You wake up with your head ringing hard and severely blurred vision but make out a window behind you along with brownish walls and floors accompanied by medical blinds.

What's happened to you?

You try recalling the last few days. Memory's vague, but you remembered to deliver a package to New Vegas. However, you were robbed of pretty much everything except your 9mm Pistol, the events afterward leaving it damaged. Slowly, you rise out of bed, your current condition preventing you from standing.

'Come on. You're a Doctor and know you shouldn't be trying that in this condition.'

"Whoa, easy there. Easy." An additional voice concurred with your thoughts. "You've been out cold for a few days now. Why don't you relax a second? Regain your bearings. Let's see what the damage is. How about your name? Can you tell me your name?"

Your vision clears slightly but not enough to make out a clear view of who's speaking to you. This guy clearly isn't an enemy and probably the person who saved your life.

So you answer his question. "B-Bluma. My name is Bluma."

"Bluma? Huh. Can't say it's what I'd have picked for you. But that's your name." He reached out with his hand. "I'm Doc Mitchell. Welcome to Goodsprings."

You shake his hand. "Nice to meet you, Doc. Call me Blu for short."

"Blu, huh? Cute nickname," he jokes. "Anyway, I had to go rootin' in your noggin to get some lead pieces out. I take pride in my needlework, but you oughta tell me if I left anything out of place." Doc then handed you a mirror. "How'd I do?"

"Sorry, Doc. I can't see without my glasses," you tell him.

Doctor Mitchell then pulled out your prescriptions. "These are yours. Here, let me put them on ya."

Carefully, he put your glasses on you. Now you have a clear view of the room and of him. Doc was elderly and wore an outfit akin to a Prospector with a gnarly mustache.

"Now you can tell me if I did a good job," he said before stepping back.

You use the mirror to examine your face. Your rough, snow blonde hair did a decent job of hiding the incisions around the edge of your scalp and head. Other than that, you look as if you didn't get shot twice in the skull by 9mm bullets. In all honesty, your "execution" was poorly executed, wordplay unintended. I mean, who the hell would think that two 9mm rounds would be enough to kill someone? Giving another look, you don't look worse for wear, no disfigurements. A plus because you're quite the looker. Your hair did well in complementing your hazel eyes, and your nose, lips, and brows all seem to be in the right spots.

"You did good, Doc. I can tell since I'm a Medical Doctor myself," you remark.

"Oh? All the more reason to do a good job then. Okay," Doc says as he claps his hands together and stands. "No sense keepin' you in bed anymore. Let's see if we can get you on your feet."

He walks up and takes your hands, assisting you to stand on your feet. Your vision blurs momentarily but returns to normal.

"Good. Why don't you walk over to the Vigor Tester Machine over there?" Doc suggests as he patiently helps you over there. "Take it slow, now. It ain't a race."

You nod. "Okay."

Gradually, you both walk down the hall for you to get reacquainted with the feel of walking, and before you knew it, you're at the machine.

"So far, so good. Go ahead and give the Vigor Tester Machine a try," Doc instructed. "We'll learn right quick if you got back all your faculties."

You start up the Vigor Tester Machine. After finishing the S.P.E.C.I.A.L. test, your results came back quickly.

Strength: 4

Perception: 5 (6 because of Four Eyes)

Endurance: 4

Charisma: 9

Intelligence: 9

Agility: 5

Luck: 5

Not bad, eh?

Doc seems to think so, commenting on your exceptionally high Charisma. "Heh, glad to see the bullets didn't affect your charm none."

He chuckled at his remark, but that's what helped ease patients' stress. You were such a kind soul as a Doctor, so being friendly just comes with the profession. Being pleasant to look at also helped but details, details.

"Well, we know your vitals are good, but that doesn't mean those bullets didn't leave you nuttier than a Bighorner droppin'," he chides.

That's a new one. You never heard that simile before.

"Why don't you take a seat on my couch, and we'll go through a couple of questions? See if your dogs are still barkin'," he says.

You nod. "Sure, Doc. I don't mind."

You take a seat on the left end of the couch, Doc taking the opposite spot. "Alright, I'm gonna say a word, and you respond with the first word that comes to mind."

"Let's go."

"Okay. Dog."

"Cat."

"House."

"Shelter."

"Night."

"Campfire."

"Bandit."

"Swiss Cheese."

"Light."

"Inspiration."

"Mother."

"Caretaker."

He writes down all my answers. "Okay. Now I've got a couple of statements. I want you to tell how much they'd sound like something you'd say."

"Okay."

"Here's the first one. Conflict just ain't in my nature."

"Agree."

"I'm always fixin' to be the center of attention."

"Strongly Disagree."

"I ain't given to relyin' on others for support."

"No opinion."

"I'm slow to embrace new ideas."

"Disagree."

"I charge in to deal with my problems head-on."

"Strongly Disagree."

"Almost done. Now I have some Rorschach Paintings for you to look at. You know the rest, right?"

"Yes, I do. I'm ready."

"Alrighty. What do you see?"

"Um... an oozing wound."

"Not surprising, seeing as you said earlier that you're a Doc yourself. Here's the next one. What do you see?"

You look at the painting and blush slightly. "I'm too embarrassed to say what it looks like."

"Say no more. Last one."

"I see... Two Bears High-Fiving."

"Really?" He asks before giving the painting a glance. "Huh. Now that you mention it. It does look like that. Imagine that."

You shrug. "Rorschach Paintings are an odd invention."

"That they are," he agrees while tossing them aside. "Well, that's all she wrote. I've got nothin' to compare it to, so maybe you'd better have a look at the results. See if it all seems right to you. From what I can see, you are a kind soul." He hands you the results of this session. "Here you go."

Bluma "Blu" Test Results

Profession: Battle Medic

Tagged Skills: Medicine, Guns, Survival

Back up Skills: Speech. Repair

"Whoa, I thought I was good at these," you say. "Doc, you were right on the money."

"Good to hear. One more thing I want to ask of you. I want to get a quick listen of your medical history. Just a formality, like I expect you to have a history of getting shot in the head."

Doc laughs, but you don't, which made him stop and clear his throat. "Anyway, my Mom was a Doctor like I am before she died in the previous Battle of Hoover Dam. My Dad was a higher up in the 1st Recon Battalion. He passed with Mom at the same battle. They both wore glasses like me. Growing up, people called me Poindexter and Four Eyes. But no one expected me to grow up like this."

You look at your body. No one, especially the jock boys, would've guessed that you would somehow grow to have a voluptuous figure. Your breasts and behind aren't large by any means but suitable for your size.

"But back on topic. I try to avoid conflict when I can, but I'm not so good-natured to be oblivious when words or smarts aren't enough. That's why I'm good with a pistol and a Shotty. I didn't enlist in the NCR when I was 18. My sister Joanna did, however."

"Is your sister still alive?" Doc asks.

"Last time I saw her was in Freeside applying to be a bodyguard at the Atomic Wrangler," you answer. "She was a member of 1st Recon like Papa was but left just shy of being promoted to Ranger. Military Corruption, she says."

Doc became intrigued. "What was her codename? Does she wear glasses too?"

"Sparrow. She can be cocky at times, but her heart and morals, for the most part, are in the right place. And no, she doesn't. I think that's all the details," was your reply.

"Well then, that's it for me too. Come on, I'll see you out." You and Doc walk to his front door. "Here's what you had on you when you came in."

He hands you your battered 9mm Pistol, 100 Caps, and a note from your Employer, Mojave Express.

"I hope you don't mind, but I gave the note a look. I was hopin' it would help me find a next of kin, but all I made out of it was a Platinum Chip."

You were annoyed at Doc's remark about you possibly having kids. "How old do you think I am?"

"Uh..."

Your expression softens, and you playfully punch him in the shoulder. "Just joshing you. I'm 28 but have been told that I can easily pass for 20; my parents' genes were robust. But thanks for patching me up, Doc."

He nods. "No problem. It's what I'm here for." Doc then pulls out a rather odd-looking device before presenting it to you. "Here. You oughta have this. They call it a Pip-Boy. I grew up in one of the Vaults, so everybody had one. Oh, and take this, so the locals don't pick on you for lackin' modesty." He then hands you a Vault Suit. "Even though I bet Chet would pay to see a body like yours."

You put it on, and it's a near-perfect fit. "Thanks, Doc. It fits nicely."

"No problem. It was my wife's, and I figured you were the same size. Glad I made the right call. You oughta head to the saloon and speak with Trudy about the guys who attacked you. If you want a refresher on how to survive in the desert, you speak with Sunny Smiles in the saloon. And you should talk to Victor. He's the fella who dug you out of your grave. But just do me a favor," he said.

"What's that?"

Doc places a hand on your shoulder and looks into your eyes. "Try not to get killed anymore."

Again, you nod. "I'll try, but after what happened, danger is fatally attracted to me."

"I suppose trying will be enough then," Doc relents.

"Thanks again, Doc. I'll see you later."

You put on the Black Boots that Doc also gave you and head outside. The sunlight temporarily blinds you. Makes sense since you were out for two days. Doc's house was in the middle of a hill, but you quickly spot the steps and head downward.

Welcome to Goodsprings Blu. A small town but pleasant and straightforward.

"Howdy, Pardner!" Someone calls out to you. "Might I say, you're lookin' fit as a fiddle."

You turn around to notice a Robot with the screen showing a guy with a Cowboy hat and Bandana. "Are you Victor?"

"That I am, Pardner!" it exclaims. "How ya feelin'?"

"Better than I did two days ago. Thanks for digging me out of that grave."

He tips his hat. "Don't mention it. I'm always willin' to help a friend in need."

"How did you happen to find me?" you inquire.

"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 ran off, I dug you up to see if you were kickin'. Turns out you were, so I hauled you off to the Doctor right quick," he explained.

"Do you remember what I had on me when you took me to Doc Mitchell?"

"You were nude save for your underwear. Sorry, Sweetheart."

Damn, they tried to kill you and robbed your clothes too? Yikes. "Shit. Well, thanks again, Vic. I'll get out of your Hair er- circuits. Later."

"Happy Trails!"

And he rolled off to a shack on the east side of town. The Cemetery seems like a good place to visit. Maybe you can find some of your things but didn't get your hopes up. When you arrive, and after killing the Bloatflies infesting the area, you reach the site of your makeshift grave.

"Jeez, this is a pretty shallow grave. Good thing, or else Victor wouldn't have been able to notice my hand. Hmm, what's this?" You jump in the grave and see a clip of 9mm Ammo! "Yes. Fuckin' score, Blu."

You pick the clip and stray bullets up and place them in your back pocket before deciding to search the graveyard some more. Near your grave, you see some distinctive cigarette butts. "Oh my. Would-be Assassin smokes, eh? Good to know. I should keep a couple of these."

After putting two of these cigarettes away, you search one more time before finding a grave with a snow globe atop it. Making a judgment call, you conclude that no one here could or can own a snow globe of this quality. So you take it. Maybe you can sell it for a lot of caps later. You dust it off and take a better look at its features.

It's a Goodsprings Snow Globe.

Good search, Blu. You head down the hill and head for the saloon, instantly notice a dog as soon as you step in. Your intellect allows you to determine that it's a girl.

You go to pet her. "Hey, girl. How are you doing?"

"*Bark*!"

"That's better than me right now."

"It seems that she likes you."

You look up to see another woman wearing leather armor and a Varmint Rifle.

"She yours?" you ask.

"Yup, her name's Cheyenne. I'm Sunny Smiles."

You poke your head up at her in response. "Doc Mitchell told me to talk to you in case I wanted to know how to survive in the desert."

She gave you a once over. "So, you're the one that Victor dug up at the graveyard?"

You nod as you stand up. "Blu's the name."