'm fixing ED-E and taking him with me. If Nash lets me try and fix him.
There's a radio playing a song I don't recognize but sounds decidedly 1920's-ish. Guess there is more music than what was in the game. Jonathan Nash is at the counter, discussing something with a man who is wearing a duster with the prewar flag of America on his back.
The man, hearing the door open, turns and looks at me. He's black, and has his hair in dreadlocks. A breathing mask hangs loosely off his neck, supported by a clip-on strap.
This is, without a doubt…
Ulysses.
Before anyone says anything, I know my companion perk is a better Sneering Imperialist. I'm aware. Warning you right now: The Fiends are going to meet an extremely brutal end. Given that most of you have all played this game before, you'll all likely agree on my opinions towards them.
This is just a warning towards those squeamish towards gore as when we reach the Fiends, that portion of the story will likely immediately force this fic to become M-rated and will be more graphic than usual containing elements some might find disturbing, with a darker setting than the overall fanfic.
Don't be fooled by that humor tag. I just decided there would be more humor than horror in this fic.
Wait, don't run away! I promise it'll only be for that part! Come back!
Please keep in mind before commenting that this character is a semi self-insert. The personality and thought process is mine, but last I checked, I was not a sociopath or whatever the hell Rick qualifies as now. This is a likely scenario of what would happen if someone with such strong feelings against criminals like me suddenly lost their ability to feel guilt for killing and was put in a position to act said personal brand of vengeance out. Especially after being pushed into such a place as Fallout.
Realistically, your personality would likely undergo such a radical change in a hostile environment as well. Because let's be honest, as awesome as Fallout is, not a single one of us actually wants to live there.
Besides, normal goody two shoes Si people are boring, so why don't we use one with such a distorted view on morals and ethics that isn't outright on the "evil" side?
P.S. I do suffer from rapid mood swings irl. And yes, they are that sudden.
And now, for something completely different.
I'm debating whether or not to put a character profile at the end of each chapter, though eventually we will reach a point where I don't level up in a chapter, probably when we hit the thirtyish range.
For anyone who might be worrying, the profile will not count for the initial chapter itself.
No cutting corners here. For anyone wondering why I'm only level four, I've cut my exp gains by 25% via Project Nevada.
Profile
Name: Rick
Level: 4
Title: Defender
Karma: Good
Perks
Bionic Eyes
Built to Destroy
Comprehension
Hot Blooded
Intensive Training (Rank 2)
S.P.E.C.I.A.L
Strength – 8
Perception – 7
Endurance – 8
Charisma – 1
Intelligence – 8
Agility – 5
Luck – 5
Skills
Barter - 7
Energy Weapons - 19
Guns - 15
Explosives - 20
Lockpick - 55
Medicine - 26
Melee Weapons - 40 (had STR+1 from Gecko steak in previous profile because I'm a dumb)
Repair - 40
Science - 22
Sneak - 28
Speech - 11
Survival - 21
Unarmed - 21
Faction Reputations (New!)
Goodsprings: Accepted
Sloan: Neutral
Primm: Neutral
Powder Gangers: Vilified
Brotherhood of Steel (New Vegas Chapter): Fugitive
For anyone wondering about that "Fugitive" tag, it's because The Brotherhood knows that I, an outsider, knows the location of the Brotherhood base and have avoided capture or elimination. I didn't kill any of them, so that really doesn't warrant a "shunned", "hated", or "vilified" tag. It does mean they will likely send assassins after me however.
Who knows how this will be resolved in the future…
Expect timeskips in the next chapter.
Edited 4/10/2019.
