I decided the writing style will be that of a third person limited omniscient narrator, centrally following the Courier, but later others when we….move on. Considering the endgame, here's a short version: Boon is back in 1st recon, Lilly is back at Jacobstown being treated, Gannon is with the Followers and the rest reside with the Courier. Khans and BoS are treated as an NCR victory in the game; Followers are friends of the NCR. The only change in fact from the vanilla NCR victory is the described intention of the Courier. Oh, and Ulysses is alive and well; the Sorrows and Dead Horses still inhabit Zion, and the Think Tank is hard at work for the Courier. I guess I predicted fan rage 'cause of the fact that the Courier essentially FAILED the main quest, from his viewpoint.
When Crocket arrived, Drake was surprised. He didn't expect this sudden encroachment on what was unofficially his territory, and was quite hostile. He met the intruders on the flat land that once served as a training ground for the former occupants, a short distance from the entrance to the bunker. "What in the hell do you guys want with me?" the Courier asked, with a hard edge to his voice that made his attitude towards this visit unmistakable. "I'm here to ask you for help with something, something only you can shed any light on." Crocket statedwith the neutral, inoffensive tone of an experienced diplomat. Folding his arms, with a smirk on his face, Drake responded "ONLY me? How come I'm the only one that can ever help you people with ANYTHING around here? I can just hear that tone in your voice, expecting-as always- that you can entice me with some of the shit ton of caps you guys have earned with your little conquest here, bet that trunk of yours is stuffed with money." He said pointing to the large case at their feet. As his voice rose, one of the rangers escorting the ambassador shifted their weapons, probably trying to intimidate the Courier. "Don't make me laugh, Ranger Rick, that big iron of yours won't get to leave its holster." He was right too. Crocker, in due haste, tried his hand at defusing the tension that was quickly worsening. "Look Drake, we aren't here for any sort of nonsense. I know helping us was not your first choice, but if you truly care for the wellbeing of the Mojave, you'll listen to what I have to say." After a brief moment of consideration, the Courier agreed.
Crocker was right, he knew, and decided to invite them into the weather station. "Sit down. You guys want a drink? I'll be having one. Been having a lot lately. They say alcohol abuse can come from depression. I wonder where that depression came from?" he said, raising his eyebrow to enforce the point. He grabbed a whiskey from a cabinet in the chamber. Drake wasn't stupid, and decided he couldn't just shut himself from the world forever. In anticipation of visitors (not NCR ones he assumed) he had the weather station remodeled into a sort of guest room. The metal floor was covered by a rich velvet carpet, made-perhaps unconsciously- to suggest the floors of his last residence. The walls weren't so well furnished, simply being cleaned and decorated with an Old World flag and a poster for the Sierra Madre. The Courier had scavenged some furniture from the ruins surrounding North Vegas and Westside, and had them restored with help Darla. She, with her surgical expertise, was handy with a needle and only needed some minor data downloads to suit her skills for the task. The chairs were the red cushioned type, offering the strange sensation of actual comfort for the rangers suited to frontier life. Besides the chairs and the refreshment cabinet though, the room was quite spartan, the various consoles having been ripped out and thrown into the rubble mounds. "Nice place you have here," Crocker commented "but I doubt this is the real extent of comforts you have." he said with a smile. "Actually," Drake countered, "I'm no senator. I don't need any lavish creature comforts, unless you count the guns. I certainly do." They all heard the door into the actual bunker open, out coming Raul, the old school ghoul. "Hey boss, you need help up here?" he offered, darting his eyes to the heavily armed rangers, then back to his friend. "I'm good Raul, thanks for the thought" the Courier said with a smile. The two regarded each other with much respect, and even though Raul was way beyond Drake in years, he still saw him as an equal. His smoothed-skinned friend had been through what was essentially a truncated version of Raul's trials and tribulations. "I was kind of hoping you would say that," Raul admitted "I never told you but I'm not much of a negotiator with anything other than a revolver." He went down the steps out of sight, and opened the door, but closed it without entering. The Courier heard, and appreciated the caution his (very, very, very) old friend displayed.
"So, what's this issue? Fiends returned? Van Graff's pissed about their punishment? Let me guess, you want me to tame New Reno for you?" Drake joked. "We need your help with a very serious matter, one that has caused the deaths of many innocent citizens; or rather, as innocent as one can be in the Wasteland." Crocker continued "I've been getting reports of settlers and citizens at the edge of the Mojave being slaughtered. I personally visited one of the attack sites and let me tell you, it is unholy, people and their livestock torn to pieces. Shredded! Like horde of deathclaws had charged in and ravaged the place. Odd thing is, it didn't look like deathclaws. No huge claw marks, no signs of 7 or 10 foot tall monsters having been there. Lots of little tracks though, like small people but…wrong. A human foot twisted into a monster's. We had no idea what they even looked like. But at the last raid we found a body. Looked like the prospector they tore apart managed to get one. We carted it from lab to lab but no one could ID it. So, what with your extensive travels being a courier and all, we decided to bring I to you." He gestured to a ranger, who got up and lugged the black and silver trunk to Drake. Carefully, he undid the lock and opened the container (with, Drake supposed, a little drama) to reveal its contents. It took a second for the Courier to recognize it due to whatever rot the sealed container was unable to prevent, but he saw it for what it was in just a second. "Holy shit…..holy shit this is a tunneler." Drake said with a look of apprehension. "This can't be real. This can't be happening…..Ulysses was right. They're finally here." Crocker spoke up "So you do recognize it. What did you say? A tunneler? Mind telling me what that is?" Drake spoke with a hushed voice, his mind suddenly flooded with the memories of the terror and suffering he went through under that cracked sky. "These things are unlike anything you've ever seen. They kill deathclaws Crocker. I barely made it out of there. I figured when I killed a queen of those things that was it, they were gone. But they weren't. These attacks took place during the night?" he questioned. Trying to recall the details, Crocker spoke "Mostly yes, but more recent ones took place at dawn, or in the twilight. Not much daylight but some. What are they nocturnal or something?" Drake nodded "Yes, you could fire a flare at them and they'd go running. A flashbang could make them frenzy. But if they have some small resistance to light now, I don't know what could happen. Eventually they may come out during the day. You'd never be safe; they can kill just about anything, with enough numbers. And numbers is one thing they have. I told you they could kill deathclaws. Well, they do. They swarm over it, taking it apart. Honestly I don't have a solution right now. But I know someone that might. An old friend, and enemy, of mine. Ulysses." Slightly frustrated at apparently coming here for nothing, Crocker asked "Well where is this Ulysses? We need a solution Drake, every day we waste carting it place to place means more people are dying." Drake narrowed his eyes and regarded the diplomat with a cold stare "I'm telling you jack. You think I'm going to clue you in on where anything or anyone I value is? No. I've seen enough of what the NCR does to those. I will travel there, and seek him out for advice. But let me tell you this. If anybody tries to track me, I'll know. And when I know, so will they soon enough. A bullet to the brain is a pretty good sign you've been spotted. So is disintegration, melting, having your limbs blown or hacked apart, take your pick. I pack quite a variety of tools." After a long silence, Crocker stood up and after a moment the rangers did the same. "I see your sense of cooperation is at an all-time low, Mr. Caliban. But don't worry, I'll see to it you aren't followed. But we will know when you come back, and if you don't have results…well…we would be happy to return the hostility. We will see each other again, Courier and it's up to you whether it be yet another public thank-you or at your sentencing. So Drake Caliban or Courier, whatever you go by, I bid you goodbye. It's been good."
Well, there we go. First full length chapter and we have ourselves a real premise. See you next time, where we'll be witnessing another meeting of the two Couriers, one that will (probably) be one where they DON'T look forward to killing each other.