Howdy everyone, this story is gonna be a bit different to what I usually do as its main purpose is just for me to stretch my writing muscles. I've recently been playing New Vegas and been having fun with it; so much so that I actually began wondering what kind of Courier mine was. This Courier will not be that one as that Courier is a Generally Liked Messiah that is Vilified by the NCR after some unfortunate miscommunication. Anyway my goal is to try writing in first person instead of my typical go-to and just try to be more descriptive with my writing.

Also this story will not be long, it's just meant to be The Courier's time in Goodsprings which in game lasts about four missions so this story will probably be about four chapters long, maybe less. I don't have any plans to adapt the entire story of New Vegas nor any real desire to. Anyway I'll let you get to reading. Hope you enjoy it.

-OtherwiseR00K

"You made your last delivery bud. Sorry you got twisted up in this scene," The man in the checkered suit pulled out a poker chip, a platinum chip, the delivery I was meant to deliver before putting it back in his suit and pulling out a 9mm. "From where you're kneeling it must seem like an 18-karat run of bad luck," the man leveled the gun to my head, "but the truth is, the game was rigged from the start."

Bang!

My eyes snapped open and I surged up, that was obviously a mistake because as soon as I did my head felt like it'd been hit with a sledgehammer with a side of migraine. I groaned and held my head before registering the rapidly approaching footsteps. I turned my head to see an old man with a balding head and mustache looking at me in concern.

"Easy, you're okay. You're in a safe place," the man says as he sits down in a chair next to the bed I found myself in.

"Where am I?" Christ, my voice sounds like I'd gargled rocks. It didn't help that my throat felt as dry as the Mojave itself.

"My clinic," the man-doctor said, "or if you mean specifically then you're in Goodsprings. You know you've been out cold for a couple days."

Goodsprings? Wasn't that meant to be where I was gonna stop for the night after hoofing it from The Hub without stopping for two days straight? Thinking back that was obviously a mistake but the client apparently wanted it within a few days. A happy client is one less bitchy client.

Wait, what did the doctor just say?

"How many days?" I rasped.

"About two, we're going on the third day now. Victor found you halfway buried and scooped you out of the grave then dragged you here. Your real lucky ya'know that?"

I couldn't help the grim chuckle that left my lips, at both the amount of days and the concept of my luck. I was nowhere near lucky, this bullshit just added to the proof.

"I hope you don't mind, but I had to dig in your noggin to pull all the bits of lead out. I'm guessing you'll want to see the new companion pieces on your noggin?" The doc said.

I did in fact want to see the scars. I had enough around my body and would prefer to know what they looked like. I nodded and he turned in his seat, reaching down for a mirror and presenting it to me. I took the mirror and looked at my reflection.

Two circular scars adorned my forehead, one directly beneath my hairline on the right side of my forehead and another just above my left eye which cut through my eyebrow leaving that patch bald. Well, at least I wasn't that much uglier.

Shit, how did I survive? Those two shots should've killed me.

Maybe some god decided to take pity on me or something. Saw how Lady Luck kept screwing me over and decided to bring me back from the dead as a way of saying sorry for how things tended to go for me.

Or maybe I was just too thick headed to let something like two 9mm bullets kill me.

Neither would surprise me.

"Another thing," the doc said, bringing my attention back to him, "I'm not entirely sure if my lead fishing didn't nick something important. So what is your name?"

My name? Marcus was the name I was born with but I'd long stopped responding to it since nobody but the family I'd left behind used it. How long long ago was that? Shit it'd been a whole decade since he last saw anyone from his family. Oh he'd heard what they'd been up to, it was on any poster for the NCR military asking people to join.

Anyway, my name wasn't as important as the title I went by. It was practically my name anyway, "Courier. My name is Courier." I said.

The doc raised an eyebrow, most likely wondering if that was my genuine name or not, "Well, it's not what I'd have named you but if that's your name that's your name." Doc allowed before grabbing the stethoscope stuffed in his chest pocket, "Alright I'm gonna need you to breathe deep for me okay?"

I nodded, I had enough knowledge on medical practices to know this was just to check my general well being. Doc pressed the stethoscope to my chest and I breathed deeply in and then out, in and out.

"Alright, seems your lungs work now let's check…" I mostly tuned him out, my body on autopilot complying to the tests while I thought back to what led me here.

I was maybe only a mile from Goodsprings. I was extremely tired from not sleeping for two days and just walking all the way here. It didn't help that I'd encountered a wandering pack of ghouls so thank you again universe. I had stopped to check my map and count what supplies I had and I must've been more tired than I thought because I hadn't noticed anyone sneaking up on me.

It had just gone dark and then I woke up tied up and some Khan was digging a grave.

Wait what happened to my things?

"Doc," He stopped checking my pulse and looked up, "What happened to my things?"

"Well, your clothes are sitting on my shelf in the hallway and everything that was on you is stuck in a bag in my closet." He stopped what he was doing and went over to a desk he'd gone to everytime he finished a test and marked some scribble down, then he turned toward me, "It seems everything is in order. You're in better health than most people a few days after having been shot in the head."

I hummed as Doc walked up to the bed, "Well let's get you up," Doc grabbed my arms and held me steady as I forced myself to stand. My legs protested the whole way but I'd gotten good at ignoring the needs of my body a long time ago.

He attempted to help me across the room but I stopped him, "Thanks, but I can walk."

Doc studied me for a moment and then shrugged before leading me into the hall. It was a short walk and soon I found myself looking at one of the only things I had left of my family. My Desert Ranger gear had seen better days but I'd never seen those days; the armor was already 200 years old when I got it back in my 20s.

My hands found themselves cupping the helmet/gas mask. I studied the helmet, a small dent on the top having come from a raider's sniper rifle and a long scrape near the eye pieces having been from a drugged up raider who took a ripper to my face. I'd made sure to kindly introduce them to my combat knife after that.

"So are you part of the NCR?" I turned to see Doc studying me, "I've only seen armor like that used by those NCR Rangers or posted up on those recruitment posters."

I frowned slightly at the reminder. The Desert Rangers had been absorbed into the NCR in 2271 and I'd left before they shook hands on the deal. The NCR Rangers were being pushed as the face of the NCR beside the two headed bear that decorates the flag. It made my blood boil knowing most people had already forgotten that the Desert Rangers weren't always a part of the NCR Rangers.

"No, I'm not a part of the NCR. I earned this armor a long time ago." I said as I unfolded the worn jeans.

"Sorry, it's just I've never seen the armor anywhere else." Doc said, "I'll go and grab your things."

With that Doc left around a corner as I pulled my pants up and fastened my belt. Next thing was the combat boots which went halfway up his shins. Next was my gun belt which I'd bought from a vendor in The Hub; it was one of those old western ones which had some straps to secure the holster to my thigh. Then came the LAPD riot vest which I slipped on and tiggtened the straps until it was incredibly snug and didn't hang off his body. Then I attached the chest holster. Then came the black desert scarf which I tucked into the collar of the vest to fully cover my neck. Finally came the duster and gloves; I slid on the gloves and pulled the coat over my shoulders.

The weight of the gear was comforting. A familiar hug that had saved me from a lot of bullets and sharp objects. It'd even tanked a frag grenade once. That was not a fun job.

The sounds of footsteps alerted me to Doc's return. I turned and Doc turned the corner now carrying a satchel with my shotgun sticking out of it. I walked over to meet him, "Well, this was all I found on you when Victor brought you here." Doc said as I took the satchel.

I brought it over to the dining table and set it down, flipping the flap over and taking out the Lever-Action Shotgun that had been with me for a few years. I examined the weapon, the wood was still good but there was a noticeable amount of dirt on it. I hope it didn't get into the guts of the shotgun, I'd rather be able to use it. I tested the lever and it moved as it should have and then I opened the chamber and inspected it under the light; it looked good. Without taking it apart I wouldn't be completely sure but it looked fine and I didn't want to do that right now.

I set the shotgun down and reached into the bag and my hand wrapped around my 9mm pistol. This weapon I could strip so I did, I ejected the magazine and checked to see it was full before placing it down. I pulled the slide back to check the chamber and foun it empty so I slid the bolt out and separated the slide from the handle. I examined it to find it pretty clean from when I last did it and I found myself satisfied with it.

I put the 9mm back together and placed it next to the shotgun before looking in the satchel again and taking out my combat knife. All it needed was just a wipe with my hand before I inserted it into my hip sheath right behind my holster. I had already sharpened it the night befo-a few days ago.

Now onto the provisions.

I dumped the rest out and was incredibly disappointed. Two Stimpacks, one Med-X syringe, three bottle's of purified water, three 20-gauge shells, another magazine for the 9mm, and the Mojave Express Delivery Order. I sighed as I realized the Khans seemed to have looted me for nearly everything I had. I was thankful they hadn't taken all I had but I was noticeably missing one thing.

"You didn't happen to take off a .44 Magnum, did you, Doc?" I asked, silently pleading that he'd simply forgotten to place it in the bag.

"Sorry, everything I took off of you I put in the bag." The Doc said, once again proving Lady Luck had it out for me.

I leaned back and sighed heavily. Luna; the magnum was a very special weapon to me. It was the one my mother had given me when I was still a teenager. After she passed I engraved her name into the wooden handle and kept it with me ever since. Like a piece of her was with me beyond the grave.

I couldn't help the frustrated slam of my fist into the dining table. Doc didn't say anything about it so I assumed he got the idea from my face that the gun was incredibly important to me. Oh, when I found the Khan that took Luna…

Suddenly I remembered something. I had a bag of my own; one that held more of my provisions.

"Doc, where's the graveyard?" I asked.

"Just head down the road and look on your left, you should see a hill with a water tower on it, it's right up there." Doc answered.

"Thanks, I mean it. I doubt I'd be alive if not for you and it occurs to me that I don't know your name." I said, thankful for the doctor keeping me breathing but also ignorant of the man's name.

"Oh, my name's Mitchell, just Mitchell."

I nodded, "I'll be sure to bring this back If I find what I'm looking for." I said while stuffing the things back into the satchel besides the ammo and weapons. I placed the 9mm in my chest holster and stuffed the extra magazine into my coat pocket. I just grabbed the shotgun and loaded the three shells into it and held it at my side by the fore stock.

"Oh, before you go!" Mitchell suddenly said as I reached out for my helmet, I stopped and watched as he walked over to a cabinet. He opened it and pulled out a…Pip-Boy?

I recognized what it was because I'd been to Vault City and I'd seen several former vault dwellers in my time as a courier. Even helped some poor dweller who came from a vault that had been surrounded by raiders. He was all that survived.

Mitchell walked over to me, "I think you should have this."

That stumped me. I knew how valuable a working Pip-Boy was and what they were capable of, "Why are you giving this to me?"

"I have no use for it anymore. I'm too old to be wandering out in the wastes, plus I know what it's like having something taken from you."

I put down the shotgun and took the Pip-Boy from Mitchell's hands. I looked the wrist device over, seeing the lock for it and the buttons to use it. I placed it on my wrist and locked it in place and suddenly it sprang to life. The screen glowing green as RobCo and Vault-Tec logos went by and then it finally came to a Stats screen.

I turned the knobs, getting a feel for how the Pip-Boy worked. I smiled and looked at Mitchell, "Thank you, Mitchell."

He waved his hand,"It's no issue. You'll get more use out of it then I ever did."

I grabbed my helmet and placed it on my head. The world gained a dim tint before I reached for the side of the helmet and turned a knob slightly allowing more light to enter the lenses. I turned my head toward Mitchell, nodded, and turned toward the door.

I walked to the door, opened it, and regretted doing so immediately.

The sun must've been feeling pretty bitchy at that moment as it practically flashed me, all it was missing was the loud bang that typically accompanied the flash. My headache intensified as I desperately reached for the knob on my helmet and dimmed the lenses. I groaned in annoyance before closing the door behind me and trudging forward.

The first thing I noticed was the two buildings on the side of the road. Goodspring's General Store and the Prospector's Saloon. I'd have to visit them both soon but the cemetery was the important thing right now.

I continued down the remains of a paved road and walked down to the sign near the end of the road when I heard something behind me, it sounded like a wheel. I turned and was greeted by the odd but not inherently rare sight of a robot type I didn't recognize. It was more square-like than some of the other RobCo robots I'd seen and had a screen with an artistic rendition of a cowboy's head and it was balancing on a single wheel which I considered to be a strange way of getting around but it seemed to work.

"Howdy, Pardner!" The robot began, its synthetic voice coming out as the stereotypical cowboy I'd heard from a few holotapes before, "Might I say, you're looking as fit as a fiddle."

"Hello, what kind of robot are you, you don't look like a protectron," I asked, not being able to help myself in asking.

"Me, well I'm a securitron! As far as I know we securitrons only hang around the Mojave." He answered, "You can call me, Victor."

Securitron, huh? I suppose it made sense that something like this would be around New Vegas. I was pretty sure New Vegas was run by a Mr. House if I'd heard right and I was pretty sure House was the CEO of RobCo before the war. Whether it was the genuine man or someone descended from him didn't really matter.

Another thing the securitron said gave me pause. Victor. That was the name Mitchell had mentioned, "You dragged me out of my grave?" I asked.

"Yup! I was out for a stroll that night when I heard a commotion up at the old bone orchard. "Victor gestured behind me as he said that, I turned and noted the hill leading up to a water tower. Same description the Doc gave me. "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 kickin'. Turns out you were, so I hauled you off to the Doc right quick."

I turned back, "Well, thanks for helping me out. Now I may actually make it to my 50th if I'm lucky."

"Oh, don't mention it! I'm always ready to lend a helpin' hand to a stranger in need." The cowboy securitron answered.

Was it now? Why would Mr. House program it to do that? Whatever, it didn't matter what the man or possible descendant did with what was left of RobCo. I still had to find that damn chip and deliver it.

Wait a second, Victor must've caught a glimpse of the men who ambushed me.

"Hey, you wouldn't have happened to see where those men went, did ya'?" I asked.

"Nope, sorry. I was more worried about them seeing me than watching where they went." Victor answered, "Though you could ask the people in town. They might've seen them before."

"I'll do that, thanks."

"No problem, Pardner!" With that Victor wheeled away, heading down the road where I came from. I on the other hand looked back up toward the water tower; wondering what exactly I'd find up there. My hopes were pushed down, even the irrational one that Luna would be just laying in the dirt near the hole I was sure to find.

Well, no time like the present.

I began walking up the hill but as I did my mind rolled over to the delivery order. I fished through my pocket and pulled out the folded paper. I unfolded it and began to read it as I trekked up the hill, a general delivery order given to me a thousand times over the last decade. The place of delivery: North Gate of New Vegas, my cut for the delivery service: 250 caps, the manifest: an oversized poker chip made of platinum, the general punishment for not delivering the parcel within a set amount of time: general criminal charges/ or pursuit by mercenaries.

More reasons to get the damn chip back and deliver it.

One thing I noticed was the place I would get my cut of the payment: Primm. If I remembered right that town was south of Goodsprings, I'd made a note of it a little bit before the ambush. Primm had a Mojave Express branch in the town, I could probably learn more from this Johnson Nash.

I shook my head as I made it to the top of the hill. I had other worries right now and that could wait a day as I got myself set back up. Finally I could see the last place I remember. It wasn't a great graveyard like the one in Vault City but then again most places weren't like Vault City. Small with enough space to fill more graves; good enough.

My eyes finally settled onto the mound of dirt laying out next to a hole. I sighed as I grimly imagined this as my final resting spot; not exactly a bad place for my eternal rest. Better than how it will most likely end with me in pieces across whatever state I find myself in by then.

I walked over to the hole and stood at its edge. I looked down into the shallow grave and sighed in relief to find a very recognizable bag laying on its side within. I dropped down into my grave and crouched down to get a look at the dirt covered leather golf bag; though I doubt it's held any golf clubs in the last 200 years.

I placed down my shotgun and grabbed the bag to give it a small shake; both to see if anything was clanking around and to get some of the dirt off it. I did hear a clattering of something but what it was depended on the Khans. I turned it over to a standing position as I hunched over it and thrust my arm down the main part of the bag. My fingers brushed against the bottom without anything in it, I sighed and turned it over to the pouches and noticed a few were open.

I frowned under my helmet and reached into the first pouch where I found a box of 20 gauge shells. I quickly opened the box and found it was halfway full; around 12 shells sat within the box instead of the 24. That was good.

I sat the box down and looked through another pouch to find nothing. That was my medical pouch too, it seems they felt like taking the Med-X, Healing Powder, and the emergency Psycho. Made sense, the Khans were damn junkies so probably hit up as they went along.

Scouring the rest of the bag I discovered another magazine for the 9mm but that was it. Bastards took everything else, even my cap stash. That meant I'd have to trade with the owner of the General Store or take jobs from the locals of Goodsprings.

Not much of an issue as I'd planned on helping out where I could.

I owed this town even if no one felt that way. Mitchell could've looted my corpse and used my organs to help someone willing to pay caps but he didn't and my interaction with Victor gave me a good idea of the people in Goodsprings; a tow of decent people just trying to get by. I'd help if I could, whether it be a busted fridge or a group of radscorpions causing issues. Wouldn't be the first time I played exterminator.

I stood from my crouch and adjusted the satchel before grabbing my bag and lugging it over my shoulder. I turned and went to step out of the grave but stopped as I noticed an intact cigarette butt. Usually that wouldn't have made me stop but these were pretty distinct.

I grabbed one and brought it up to the lens of my mask. I examined the filter, a dominating brown color with lines of rosy red. I mentally went over the brands of cigarette's I knew about and couldn't remember one with this kind of filter. Something that could possibly help me in the future so I slung my bag off my box and reached into one of the pouches and grabbed an old ring box I'd just picked up after scavenging the skeleton of a home. I placed the cigarette butt into the box and put it back.

I finally stepped out of my grave and looked off toward the south. Primm would be that way if I followed the road for a while-wait didn't the Pip-Boy have a map? I brought up my Pip-Boy and switched from my Stats to the Map. The map showed the whole Mojave and showed I was in Goodsprings. A scroll later and I saw Primm about fifteen miles away; 6 hours if I walked or sooner if I hoofed it.

That was good. Still I would prefer to be more supplied for my journey as Primm wasn't the end destination.

I put my arm down and turned back toward Goodsprings. I began walking down the hill as I began wondering just what I was about to get myself into.

First chapter of Goodsprings down. I do want some feedback on the first person perspective as I noticed I kept almost writing in third person and wonder if the writing comes off as unnatural to anyone. Maybe I'm just not as confident in the writing style as I am with my normal one but if I don't step out of my comfort zone then I won't get any better. So what do you think of the story and this version of The Courier? Please leave a review on yours thoughts and have a good morning/afternoon/night.