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Cross posted to Archive of Our Own.
Dreams were a rarity for The Courier. But when he did have them, they were strange and near incomprehensible. But the nightmares were often much clearer, having lived through many of them.
The Sierra Madre…
The Divide…
Those were frequently the subject of his nightmares — and even rarer night terrors. Zion made the occasional appearance, but it wasn't what he experienced there, but rather, the results of his own actions. He never meant for things to end the way they did, he was merely getting rid of a threat just like the wasteland had taught him how to. Even after the months passed and the days droned on, he still questioned that choice. Joshua did as well, and probably to a much greater extent given that he had to deal with the bickering tribes firsthand.
…
The Courier exhaled, expelling the smoke from his lungs out into the cool, early-evening air. He sat against the chain link fence atop the roof of Abydos' small annex, holding a cigarette between two fingers. Little more than the butt remained in his grasp, but he had learned to make the most of things, even if they were burning up and fading away. He held it to his lips and drew in a deep breath. After a few moments, he blew it out. The Courier had grown numb to the comfort that tobacco brought. Sitting down and resting, letting the world spin by… Now it was the habit that relaxed him. Though, he couldn't deny the addiction nor did he have any interest in breaking it.
The past few hours had been one of the most surreal, dream-like things he had ever experienced, and the day had yet to be over. But he was sure that this was reality. None of his dreams had ever been like this, nor had they ever involved people he knew — that was a nightmare exclusive. Dreams always felt a certain way, and The Courier could plainly tell that this was no dream. But quite frankly, this all being real only brought more questions.
How could the dead possibly be brought back to life? Why House and Benny? Why Doc Mitchell? The latter two knew House, sure, but they didn't know each other. Did they follow House here, or was it due to their relationship with The Courier? He knew all three, so did he bring them here? But if that was the case, why was he so late to the party? Were there others that The Courier knew? Ones that he didn't? But how did they get here? Was it Joshua's God? Was this another chance, a bad joke, or merely a whim?
The Courier smacked his head back against the fence, willing the thoughts away. Things were already strange enough, he didn't need to bring the spiritual element into it as well. Those questions would be answered later or not at all, and The Courier probably wouldn't get a say in which question got what label.
Below him was the Foreclosure Task Force. They were being very, very loud — enough to wake him from his nap in the nurse's office. He heard them, much like Hoshino during their earlier card game, but he didn't put any effort into comprehending them. He could hear Benny as well and the occasional chime from Doc Mitchell, the latter presumably keeping an eye on the former.
All things considered, The Courier didn't quite trust Benny. That stuff about the Mojave not mattering and second chances didn't mean much to The Courier, the man had lied to him before. Though, he seemed genuine, and at least he didn't have a reason to kill The Courier.
Well, any that he knew of.
While he knew that the girls could hold their own in a fight, he was hesitant about their willingness to kill. They were desperate people, sure. But the only fight The Courier had seen them in ended with plenty of casualties, but not an ounce of blood spilled. And Ayane's unwillingness to use him as a sacrificial pawn colored Kivotos a certain way; with a paint that knew very little of death. So there was a simple solution to that. If Benny got uppity, Doc Mitchell would blow his head off. The girls wouldn't take it well, but it would probably be the best solution if something came up. Loose ends were a truly awful thing, especially schemers like Benny.
The Courier felt much better than he did before the nap, some proper rest and a half does of Med-X doing wonders for his mind and body. There seemed to be no lasting injuries from whatever had put him in the coma. Doc Mitchell agreed with that assessment; only sore limbs and a bit of bruising. All in all, he felt worse than he actually was.
The Courier took one last drag before snuffing the cigarette out on his boot. He dumped it into his backpack before standing and making his way to the stairs. He walked down them, through the hall, and soon found himself at the door to the Task Force club room. There were seven occupants sitting around the table, and the newest addition sat to the left of Ayane. The Courier opted to take his seat beside Shiroko, whose nose twitched as he got comfortable in the chair.
"Miss anything important?" The Courier asked Shiroko.
"He will be staying for a few days." She motioned her head toward Benny. "And Hoshino wants you to help with my deliveries."
"Only thing I seem to be good for. When do we start?"
Shiroko reached into her pocket and pulled out a small device. It seemed to be a scaled-down version of Ayane's computer, being roughly the size of Shiroko's hand. She pressed a button on the side and the screen lit up, displaying a clock and foreign text in screen-wide bubbles below it. "Ten minutes."
"And the details?"
"Four stops; drop-off only. We'll get another contract at the post office after."
"I'll meet you in front of the school, need to get ready."
The Courier — as per his name — was no stranger to travel, especially over long distances. He knew how to prepare; not only rationing food, water, and medicine, but also ensuring the route was known and that adequate protection was hired or carried. He'd walked the Long 15, hiked the long way to New Vegas, made passage to Zion many times, and roamed the lonesome road through the Divide, but never once had he been truly prepared. Be it mistake or disaster, there was always something that came along to complicate things. Delivering the mail could be a hard job, especially with the prim but not-so-proper gunning for you.
The Courier trusted that Shiroko knew the lay of the land and had their route planned, this was her job after all. And he was there for… Morale support? She presumably would find something for him to do so that he wouldn't be following her around like a lost puppy. But if the latter did happen, it would be a good time to map out the area and identify some landmarks. The Pip-Boy's GPS didn't work here, so he would have to generate a local map. He had already set the Pip-Boy's time to be roughly correct. Judging by the low angle of the sun, it was around 4 P.M. in late January or early February.
As for preparations, he had packed supplies for half a day's travel. Two caravan lunches — one for dinner and one for emergencies — and trail mix as a snack. There was purified water for drinking, assorted medical supplies and chems, and a single bottle of wasteland tequila. It was more than enough for a few hours of travel and provided leeway in case that few hours turned into something more.
Armament wise, The Courier had left behind the anti-material rifle in favor of his brush gun and revolver. The anti-material rifle was a niche weapon, being too heavy to wield normally and with an excessive amount of stopping power for most situations. His knife stayed, of course, and he doubted there would ever be a time he would willingly part with it. Very little could stand up to hand-loaded .45-70, so the brush gun was his go-to weapon for medium range fights. The .357 magnum revolver was the king in tight spaces and surprise encounters. It was smaller than a rifle but packed significant power in its frame. It could be maneuvered quickly, and his dexterous hands could draw and reload it at lightning speed.
The Courier sat on the stairs in front of Abydos, idly shoveling pinyon nuts into his mouth. While he was no stranger to going days without eating, he tried his best to not make it a habit. He was average when it came to endurance, so he needed whatever strength he could muster after days of lying in bed.
The door opened behind him and Shiroko strode out, bag slung over her shoulder and rifle in hand. She glanced down to The Courier and then to the lunch box in his lap.
"Pinyon nuts. Want some?" He asked, holding out a handful.
Shiroko took a few and popped them into her mouth. She chewed for a moment, one ear briefly twitching, before taking a few more. The Courier tossed the remaining few into his mouth before packing up his snack.
"Oughta get going before the sun gets any lower." He said, standing up.
"Nn."
The Courier followed Shiroko, walking beside her as she led him through the streets of Abydos. It was as large as it was impressive, but a dying district all the same. It was more intact than New Vegas, but the literal apocalypse could hardly be compared to a few years of sandstorms. Still, the situation was bad, almost utterly hopeless in The Courier's mind.
The debt situation was fragile enough that one failed payment would wipe Abydos as a school from the map; not to mention that paying off the debt at their current rate would take years — if not even longer. And even if they did pay off the debt, they'd have to scrounge up enough money to buy back their land, assuming the Kaiser Corporation was willing to even sell. Then there was rebuilding the school, restarting the economy, and bringing people back to Abydos. Those sort of tasks were for governments, not schoolgirls.
The Abydos girls were naive at best, foolish at worst. Struggling for a cause was logical, but lines need to be drawn in the sand. At some point, you just have to cut your losses and move on. Of course, he was hardly one to be saying such things, considering his track record.
The streets around Abydos' annex were mostly abandoned. Other than the occasional car or halo-sporting student — all of which seemed to belong to the Helmet Gang or another delinquent group — there were a few robots moving about. They weren't like securitrons, protectrons, or even the army's sentry bots, but instead bipedal human-like machines. Some had screens that displayed faces and others had armored heads, but all of them shared the same two-legged and two-armed design. Their movements were natural, almost human-like with how smooth they were. But there was a subtle machine-like quality to them; each movement was calculated to perfectly flow with the last.
The initial deliveries went as smooth as could be. Shiroko carried all of the letters, dropping them off in mailboxes or through the mail slots of doors while The Courier kept watch. Passing delinquents kept a wide berth, often moving to the other side of the street when they saw the pair. He attributed that to Shiroko more than anything. It seemed she — and maybe the entirety of the Foreclosure Task Force — had something of a reputation. And not just with the delinquents either; citizens would give a greeting, usually a wave or a simple nod of acknowledgment.
Soon enough they came upon a worn-down building, its design much older than the surrounding structures. In a sea of steel, glass, and concrete, this humble single-story building was made of bricks. Even without the wear and tear of the storms, it seemed a few years due for renovations.
"Here," Shiroko said.
"This tiny thing services the whole district?"
"Nn. There used to be more. The system collapsed a while ago."
"So who runs it now?"
"Volunteers and freelancers."
"Pay doesn't sound too good then. Why bother?"
"They give the Task Force priority when it comes to jobs. If we don't have something lined up elsewhere, then we can always come here."
The building certainly fit the last bastion of a long-gone system. It reminded The Courier a little bit of the Mojave Express in Primm. The building had that sort of… feeling to it. It was situated on a street corner and had a big neon sign on the roof. It was entirely foreign — more Chinese or something.
Shiroko opened the door and went inside, The Courier following shortly behind her. The building was small, but the front room was comparatively tiny, most of the space being reserved for the mail room in the back. There was a small corner of the room lined with chairs and reserved for waiting, while the rest was empty space before a row of counters. There were three spots, but only one was manned — with the rest of the room being completely empty. Though, 'manned' might've been the wrong word.
There was an over-sized bird behind the counter, standing on a stool due to being too short to see over reach it normally. It had white, perfectly groomed feathers that made it appear as a large blob. Either that, or it was obese — or maybe that was just how it looked; bird-man-thing genetics were beyond The Courier. It wore a white dress shirt with a black tie, and a large folded collar that spanned the circumference of its (compared to the body) massive neck. It didn't wear any pants, which begged a question that The Courier did not want to start thinking about.
He was just about over how strange the creature was — after all, the Mojave had stranger things — but then it started to talk, and things got much weirder.
"Shiroko! Good to see you." It spoke in a high-pitched, feminine sing-song voice, sounding like an old lady mimicking a bird. "Any you've brought a friend? What's your name sweetheart?"
The Courier stood there for a moment, mouth slightly agape, before he remembered how to speak. "C-Courier." He stuttered out.
"Not using your real name? How mysterious! And with such heavy armor and those guns? Are you… a mercenary!?"
"No ma'am, just a courier. Roads are dangerous is all."
"Indeed… indeed." The bird said, visibly downtrodden. "But!" It pointed a stubby arm-wing at Shiroko. "You girls have been hard at work dealing with that!"
"Yes." Shiroko's face ever so slightly lit up. "We destroyed a Kata-Kata Helmet Gang outpost today."
"I heard about that," it cooed. "Thank you! It's good to know that someone is looking out for us ordinary people."
Shiroko reached into her bag and pulled out a flyer. The Courier recognized it as the same one that Hoshino had given him. "We completed this today. Sorry it took so long."
"No worries! No worries!" The bird cheered. It had to rotate its body to the side to grab the flyer. "I'll go get this processed. Feel free to pick out another one." It hopped down from the stool, hurrying away on its tiny little bird legs. The door to the mail room was too tall for it, so there was another stool nearby that it stood on to open the door. Then it scurried into the back room, shutting the door behind it.
The Courier stared forward, unmoving and unblinking. While he certainly could move, that would take away brain power from trying to figure out what the hell that interaction was. That thing was rather clearly a bird, but also a woman. Not all animals were like that, as evidenced by the bird he had seen earlier in the day, but how many were? Why were they different? And how could it talk using a beak instead of a mouth?
"Are you alright?" Shiroko asked, noticing The Courier's state. He slowly turned his head towards her, with a dumbfounded face.
"… I just talked to a bird."
"Nn. Is that strange?"
The Courier looked at Shiroko, staring at her for a good few seconds with a blank expression on his face. "Whatever, let's just get this over with."
Shiroko moved to a nearby rack, perusing the few flyers that remained. When she found one that she liked, she walked back up to the counter and waited. Eventually, the bird returned with a handful of coins and a few bills. Shiroko and the bird exchanged items, the former taking the money and the latter taking the flyer. It reached into its breast pocket and pulled out a pen, writing on the flyer.
"The contractors are Sunaookami Shiroko and Courier…"
"Six."
"Courier Six." The bird repeated. "I figured Shiroko would take this one, so I had it ready to go."
It reached under the counter and hefted up a cardboard box, placing it on the countertop. The box had its flaps open, revealing the contents inside. There were about a couple dozen letters and a few small packages. Shiroko began taking the letters and placing them into her quickly-filling bag. The Courier then noticed the fullness of it, and unsung his backpack from his shoulder. Unzipping and holding it open toward Shiroko, the latter wordlessly placed the remaining few packages inside. The bird placed the empty box back under the counter as Shiroko examined the flyer, her eyes seemingly drawn to one specific line of foreign text.
"We'll be going now." She said, turning and walking toward the door. The Courier followed shortly behind her, giving a polite nod to the bird.
"Have a good evening, and stay safe!" It called after them.
The new contract did little to change the pace of the deliveries. Shiroko would do the delivering while The Courier kept watch, just as they had done with the last batch. They kept on for hours, going through many different sections of the district, and delivering to homes, apartments, and businesses. They took a break in a sandy park in one of the more abandoned parts of Abydos, eating caravan lunches in front of a large pit — the remnants of a dried-up pond — before continuing on their way.
All the traveling was refreshing for The Courier. It felt like he was back in the Mojave, roaming the highways underneath the desert heat. It gave him plenty of time to think and the distance revealed plenty of locations. Stores, landmarks, abandoned buildings; many interesting places that he'd likely visit at some point. The farther away they got from the annex, the more populated Abydos seemed to get. Sand was still plentiful, but people roamed the sidewalks and cars sped down the streets. The buildings towered over the people below, the tallest dwarfing even the Lucky 38.
They ended up in a neighborhood for their last delivery, the sole remaining box in The Courier's backpack. Before them was an apartment building. It was four stories tall, painted in an off-white color, and had breezeways to access the apartments. They were connected to the ground and each other by stairs, and each story housed four apartments. On the opposite side of the building, a few of the balcony doors were lit up, but their curtains were closed and The Courier could not see into them.
The two walked up the stairs to the third floor and stopped in front of one of the apartments. Shiroko pulled out a keychain from her pocket and stuck one of the keys into the doorknob. The lock opened with a click, and she pushed the door open, casually strolling inside. The Courier peered into the apartment behind her, debating whether or not he should follow her. She grabbed a bike leaning against the wall and lifted it up, carrying it deeper into the apartment. He took that as his cue, entering and shutting the door behind him.
It was a small living space, even by wasteland standards. Immediately in front of the door was a hallway, with a small open kitchen to the right, and a bedroom in front. The kitchen was small and long, fitting no more than three people side-by-side while the hallway could barely fit one. The biggest room was the bedroom, with the bed in the front-right corner of the room with a desk and dresser on the opposing wall. A pair of sliding glass doors led to a balcony.
Shiroko switched the lights on before leaning the bike against the bed. It was shot up pretty bad, especially near the peddling mechanism. She moved over to the desk, pulled out a toolbox, and set it before the bike. She looked to The Courier, holding out an open hand.
"Package."
The Courier retrieved the small box from his backpack and handed it to her, the girl placing it beside her. She removed the peddling mechanism and inspected it, disassembling the roughest looking pieces and piling them beside the box.
"You repair things often?" The Courier asked.
"Only my bike and rifle."
Then Shiroko opened the package, which contained spare pieces for the mechanism, and replaced missing parts. After it was reassembled, she attached it to the bike. She lifted the rear and moved the peddles, rotating them 360 degrees without stopping. She grabbed the bike and rolled it through the hall as The Courier followed. She opened the door and walked out, holding it open for him.
"This is your place, right? You ain't staying for the night?" He asked.
"Nn. We stay at the school in shifts. Tonight it's Hoshino, Nonomi, and I." She answered.
The two started moving, leaving the building and heading in the direction of the school.
"Smart. Think you'll be lessening those shifts now that the gangers have warded off?"
Shiroko shook her head. "We had a meeting after we got back. Hoshino wants things to stay as they are."
A good call. While the Kata-Kata Helmet Gang had been dealt with, it was probably only a temporary solution. Sure, they'd lost their base, but none of them had died or been arrested — that was assuming there even was any semblance of law enforcement here. More than likely, they would regroup and retaliate, possibly with a better strategy than bashing their heads against the wall until it crumbles. It would take days or maybe even weeks, but there was also the matter of any organized remnants or splinter groups. The Courier learned that the hard way with the Brotherhood of Steel. Such groups didn't just disappear after being destroyed. They lingered and lurked, usually forming some rather nasty grudges.
"What do you make of that?" He asked.
"The past few days have been frustrating, and we need time to recover. We were all excited before the meeting, but then Hoshino said those words. Serika nearly blew a gasket."
"So that's what all the noise was." The Courier commented.
"Nn. You barely missed it."
"Good. Had enough of her nagging me in the gym. If I have to deal with her getting pissy again I might just start yellin' myself."
Shiroko chuckled, the slightest hint of a smile forming on her face.
"Think you'll be ready if those gangers come back?"
The smile disappeared just as quickly as it came, her mouth curling into a frown. "They have the numbers and the time, but lack the skill and firepower. I'm sure Hoshino and Ayane will come up with a plan to prevent it, but if we ever get into this situation again… I don't like saying it, but you're the only reason we could fight them off."
"More of an issue with outsiders rather than a personal thing." The Courier observed.
"Nn. The other schools abandoned us, even the GSC. It's hard to trust after something like that."
"Then the debt is just your way of keeping me on a leash."
Shiroko looked at The Courier, hesitance evident in her eyes. She slowly nodded her head, as if she was suddenly uncomfortable. "Hoshino wanted assurance that you wouldn't leave without helping…"
"Well, I've certainly helped."
…
"Thank you," Shiroko said.
"Hm?"
"I didn't get the chance to say it earlier."
"Get that debt off my back if you really wanna show your thanks. I appreciate you girls saving my life and all, but I don't like being saddled with that sort of thing." Waking up in this situation and then being saddled with responsibility made him think of the Sierra Madre. Not something he wanted to be comparing it to, considering what went down in the resort — let alone the mess in the casino.
…
"I'll see what I can do."
It was almost exactly 10 P.M. as The Courier walked through Abydos' front door. The first thing he did was make a trip to the nurse's office to unload all of his gear. He might've traveled relatively light, but that didn't mean that he wanted to bear that weight constantly. Of course, the armor, knife, and revolver were practically a part of him; he removed the armor to sleep — but only in secure places — and always kept the two weapons within arm's reach. After that, he began making his way to the club room, climbing the stairs and walking down the hall. Just as he was about to knock on the closed door, a voice spoke from behind.
"Do you need something from them?" Nonomi stood in the doorway of the room opposite the club room, a beaming smile on her face.
"Who?"
"Hoshino and Benny. They're discussing something or other."
"No. Figured I'd come up here and hang about, play some cards or somethin'."
"Oh! You can join us then; Doc, Shiroko, and I are about to start a new round." Nonomi grabbed The Courier by the arm and pulled him inside the room.
It seemed to be a classroom repurposed into a living space. The wall opposite the door was lined with windows, and most of the desks and chairs were neatly lined up against it. A few desks had been pushed against each other in the center of the room to form a makeshift table. There was an inflatable bed near the chalkboard at the head of the room, its covers were made neatly. Nonomi's personal effects were stored on lined up desks, the most notable of these being her minigun.
Doc Mitchell sat at the table, idly inspecting one of the cards. When he noticed The Courier, he sent a nod in his direction. "Evening Six. How'd you get on?"
"No trouble, somehow. Too bad, was hopin' to shoot some more children."
Doc Mitchell chuckled. "Grab a chair. Was gettin' a bit boring with just two people. Thankfully, Shiroko showed up just in the nick of time, and now you're here."
The Courier slid a chair over to the table and sat down as Nonomi took her seat. Doc Mitchell sat in front of him while Nonomi was to his left and Shiroko to his right, each person taking a side of the square table.
"Actually, we have enough people to play King's Game, so why don't we play that?" Nonomi suggested.
"What's that?" The Courier asked.
"Everyone draws numbered straws, one of which is specially marked. The special one designates the 'king' is and they get to order everyone else around." She explained. "Ah, but we don't have anymore straws after what happened last time."
"We can use cards as a replacement. Kings for the king and numbered cards instead of straws." Doc Mitchell said. The Courier took four cards from the deck, one king and cards numbered ace through three, and shuffled them. Then he put the small stack in the center of the table. The four then drew cards, with Nonomi taking the king.
Nonomi hummed exaggeratedly as she revealed her card. "Two must carry one around the room." The rest of the room showed their cards, Doc Mitchell having a 3, Shiroko having a 2, and The Courier having a 1. The latter two stood and moved to an open space in the room.
Shiroko was the second tallest person in the Foreclosure Task Force, but The Courier still dwarfed her by nearly a foot — her head barely reaching above his shoulders. And while she had toned legs, her arms were skinny, and her torso wasn't particularly large — her frame was conditioned for running instead of lifting. The Courier wasn't exactly sure how much he weighed, but given his size, roughly average build, and the fact that he had around 30 pounds of gear on him at any given point, he had to be well above 200 pounds. But any doubts in his mind that Shiroko would have trouble vanished as the girl wrapped her arms around his waist and casually flung him over her shoulder.
"The hell?" The Courier shouted in surprise. "What kinda muscles are you hidin' in that tiny frame?"
Shiroko smirked as she began walking around the room. It wasn't as if there was no effort put into her movements, but for someone of her size and shape, there was a considerable gap between her supposed and apparent strength. She had to lean to the side to effectively carry him, and it was hardly a comfortable ride on account of the shoulder digging into his gut, but she managed to complete the challenge nonetheless. Shiroko bent over and placed The Courier onto his own two feet and the two returned to their seats.
The four drew cards again, and Doc Mitchell looked intently around the room.
"Number three." He said, and The Courier locked eyes with him. The former smirked and leaned over the table. "Pass me that bottle o' yours."
The Courier obliged, reaching into his backpack and pulling out a bottle of wasteland tequila. He slid it across the table to Doc Mitchell, but not before taking a swig for himself. The doctor held the bottle to his lips for a long moment, taking several greedy gulps before exhaling, satisfied.
"Hits the spot. Been dry since gettin' here." Doc Mitchell said.
"A tragedy. I got a feeling that you'll be drowning in it tonight. Me too, actually."
The cards were once more shuffled and placed into the pile. Round three began as the four drew cards, with Nonomi receiving the king again.
"Number one, tell me something embarrassing about number two."
The Courier locked eyes with Doc Mitchell, who, in turn, narrowed his.
"Molebutt." He said.
Doc Mitchell sighed and rubbed his face.
"Molebutt?" Nonomi repeated.
"Yeah," The Courier snorted. "Got a real big one on his… 'rear bumper.'"
"Oh. Oh! I didn't realize you two were that close."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Whatever you're thinkin', stop thinkin' it."
"You've opened the floodgates, Six. We won't ever hear the end of it." Doc Mitchell sighed once more.
"It seems Serika wasn't the only person to find love." Hoshino drawled, stepping through the door. Benny followed shortly behind her. There was a lanyard around his neck with a card attached to it. The English letters 'S.C.H.A.L.E.' and foreign words were on it. It was likely something recovered from the Helmet Gang, as he hadn't been wearing it before. Hoshino continued forward, grabbing a chair and bringing it to the desk, but Benny didn't. He stood just ahead of the door, eyes drawn to The Courier.
"Mind if we have a word? Club room." He said.
The Courier always had trouble reading Benny's face. He was subtle in his movements, always managing to keep them in check. But his eyes — being the gateway to the soul and all that — were like a very complex book. You could get an idea of what was going on in his head, but it took a certain amount of social finesse — something that The Courier was severely lacking — to really understand. Here and now, Benny's eyes weren't soft but they were hardly guarded, and his face was more or less the same. Either the man had no ill intentions, or he gotten better at hiding them.
The Courier stood from his chair and walked toward Benny, giving a passing tap on Doc Mitchell's shoulder. Benny led him out of the room and to the adjacent club room, shutting the door behind them. He reached into his pocket and brought out a computer, similar in size to Shiroko's. He tapped the screen a few times, and before long it was vibrating with an electronic ring. He handed it to The Courier.
The ringing abruptly stopped and a barely audible voice came from the device.
"-an you hear me?" House said. His voice had a bit of static to it, but that could be attributed to the phone. He sounded human, but different from when he had been pulled from that coffin of his. It was most comparable to his synthetic voice, but the human element brought about a subtle change.
The Courier held the phone to his ear, keeping Benny in his line of sight. "I see you've upgraded hardware."
"And to think; I could have seen a lifetime without your… humor."
"Yes, yes. I've missed you too — well, mostly your tower. But I'm assuming we aren't talking right now just because you want to catch up."
House ignored the jab. "I have a proposition for you. I won't prattle on about how you would be wise to accept it, you already know it would be. Intelligence is your one good quality, after all. You would work under me, joining the Federal Independent Investigation Club otherwise known as SCHALE. As for now, you would be little more than an errand boy acting on my behalf — a courier, if you will. This city has more moving parts than even New Vegas, and the unoiled gears are beginning to spark. As one man, I can only do so much to prevent a fire."
The Courier stayed silent, he didn't need to speak. He knew that House could practically hear the question coming: 'What's in it for me?'
"In case you haven't heard, this city has undergone a change in management. And the keys have been handed to me. The amount of influence that I hold cannot be understated. Neither can the power at my fingertips. While I wouldn't simply hand it off to you — even if I was able to — I might allow you a fraction of it should you prove both useful and obedient. Of course, you would be compensated for your work and I will even go so far as to provide you with housing in the SCHALE building on top of that."
It was a good offer, a very good offer. The only reason The Courier wasn't jumping at the chance was due to who was offering it. He could only imagine the grudge that House held for him after that whole killing him and stealing his city bit. But then again; shelter, pay, and work — and from the most powerful man in the city at that. It would give him somewhere to go if things ever went south with Abydos, and House could probably wipe The Courier's debt away with a snap of his fingers and a bundle of caps — or whatever currency they used here.
…
"Alright," The Courier said, caution leaking into his voice. "You've convinced me. I'll join your little club."
"Good. We can discuss the formalities when we meet in person, but that time will come at a later point. I want you to stay at Abydos for now. I believe you may already have more influence with them than Benny can create. And while up-to-date information on them is rather lacking, it seems that outsider is a dirty word. You are an outsider too — understand this if nothing else — but you have pull with that doctor of theirs, and I've heard they hold him in quite high regard. In any case, keep on their good side. I will be sending someone to retrieve Benny tomorrow. They will be bringing supplies for you to use, handle them with care." House terminated the call with a click and the phone went silent. The Courier handed it back to Benny and looked at him expectantly. The latter shook his head dismissively, and The Courier left the room.
Upon returning to Nonomi's room, he noticed two things. The first was Doc Mitchell's gaze, watching the door out of the corner of his eye. Evidently, he had understood The Courier's message. Though, he hadn't taken the preferred measure — standing outside the club room door and listening in — but it was adequate. Secondly was Hoshino sitting on Nonomi's lap and resting her head on the latter's enormous chest. She was fast asleep, and the King's Game had been replaced by the quieter and less physically active game of Blackjack as a result.
He walked to his seat, grabbing the bottle of wasteland tequila as he passed Doc Mitchell. The bottle touched his lips almost as soon as he sat, several seconds passing as The Courier did nothing but drink. He exhaled harshly as he sat the bottle back down on the table. Doc Mitchell shuffled the cards as he and Nonomi prepared for another round.
"You joining us, Six?" He asked.
"Nah. Wanna turn my brain off for a bit. Float down the river." The Courier said, gesturing to the bottle. He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms and shutting his eyes. Thoughts flowed through his mind; some interesting, some not, but none he cared to explore. Being on the edge of sleep was an enjoyable feeling, but the accompanying jolts of consciousness were none too pleasant. Despite his best efforts to ride on that edge, the thoughts and feelings faded into nothing.
The Courier leaned forward, bracing himself against the table. He rubbed his face, placing his glasses on the table to get them out of the way. "How long was I out?"
"Ah, thirty minutes?" Doc Mitchell guessed.
"Hm." He looked around, noticing the lack of one particular character. "Where'd ol' lazy bones go?"
"Hoshino went to bed." Nonomi sighed. "I guess I just can't compare to her mattress."
One bottle of tequila wasn't enough to get him properly drunk — not with all the weird shit the Think Tank did to his body — but the effects were still very apparent. In a way, the nap did him some good. It brought him to the river's rapids just a bit faster. His mind felt loose, and 'good' ideas were plentiful. One such idea was a thorough inspection of Shiroko's coyote-like ears. They seemed real and functional, but they could have just as well be some kind of implant. Either way, they looked soft and fluffy, and The Courier had the overwhelming urge to touch them.
"Can I touch yer ears?" He bluntly asked.
Shiroko returned a blank expression, not an ounce of anything on her face. Not even her ears moved, likely being self-conscious of them. Her eyes squinted, studying The Courier's face and presumably trying to figure out what kind of profound mental deficiency had spawned such a question. Eventually, her eyes relented and she answered.
"Nn."
The Courier removed the glove from his right hand and placed it on the table. He brought the hand to one of her ears and let two fingers run across it. It was just about as soft as he imagined it would be; pleasant to touch, even with all the calluses on his hand. It was rather flexible as well, being able to depress the flesh with only slight pressure from his fingers. He brought his hand to the base of her ear, where it was attached to her head, and began scratching along it. Shiroko shut her eyes and leaned into his hand, seeming utterly content.
They looked real, felt real, and even moved; all signs pointed to the obvious conclusion. Even questioning how this was real felt strange, because it shouldn't be real. Radiation was his closest guess, but there was none to be found.
Nonomi giggled. "Shiroko seems fond of you."
Shiroko lazily opened her eyes and glanced at The Courier before shutting them again — her face an impressive shade of red."… Ignore her."
"Half expectin' her to start purrin'. But that seems more Serika's style." Doc Mitchell said.
"Somethin' tells me that if I tried doin' this to her, she'd rip my arm off."
"No, that's what Shiroko would do. Serika's more of a cat. She would scratch and maybe even bite a finger." Nonomi commented.
"Was wondering what kind of ears she had. Never seen a cat before, so I couldn't figure it out."
"Really!?" Nonomi nearly shouted. "There are a few strays that live in the alleys near here. I could show you them sometime."
"Sure. Reckon I'll be staying for a while anyhow." The Courier removed his hand from Shiroko's head and grabbed the bottle of wasteland tequila, shaking it. The liquid sloshed within the bottle, less than a quarter of it remaining. He downed it and set the bottle down, turning to Doc Mitchell.
"Left a few more bottles in the room. You up for it?"
"Sure. We can catch up on everything that happened after… Well, you know."
The two said their goodbyes to Nonomi and Shiroko before leaving the room, making their way through the hall and down the stairs, and finally ending up in the nurse's office. The Courier knelt under his bed, rummaging through the assorted things he had left under there. He pulled out two bottles; one he tossed to Doc Mitchell — who caught it with some difficulty — and the other he immediately began drowning in, a waterfall of liquid running down his throat. He put his hand on the bedside desk for support, but his hand found purchase on something other than the wood.
He grabbed it and brought it up to inspect. It was a card depicting a fireworks show over an oasis, the image being a high-quality color photograph. Large foreign text was in the sky, but subtitled below it were the words: 'Get Well Soon!' There were five signatures near the bottom of the card, presumably belonging to the five members of the task force. Also on the table was a small packet of candy and a few coins.
"How nice of them."
Doc Mitchell hummed. "They asked me what to get you. Had half a mind to tell them alcohol and smokes, but they're too young to buy those sort of things."
The Courier smiled, nodding idly. "Nice to have someone care." He opened his backpack and placed it in one of the front sections, where he kept important items.
"I'm always here, you know that."
The Courier looked at Doc Mitchell. "Yeah… Alcohol's got me feelin' sentimental, is all. Anyhow," he continued, "you wanted to know what happened? Well…"
…
"You alright?" Doc Mitchell asked.
"I… You died, then some shit went down with the NCR… and that's all I remember. Everything past the battle for Hoover Dam is all vague and muddy. Are you sure my brain's all in order?"
"Nothin' but the sand and some bruisin'. I can check you again, but—"
"Nah, nah. It's fine. I still remember everything before, but the last couple months are just… blurry."
Doc Mitchell walked over to The Courier and raised his bottle.
…
Drinking to forget the weird shit of the day and all his problems, past, future, and present? He'd have deal with the consequences of his poor self control tomorrow, and they would be highly unpleasant. But then again, it'd be nice to float down the river, straight into the waterfall.
"That's a good idea."
I was originally going to have them play truth or dare, but King's Game seemed more setting appropriate. There wasn't much info I could find about it, most search results just lead to an anime of the same name. So most of it is me going off of memory from a few anime I watched years ago that included it. That, and a Gamefaqs thread and a Reddit post.
I have no idea when the next chapter will be out. I am joining the US Army and will be in training for 26 weeks. I won't be able to do any writing during this time. Things should calm down afterwards, but I doubt I'll be able to maintain a consistent schedule — well, not that I actually have a schedule. Consider the story to be on hold until then. If I don't get friendly-fired during basic, then you can expect chapter 3 to be coming around June of 2025. Maybe later, maybe earlier, time will tell.
Anyhow, thanks for reading.