Chapter 1: Ain't That A Kick In The Head? (I)
Capitalism and Communism, two ideologies that, since the end of the Second World War, served as the new excuse for hatred amongs humans. The Soviet Union, once a feared superpower, slowly declined and lost its immense power and relevance, finally replaced by the People's Republic of China, not only as a communist superpower, but also as the new rival of the United States of America, the undisputed global power and the main exponent of the capitalist ideology.
Decades and decades of ideological hatred and exploitation of the planet's resources finally culminated in the Energy Crisis, and with it, the Resource Wars. Man's pride blinded him enough to start a senseless bloodshed, to turn his gun on his own kin just to maintain a senseless and consumerist lifestyle. The Middle East, a region long cursed by instability and now one of the world's last bastions of fossil fuels, was the first to experience the horrors of nuclear destruction at the hands of the European Commonwealth. This was only a prelude to what was to come.
It was inevitable that the world's major powers would be at each other's throats for the few resources they could take. China attempted to conquer Alaska, the last known oil reserve on the planet, resulting in a bloody war with the US. The situation was desperate, riots were common, inhuman experiments were being conducted in secret, a deadly plague roamed the shadows, and unholy creatures were being created with the sole purpose of bringing death to the battlefield. A sense of dread was palpable among all nations.
The whole world held its breath... and then the bombs fell.
On October 23, 2077, the hands of the Doomsday Clock struck midnight. Atomic fire surrounded the Earth, consuming all that humanity had spent millennia building. All the efforts, all the achievements, every single success recorded in history, came to nothing as the flame of civilization was finally extinguished and the Earth herself was poisoned by radiation, changed forever. The only planet with sentient life in the solar system cried in pain, murdered by her own children, only to be heard by an uncaring universe.
But the story of man was not destined to end, for such species still clung to life. Few survived the initial bombardment, fewer still were those who managed to thrive in the polluted wasteland that was once America, but they persisted. Gradually, new communities sprang up, small settlements endured the trials that nature, now wrathful and vindictive, had in store for them, but like the phoenix, man was able to rise from the ashes. However, in this new world, man was still man's wolf, for not even a nuclear holocaust could cure mankind's subconscious lust for violence.
Raiders prowled the streets in search of prey to steal; slavers enriched themselves by treating their fellow men as mere objects; lunatics and maniacs with brains rotted by drug use roamed aimlessly and with ungodly intentions. Disputes were common in the lawless territories, with murder being the most likely and preferred solution, and with the rise of new ideologies came the justification for new wars. New armies now marched across the scorched lands with the same intentions as their forgotten ancestors.
Society changed, as did the environment, but war did not, because war... war never changes.
The Mojave Wasteland, a godforsaken land burned to the ground centuries ago, was home to all manner of abominations that could only thrive in such an inhospitable environment: mutant scorpions the size of automobiles, giant wasps with a venom capable of causing a quick but painful death, genetically engineered predators with claws capable of easily tearing an adult human in half, and even more dangerous and mysterious creatures that crawled beneath the earth.
It was a hellhole like no other, but ironically, it was also one of the least damaged areas in the territory that once comprised the United States of America. Thanks to the defense systems of a luxury casino, the Lucky 38, most of the nuclear warheads were destroyed before they could reach their targets, saving the Mojave from total destruction. One of the targets saved from destruction was the Hoover Dam, a massive structure capable of producing electricity on a scale that made it a desirable target for anyone. And so it was.
There were two major battles for control of the dam. The forces of the New California Republic and Caesar's Legion clashed in battle, both sides wanting to annex the Mojave to their respective nations. The NCR emerged victorious from the first battle, but their corruption, nightmarish bureaucracy, and lack of supplies set the stage for what seemed to be an inevitable victory for the Legion. In the midst of the battle, however, a wild card appeared, initially a supposed ally of the Republic, who managed to push back the invading forces and even engage the Terror of the East himself. The contents of their conversation were forever lost to time, but whatever transpired between the two ended with the Legion's retreat. The NCR celebrated, but their joy was short-lived, for no one expected their mysterious savior to bring an army of robots with him.
Nine years have passed since the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, in which one man managed to subdue three armies and seize power. The people of the Mojave were skeptical at first, fearing the rise of a new dictator and the beginning of an era of oppression. Fortunately for them, the new leader's heart was in the right place. With the help of his companions, the allies he made throughout the land, his natural charisma and political skills, and the technology he brought with him from distant and unknown lands, the new leader of Vegas was able to create an entirely new nation: The Mojave Federation.
While the NCR and the Legion were preoccupied with their endless clashes, the newborn Federation blossomed despite initial difficulties and quickly became a beacon of hope in the post-apocalyptic land. From Jacobstown to Primm, the communities of the Mojave Wasteland retained their autonomy while enjoying the benefits of a unified state. Under the new Federation, trade routes were finally protected; laws were developed to protect citizens and guarantee their rights; health programs were vigorously enforced; and the newly reborn Desert Rangers now served as an effective security force that, with the help of the improved Securitron Army, managed to keep the cities safe. Great advances were also made in education, food distribution, and infrastructure, all to the benefit of the populace.
The man responsible for these changes had many names. The West knew him as the Traitorous Mailman, the East gave him the title of Nuntius ab Occidente out of fear and respect, a certain Mexican ghoul called him Boss. He did not really care, he was content with the nickname Courier.
The town of Goodsprings, a small settlement of hardworking and honest people who had something that was thought to have been lost long ago, something called hospitality. The good people of Goodsprings helped the Courier when he was shot in the head and left for dead in an unmarked grave, something he repaid by helping them fight off the Powder Gangers and later by integrating their small community into the Federation, ensuring their autonomy and sovereignty.
The Courier lived on The Strip, now the capital of the Federation, but he liked to visit his old friends from time to time, not to mention having a drink at the Prospector Saloon. There, sitting on the stool next to the wooden bar, rested the man who changed the fate of Nevada.
He wore his old and trusty duster with the emblem of a black spade with the number "21" on the back, the same one he wore when he stood face to face with Legate Lanius and General Oliver. It was his pride, the symbol of who he was and what he stood for. Underneath, he wore the Elite Riot Gear, a wonderful piece of armor he had found on his trip to the Divide, his favorite so far because it gave him almost the same level of protection as power armor without compromising his speed and agility.
His Elite Riot helmet rested on his lap, revealing his face. He was a Hispanic man in his thirties, with olive skin and green eyes. His hair was black, styled in an elegant and well-groomed pompadour, though it was beginning to show small gray streaks at the temples. Nearly a decade of building and leading a nation had finally taken its toll on him, causing him to gray prematurely, not to mention how he had pushed his body to the limit with all the implants. He was now a cyborg, with only a few of his original organic body parts remaining, such as the brain and spine. There were also all the cybernetic enhancements he had made to himself with the help of the Think Tank, pushing his body to superhuman limits.
He knew that if he died, the Federation would collapse into civil war and then be annexed by the NCR or the Legion, undoing all his work. He needed to live as long as possible, and if that meant becoming some kind of robotic freak who lived for centuries, then so be it. The irony was not lost on him, how hypocritical it was to think such a thing, when he killed House to prevent an immortal dictator from ruling over Vegas, only to slowly go down the same path.
He was sure his old boss was laughing at him; it was a bitter and hilarious irony.
"It's me again, Mr. New Vegas, reminding you that you're nobody 'til somebody loves you. And that somebody is me. I love you," said the voice from the old radio.
The Courier sighed with delight, letting the weight of his head fall onto his right hand as he smiled. No matter how many times he heard that, Mr. New Vegas always managed to make him feel like a teenage girl in love, even though he was a man in his thirties.
"He sure knows how to make your heart beat, ain't he, Trudy?" he asked while looking up, only to meet the angry stare of the saloon owner. "Why the long face, sweetie? Something wrong?"
Trudy, the usual jovial and maternal woman everyone respected and loved, had her arms crossed as she glared at her customer in a way that could easily make a Deathclaw blush.
"That's what's wrong," she replied, pointing to the bodies scattered throughout the saloon.
Three undercover assassins had tried to ambush him minutes ago while he was enjoying his drink. Two of them had the mercy of a quick and painless death with a bullet to the head, but the last one was not so lucky. The poor bastard was cut in half by the protonic inversal axe the Courier carried on his back; his final minutes consisted of watching in horror as his internal organs spilled out of his body as he slowly died.
Assassination attempts by the NCR and the Legion had become a curious occurrence for the Courier, perhaps too much so for his liking.
The Courier only looked at her for a few seconds, blinking twice before turning his head toward her. "I don't see your point."
Trudy was more than ready to shout in anger, only stopping when she heard the Courier's laugh.
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding, I'm sorry."
He grabbed a small bag he had in his pocket and handed it to Trudy. The bag contained over five hundred caps, much more than he spent on the drink, but he knew how much trouble it would be to clean up the mess he left behind. It was the least he could do.
"Besides, it's not my fault. They tried to kill me! It was only self-defense," he said, looking up at his robot companion. "Ain't that right, lil' buddy?"
A small eyebot hovered next to the bar, but it was not just any robot, it was the Eyebot Duraframe Subject E, better known as ED-E. One of the last of the Duraframe model eyebots, a project of the once-feared Enclave, an institution that decades ago claimed to be the legitimate government of the United States of America. ED-E was the Courier's faithful companion; it could easily be said that they were almost like family due to all their adventures over the years. From their first meeting in Primm to their crossing of the Divide, the Courier began to see the little robot as the child he never had.
The little robot responded with a series of beeps, causing the Courier to gasp and cover his mouth in shock.
"ED-E! You kiss your mother with that mouth?"
The man burst out laughing again, while the eyebot moved from side to side in a childish attempt to imitate laughter. Trudy could only sigh in defeat as she grabbed the bag of caps.
"Aren't you supposed to be leading a nation or something?" she asked as she handed over another bottle of Sunset.
"What, a man can't enjoy a nice cold sarsaparilla with his buddies without needing a reason?"
Trudy replied with a look one might expect from a disappointed mother.
"Besides, Yes Man is doing a good job for me. It doesn't hurt if I take a little vacation or two," he shrugged.
Yes Man, the AI who had helped him overthrow House and defeat both the NCR and the Legion, a most loyal servant who, after a good update, had become only obedient to him, thus preventing a cycle of betrayal. The AI was in control of the Lucky 38's network, giving it omnipotent control over New Vegas and securing the Courier's position. It was truly frightening to think what would have happened if a person with dark motives had found their way to the Securitron instead of him.
The Mojave was a wild and unforgiving land, even with all the resources and help the Courier had at his disposal. A new day brought a new problem, whether it was some ruffians trying to start trouble with the super mutants in Jacobstown, or small gangs trying to take the place of the Kings in Freeside, he spent most of his days going from place to place trying to settle disputes before they escalated. Then there were the numerous factions that made up the Federation, apathetic toward each other at their best and at each other's throats at their worst. Without him to keep them in line, there was little doubt that the entire region would descend into violence and anarchy in a matter of weeks.
The Courier finished his drink and let out a small cry of joy.
"That's a damn fine sarsaparilla..." he sighed, smiling silly but satisfied, and left the empty bottle on the wooden bar.
The frown on Trudy's face finally disappeared, replaced by a small grin. That man had the magical ability to be annoying for a moment, only to put you in a good mood in a matter of seconds.
"Anytime, honey," she assured him as she took the empty Sunset Sarsaparilla and turned to grab another for her favorite customer.
Despite the recent and bloody accident, it could be said that it was a quiet and peaceful afternoon, a little breath of fresh air for the tired man. Unfortunately, it would not last long.
"Catastrophe! Disaster!" A loud voice pierced the saloon.
The noise came from ED-E, who was receiving a transmission from the Big Empty. The Courier sighed again, not in a happy way like before, but in a tired way.
"What is it, Mobius?" he asked, getting up from his seat and putting on his helmet.
The older and panicked voice belonged to Dr. Mobius, the old scientist whose brain was protected in a think tank, an advanced and unique model of a brain bot. He retained his memories and intelligence, now freed from the mortality of a human body, though it made him susceptible to madness and senility.
"Those fools, they are unraisinable! I should send a hundred robo-scorpions to sting their rotten brains!" the older voice shouted angrily.
"Mobius, did you take Psycho again? You know what happens when you trip on Psycho," the Courier said with considerable concern.
The Courier waved goodbye to his old friend, who waved back in return, before heading for the door and leaving the saloon. It was afternoon, the sun almost hidden on the horizon - soon the stars would fill the sky.
"Oh, just one or two, the Mentats just weren't enough… but that's not the point!"
It was common for Mobius to have a rage episode whenever he used Psycho; after all, it sent anyone who used it into a violent rage. Still, something was wrong; Mobius' voice did not sound like his usual drug-induced rage. There was genuine panic in it.
"Treportation!" the older voice exclaimed.
The Courier could only stare blankly at ED-E, trying to process what Mobius had just said. His speech disorder was getting worse with each passing day.
"Say what now?" he inquired.
The older voice exclaimed once again, "Teleporpation!"
"Once again, c'mon buddy you can do it."
"Tele… portation!"
The Courier raised his arms in celebration. Mobius was like a gentle, senile and sad grandfather, so instead of feeling angry or frustrated, he just felt sorry for the old brain.
"Yes! You did it Mobius, you sai—" he froze, realizing what Mobius had just said. "Wait, teleportation? "
"Those fools are trying to teleport the entirely of the facility!" Mobius screamed in both panic and anger.
Hearing that made his mechanical heart shrink. This was bad, very, very bad. Those brains were smart, but they were not wise. Attempting to teleport the entirety of Big Mountain could result in so many tragedies, each worse than the last. At best, they would just explode and bury centuries of valuable technology and knowledge with them, at worst... God, he could not even bring himself to imagine it.
"Okay, let's keep calm here. I'll just go to The Sink and try to reason with them," he said as he checked his Pip-Boy, beginning to devise a course of action.
"Raisin?" Mobius asked.
"Reason. In the meantime, I need you to use your Robo-Scorpions to find whatever device they built and destroy it, just to be sure. Do you understand?"
"Stan… tant… Mentats? Oh dear, it's my Mentats break, goodbye!"
The transmission ended, leaving the Courier and ED-E looking at each other in stunned silence.
"Goddammit."
He inspected his guns, melee weapons, explosives, stimpanks, chems, and of course, ammunition. He did not want to kill the brains, but experience had taught him that most of the time their inventions would shoot lasers at anything that moved, so he had to take precautions.
"I have to act fast. ED-E, be a good boy and stay here," he instructed.
The eyebot replied with a dismissive beep.
"Don't you dare use that tone with me, young man! You stay here and that's that."
ED-E proceeded to initiate a small series of beeps that would have sounded to anyone nearby like the sound of a broken computer.
"Well... damn, if you put it that way," he conceded defeat, the speech leaving him deeply moved.
A single, victorious beep came from the cocky robot.
"All right, let's get everything ready."
There was only one way to get to Big Mountain safely, and that was with the Big Mountain Transportalponder, or simply the Transportalponder. A small teleportation device with the appearance of a stylish detonator that, once triggered, would teleport the user to Big MT and, if used inside, back to the Mojave Wasteland. Originally, it had its limitations, such as only working on one person, making it useless if one had company. Over the years, the Courier made modifications to his equipment and gear, including the Transportalponder, which now has a longer range and can teleport more than two people.
In retrospect, perhaps the modification of the teleportation device sparked the Think Tank's interest in creating more useful and effective teleportation methods. In other words, whatever happened from now on, it was the Courier's fault.
"You ready, lil' buddy?" asked the Courier while wielding the device in his right hand.
His little companion answered with a determined beeping.
"Then let's hit the road. "
The Courier was a lucky man; the fact that he survived two bullets to the head and being buried alive was proof of that, but sometimes he underestimated just how much Lady Luck was infatuated with him. Unbeknownst to him, the Think Tank had already begun their teleportation experiment the moment Mobius ended the transmission. The fabric of reality had already begun to suffer, with space-time itself being warped on Big Mountain.
If he had decided to teleport immediately instead of having that little conversation with his robot companion, he would have ended up as a charred skeleton buried in the hole where Big Mountain once stood. Instead, he teleported at just the right moment, when the Transportalponder's frequency was still strong enough to find its target, but without being in the midst of the erratic burst of energy that made such a teleportation possible.
As a result, he was able to follow the Big MT as it traveled between dimensions. Of course, his modified but human body was unable to sustain the same level of endurance for such a journey, so he was inevitably shipwrecked during the transport.
For the first time in his life, the Courier did not find himself in The Sink. Instead, he ended up in a whole new world.
