Getting shot in the head was a piece of cake.
Surviving the after math was hell. When she came to, she wanted to shoot herself.
A sharp agonizing pounding drilled into the front of her forehead and she grinded her teeth together. God it hurt so so much just make it stop please fucking stop! But it was relentless in it's torture and all she could do was curl up in a ball and wait it out. It felt like hours, but at last it began to ebb away and she could breath normally. She was shaking, and sweating heavily, her face clammy from exhaustion. She relaxed her tense body, her muscles ached after the hours of intense pain.
She seized up as she heard from somewhere from the right side of the room a door open and close. Footsteps clacked on the wooden floor till it stopped in front of her and she heard the creaking of someone sitting down on a chair. Not wanting the person to know she was awake, she pretended to still be asleep. But whoever this person was, they didn't leave and seemed to be waiting for her to wake up. She had no choice but to 'wake up' and greet this person. Slowly, she opened her eyes, and was instantly blinded by a bright harsh light. But it dimmed and she could make out a ceiling fan spinning around, creating a small breeze in the hot sticky room.
"You're awake. How about that." a voice said beside her. Weakly she pushed herself up and turned to face the stranger, because her pa always told her that if you're talking to someone, you look them in the eyes, showing them you mean business and you ain't scared of them.
"Whoa, easy there. Easy. You been out a cold a couple of days now." the clearly masculine voice said, and she felt something touch her knee. She wanted to jerk away, but she was too slow, too weak. Once she righted herself sitting on the bed, her feet placed on the wooden floor, did he came into focus. He was an old bald man, with sun burnt leather skin and a white moustache sat on his lips. He wore regular dark farmer clothing, and his hand was covered with black farmer gloves. He sat back in his chair and rested his arm on his thigh.
"Why don't you just relax a second? Get your bearings."
Relax? She felt like she'd been punched in the face by a Deathclaw. A mother deathclaw.
"Let's see what the damage is. How about your name? Can you tell me your name?" he asked her.
Name...? Name, name what was her name? She searched her memories but it came up blank. The only thing she could remember was always being called the Courier, courtesy of Benny. He took it upon himself to nickname her the Courier, and it caught on and everyone knew her by that. Thinking of the checkered suited man made her sick and she pushed the thought away.
"...Courier.." she mumbled, wincing at the dryness of her throat. She swallowed, letting saliva ease her throat open.
"Huh. Can't say it's what I'd have picked for you. But if that's your name, that's your name." the old man said and raised a hand to his chest. "I'm Doc Mitchell. I've seen you pass by sometimes but I wanna give you my own personal greeting, Welcome to Goodsprings."
Goodsprings? How did she get there? Before Benny got her, she already passed that town and was miles away from it.
"Now, I hope you don't mind, but I had to go rooting around there in your noggin to pull all the bits of lead out." he waved a gloved hand at her head, "I take pride in my needlework, but you'd better tell me if I left anything out of place." He reached down and handed her a machine that read, Robco Reflection. She held the machine up to her face, seeing her pale sickly blue eyes looking back at her. She reached up and gently placed her fingers on a bullet shaped scar slightly to the left of her forehead, feeling the bumps of the stiches. Her dark hair was cut short, and she reached behind to feel the back of her head. A spot was shaved back there, and she felt more stitches.
"You're lucky the bullet went right through your head. If it had lodged in there, then I would've had to drill open your skull and fetch it out." he chuckled and got up from the chair, "Well, I got most of it right, anyway. Stuff that mattered."
There was a moment of silence, she just touching the stitches on her head, and Doc studying her. "You don't talk much, do you kid?"
She pulled her hand away from her head and just stared at him.
"Okay. No sense keeping you in bed anymore. Let's see if we can get you on your feet." At that, she struggled to stand up, and was about to collapse if it weren't for Mitchell helping her up with steady arms. "You weigh like nothing kid, a few days without food will do that to ya."
Once she was standing on her own two feet, she brushed him off, not wanting any more contact than necessary. He didn't take offense to her rude action and simply said, "Good. Why don't you walk to the end of the room. Over by that vigor tester machine there. Take it slow now. It ain't a race."
Despite his advice, she walked past him as fast a she could. She feared if she didn't get her leg muscles working, then she might lose her advantage of speed. And her stamina was something she prided herself on. She stumbled a bit but caught herself and kept going till she reached the old wooden machine.
"Looking good so far. But I suggest you don't run or do anything taxing, not until you get some food in your stomach." He walked past her to a big simple furnished living room and she trailed behind. "Take a seat," he said motioning to the green couch. "I wanna go through some questions with ya. See if your dogs are still barking." At the mention of dogs, she reached up to her chest and was relieved that her bone necklace was still around her neck.
"All right. I'm gonna say a word. I want you to say the first thing that comes to mind."
"Dog." "Train."
"House." "Shelter."
"Night." "Silencer."
"Bandit." "Stab."
"Light." "Dark."
"Mother." "...Caretaker."
He raised a brow at her hesitant response. "Hmm. Sometimes when you give tests like this, you learn more than you was hoping for, and I reckon that ain't always the best thing. But I guess maybe it explains a thing or two about your predicament." He shifted in the plush chair, "Okay. Now I've got a few statements. I want you to tell me how much they sound like something you'd say."
"Conflict just ain't in my nature." "Disagree." His brow raised higher, and looked up and down at the young girl.
"I ain't given to relying on others for support." "No opinion."
"I'm always fixing to be the center of attention." "Strongly disagree."
"I'm slow to brace new ideas." "Disagree."
"I charge in to deal with my problems head on." "Disagree."
"Almost done here. What do you say you have a look at this? Tell me what you see." he said, gesturing to a piece of yellowed paper behind him on a stand.
"An angry two-headed ant."
"And this?" he said, slipping an identical yellowed paper on top of the other.
"A ship at sea." He did the same thing.
"A mushroom cloud..."
He nodded. "Well, that's all she wrote. I don't have nothing to compare it to, but it seems alright." he said, looking at the paper he was jotting down on. "You sure know your way around the Mojave, I can give you that. Knowledge like that is priceless. Not many people survive a day out there."
"Before I turn you loose, I need one more thing from you. I got a form for you to fill out, so I can get a sense of your medical history." She frowned at him, wondering why on earth he needed that. He noticed her questioning look and clarified himself. "Just a formality. Ain't like I expect to find you got a family history of getting shot in the head." he joked, and she bitterly remembered her father. Maybe he got shot in the head.
He handed her a clipboard and a pen and she started checking off the tiny boxes on the list. Once she was done, she handed it back to him and he quickly scanned the paper and set it down on a table next to him. "All right. I guess that about does it." He got up and she got up after him. "Come with me. I'll see you out." He turned around suddenly to face her, a pouch in his hand.
"Here. These are yours. Was all you had on you when you was brought in." He handed her the pouch and she trifled through it. He continued talking, "I hope you don't mind but I gave the note a look. I thought it might help me find a next kin. But it was just something about a platinum chip." She grimaced at the mention of her package that brought her really bad luck. Getting shot in the head bad luck. She looked up at him, her brows furrowing together. "Where is my gun?"
"Sorry, you weren't carrying one when you were brought in."
But where?... Anger flared through her body. That bastard! That sonofabitch! She gritted her teeth and balled her hands into fists. He knew that rifle was from her father and he took it! He didn't even bury it with her. Or leave it like a man with honor would.
A man wouldn't go and kill a friend, just for a chip.
"You okay there kid? Something wrong?" The doctor asked, noticing her fuming state.
"I'm alright." She bit out, restraining herself from hitting something. "Thank you for your hospitality Doc, but I need to go. Where are the clothes I was wearing."
"Well, if you're heading back out there, you ought to have this." he said, and handed her some sort of computer watch. She turned it around, examining the machine before slipping it on her right forearm. She winced as it made a sucking sound and attached itself to her arm. She felt tiny pinpricks, like needles, dig into her skin under the machine and the screen flickered to life.
"It does that to reach your veins, check your vitals and all that." he explained. "They call it a Pip-Boy. I grew up in one of them vaults they made before the war. We all got one. Ain't much used to me now, but you might want such a thing, after what you've been through. I know what it's like, having something taken from you." He said, giving her an understanding look. "And about your clothes. They were a bit bloody, and we got nothing to wash off the stains. So here." He handed her a blue and yellow striped jumpsuit. "Don't want the locals picking on you for lack of modesty. Never was much my style anyway." He added.
She shook her head confused. "I don't understand. Why are you doing all this for me? You don't know me."
He sighed and smoothed his moustache. "I know enough that a little girl like you needs all the help she can get."
"I'm not a little girl." she said.
"You sure ain't with the way you handle yourself. But take it from an old aging man, you are gonna need help, and you should accept it cus no one else out here is gonna give you a second glance."
She went quiet at his words, and felt guilty for the way she was acting so she asked politely, "Where can I go change?"
"Over there. I'll be waiting for you outside when you're done." He pointed back to the room she awakened from and left her to it.
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She slipped on the last of the boots she was given and stood up from the bed. It fit her surprisingly well, since it's previous owner was a man. Maybe it isn't his, she thought. She grabbed her pouch, checking again to see she had everything, except her goddamn rifle, and tied it around her waist. When she got a good look at the suit, it had number 21 stitched on the back. Vault 21. She had never been inside a vault, though her pa told her, her mother had.
"She grew up in that rickety old place." she recalled her pa telling her one night while they were out star gazing. Ketchup was chasing a small green gecko around them. "Said it was the best thing that ever happened to her... and then she met me." He laughed at the time, but when he thought she was asleep, she heard him crying through the walls of their old house.
She found the door that led outside and walked out, the hot Mojave breeze hitting her and she instantly broke out in a light sweat. Doc Mitchell was waiting for her, leaned up against the side of a wooden pole that used to be a power pole but ever since the bombs they were nothing now than a resting convenience.
As she approached him and stood a good feet away he said, "There's a saloon down the road called Prospector Saloon. Trudy owns the place, so go tell her I sent you and she'll give you a free meal, on the house." She nodded and started but turned around when he spoke up again. "Also, you should go talk to Sunny Smiles before you leave town. She can help you learn to fend for yourself in the desert, not that you might need any but she's a good shot and you can learn a thing or two from her." He added, seeing the face she gave him. "She'll most likely be at the saloon."
"I reckon some of the other folks at the saloon might be able to help you out, too. And the metal fella Victor, who pulled you outta your grave." He tipped, "Anyway, you ever get hurt out there, you come right back. I'll fix you up."
"But try not to get killed anymore." he said with a smile. The tips of her lips quirked up. She gave a nod, turned and started down the dusty road. Doc watched her off.
What a kid, he thought.
What a kid.
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She didn't make it even half way to her destination when a RobCo security bot rolled down the street and greeted her.
"Howdy partner! Might I say, you're looking fit as a fiddle." it said through an electronic voice, which sounded unexpectedly like a real human voice, with a bit of a western accent. It was huge and towered over her, blocking the sun from her view and casting a shadow on her. It had a tv screen on its chest, and displayed a head of a man with a cowboy hat and a scarf tied around his neck. A smirk adorned his face and a cigarette stuck out of his lips.
"The names Victor." he said and stuck out one robotic claw out to her. She looked at the metal fingers, remembering the time when she was dared by Benny to go bother one of the Securitons that patrolled the New Vegas Strip, and ended up almost getting her head crushed like a melon. She was lucky that Benny managed to slip a gun into a tourist's coat and called him out on it, prompting the Securiton to release her and investigate the commotion.
She slowly reached out and grabbed one of the robot's claws and they shook hands. She quickly drew her arm back to her side. "Were you the one who found me?"
"Sure am! I was out for a stroll that night when I heard the commotion up at the old bone orchard. Saw what looked like a bunch of bad eggs so I laid low. Once they'd run off, I dug you up to see if you were still kicking. Turns out, you were, so I hauled you off to the Doc right quick."
"You're not like the other securitons back at the strip. What security model are you?" she asked, curious since the ones back at the strip only did two things which were to constantly remind you, "No violence on the strip.", and if you did cause trouble they would shoot first and not ask questions later.
"I'm a RobCo security model 2060-B. If you ever stop by the strip, tell my brothers Victor saws howdy." She made a mental note to do so, after she gets back her rusty trusty rifle from a certain someone. The thought of him made her dismal, but extremely angry and pissed the hell off. She met a lot of people in short life, but nobody stood out more than the slick talking gangster. He was the first person that gave her a chance, and he turned out to be her first friend. He was the only person she trusted with her secrets, and the only one she opened up to about her thoughts and feelings.
Course he wasn't the most moralist person around, but who was in New Vegas. So it hurt twice as more when he shot her down, proving to her that he was nothing more than a cold-hearted gangster. He probably didn't even care, and slept good that night with a whore or two from Gomorrah. Why did he have to feel guilty 'bout killing her? After all, she was just one insignificant courier.
"Thanks.. for saving me." she said to Victor. If she was honest to herself, she wasn't that grateful. She would've preferred dying in that grave than continue living with the knowledge her friend betrayed her for a platinum chip.
"Anytime partner. Happy trails!" The robot said and rolled off, humming a tune from some song.
She watched him go. It was weird. She didn't know a securitron could up and leave New Vegas. She thought Mr. House controlled all of them from his tower all the way up there. She didn't think much on it, maybe some fiends hauled him off and re-wired his programming. She began again down the road towards a broken down wooden building, Prospector Saloon hanged on the top, the word Saloon lit up in different styled letters. Hanging on the front porch was a lit up sign that read, OPEN 24 HOURS. She walked past rusted motorcycles, opened the door, and stepped inside.