Nevada and California, so, United States, after a capital-W war of some sort… Akira decided that asking more questions at that point would just make him sound suspicious and/or insane, and he didn't need that at the moment. He decided to focus on his current immediate situation.

He sat up and gave the room a glance. It was dilapidated by his standards, with windows boarded up in a way that permitted some light and fresh air to enter. There was an empty IV stand and a gurney next to the bed, and on the other end of the room, an operating table with some surgical lights above it. He glanced down – his jacket was gone, but other clothes remained untouched.

"I took it off and hung it on a stand in the corridor." Doc Mitchell pointed behind himself with his thumb. "It's right around the corner. Pardon me for undressin' you, but you had way too many layers on for Mojave in the daytime."

"It's alright." Akira turned to him. "So, I'm in your humble medical practice in Goodsprings."

Doc nodded.

"You mentioned that someone brought me here," Akira continued. "Who and from where?"

"A courier that was in the area," he replied. "He found you unconscious at the town cemetery, by the water tower."

"Were there any others with me?"

"I don't believe so. It's a small town, someone would've noticed them. Were you travellin' with a caravan?"

"More or less." Akira reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Not only he didn't have reception, the app he had been using to access the Metaverse has disappeared. He noticed Doc giving the device some odd looks and put it away. "I gotta go. I need to find the others."

"Go where, exactly?"

Akira tersed up slightly. "I just told you – find the folks I'm traveling with," he said, with the best poker face he could muster.

"Okay," Doc didn't relent. "You'll look around Goodsprings, and if you don't find them here, where will you head then?"

Akira's brain scrambled for a generic enough answer that wouldn't raise suspicion and came up with: "…north?"

Doc said nothing in response, but his concerned expression indicated it wasn't the correct answer. "If I can be direct… you're dressed unusually, you show no familiarity with the outside world, and you speak with an odd accent – vaguely Renoite, I think. Were you raised in a Vault, by any chance? Lots of them had some weird rules in place from what I've heard."

For a moment, Akira considered that it was a feint, to force him to "confess" to something obviously untrue. He pushed the thought away – the man in front of him didn't seem like the type to pull off things like these, and his gut feelings about people were almost always correct. "Yeah, exactly, I'm a Vaulter. My Vault had only Japanese-Americans in it, and we've had a stockpile of assorted Japanese TV recordings, hence the accent."

"Hm." He couldn't tell if Doc bought his story or if he decided pushing further would've been counterproductive. "Well, as someone who lived both in a Vault and out of it – the latter's much more dangerous. Are you sure you donʼt want to stick around?"

"As I said, my friends are still out there," Akira repeated. "And they're from the same Vault, and know as much about this world as I do."

"Nothing at all?"

"Exactly. I need to find them before they get hurt."

Doc thought about it for a moment, before replying: "I'll do a quick check-up and release you, under one condition."

"What is it?"

"You'll head to the saloon and find a redheaded lass in leather armor, Sunny Smiles. She's a trapper and a hunter, she can teach you some basics of surviving out there."

Aware that he would need all the help he could get, Akira quietly nodded in agreement.

"The courier that dragged you here mentioned he's gonna wait for you there to wake up. Maybe heʼll answer some questions as well." Doc got up from his chair and gestured at the machine at the other end of the room. "Now, why won't you walk up to the Vigor-Tester machine over there?"

As soon as the first flash of consciousness came to her, Makoto sprung up to her feet and raised her guard.

Instead of an expected final battle with a mad god, she was in what resembled a post-apocalyptic suburban cul-de-sac. The whole spot was closed off from two sides by a tall cobblestone wall and a cliff at the third. A few houses were destroyed, and the rest looked well-worn at the very least. The road leading to them was seemingly unmaintained for quite some time, and she noticed a few hunks of iron oxide that might have been cars a few centuries prior. In the distance, on a backdrop of a large mountain, there was a rollercoaster inexplicably wrapped around a building with a bison sign above it. Next to it was a building with an EXPRESS MOJAVE neon sign on the top.

Taking off her winter coat and letting it hang on her left arm, she marched forward, keeping an eye on her surroundings. She knocked on the doors of a few of the still-standing houses, to no response. She walked out of the cul-de-sac, towards a crossing, and took another glance around. A man was standing in the distance and she decided to approach him and non-conspicuously ask for directions. Judging by both the signs and the climate, she was in an English-speaking part of the world, and quietly thanked Sae for insisting on taking English lessons seriously. "Sir, excuse me!"

The called man turned around. Makoto noticed a handgun he was holding at the ready and immediately regretted opening her mouth. "Well, well, well," he said, in a tone that rubbed her the wrong way. "You lost, little doll?"

Months of mucking around in the Metaverse left her desensitized enough to not panic in the face of danger. She realized she's in a disadvantageous position, and decided to play along for the time being. "Indeed I am," she said, politely. "Could you please tell me where I am right now?"

"Maybe?" He walked up closer, close enough that she could disarm him if he tried anything funny. "For a low low price of all your caps."

"Uh, I don't have any. I'm not a hat person."

For some reason, he chortled to himself. "Playing dumb, huh? I meant bottle caps."

Makoto was confused. "I… don't have any of those either."

"NCR bucks are fine too," he said with a smirk.

Bucks, meaning dollars, meaning money. That sucked, but was preferable to being shot over the chump change she had in her wallet. She didn't know what an NCR was, but that could wait. "I don't have those, but I have some Japanese yen," she said, slowly reaching for her wallet.

It was the man's turn to be confused. "Japanese?"

"Yes, from Japan." The outlaw's confusion persisted, and she continued, "It's an island country in East Asia. The capital is Tokyo. It might have been on the news recently because of all the things happening around the elections last week. Here, have my wallet," she handed it over.

The outlaw holstered his gun – the girl in front of him didn't seem like a threat and he needed both hands – took her wallet from her, and started inspecting its contents. Some notes and coins that didn't look like anything he had seen before, a bunch of cards made from an unfamiliar material, more rigid than paper but lighter than metal, and a photo of a family member way too young to be gray-haired. All covered with characters looking vaguely Chinese, as far as he cared. "Last week? What date?"

"December 18th, 20XX."

The outlaw just barely stopped his jaw from hitting the floor. If she's faking, he thought, she put way too much effort into the props and clothes and everything. And if she wasn't, she was unaware and defenseless to a degree that even he found uncomfortable. "Listen, cutie: there was a breakout in the big house north of here. This town got taken over by a bunch of convicts." He pointed at himself with his off-hand. "Convicts like me."

She raised her guard. "I know martial arts."

"Calm your fucking tits." He tossed her wallet back at her. "I won't hurt you, but I can't vouch for all the others. Sneak outta town, and go south, towards a monument of two assholes shaking hands. It's fuck-off big and on top of a hill, you can't miss it. There's an outpost there, you can catch a caravan and go to California. Should be more civilized… or at least less overtly dangerous."

Makoto pondered that for a moment. Her innate sense of justice protested at the idea of letting a convict run amok, but her experiences with rushing blindly into things kept her in check. Especially since he had said something about others, less reasonable convicts in the area. Retreating seemed wiser for the time being. There were other people she needed to locate and-

"Heeeeeey."

The two turned to see a second outlaw approaching them. He had a pistol like his, ahem, colleague, and kept it pointed at Makoto. "Who's that cutie you're talking to, huh?"

"I was just telling her to fuck off," the first outlaw commented. "She ain't a lawman, and she ain't got anything valuable. Let her go."

"Really?" he replied, getting way too close for her comfort. "You know, I've been locked up for years and you're a hot piece of ass. Why won't you stay a while?"

She didn't have patience for sex pests – and who can blame her, all things considered? "I'm not interested," she barked.

"Come on, sweetie-"

"No." she repeated, pushing him away. "Walk away or you'll regret it."

Had he known his role was a bit-part nameless bad guy antagonizing an important character, he would've picked a different answer. But, lacking that knowledge, he replied: "Make me, bit-"

Makoto threw her winter coat in his face to disorient him, then kicked him in the balls. He loosened his grip enough for her to yank the pistol from his hand. She then hit him in the head with it, then kicked him in the balls again for good measure. He knelt down, got kneed in the face, and crumpled up like a tissue, down for the count.

"Move a muscle and I'll curb-stomp you," she growled.

The first convict watched the scene play out, glad he didn't antagonize the time traveler too hard. "Let's make a deal – I'll answer your questions," he pointed at the guy on the ground, "and you don't do that to me."

"Get out of this place and we have a deal."

"Okay, so," the first convict went, "you're in Primm, in… in what you'd probably know as Nevada, United States. Lots of things happened in the past two-and-a-half centuries and I've got places to be, so I'll just say it's more lawless than what you're used to."

"Is there any law enforcement nearby?"

He chortled in response.

Makoto rolled her eyes. "Okay, let me rephrase: what would be the closest thing to law enforcement in the area, so I can," she prodded the handsy convict with her foot, "turn this guy in?"

In reaction to that, the downed convict tried to spring up and take Makoto by surprise, and got another punch to the face for his troubles.

"I told you, stay down," she barked.

"There's an NCR camp on the other side of the town," his colleague said, "but they don't have enough manpower and supplies for themselves, and won't waste any on a captive. They'll shoot him on the spot, and if you wanted that, you woulda shot him yourself."

Makoto felt slightly unnerved – she didn't want to use the firearm in her hand, and hoped they wouldn't pull that thread. "So… he won't get a fair trial?"

"Nope," he said. Makoto noticed his hand moving slowly to his holster – but with her already having the other convict's pistol out and cocked, they were at an impasse. After a brief staredown failed to get her to stand down, the convict said, "My word is worth jack, but here goes nothing: let him go, I'll take him with me and we'll go to Westside. We'll join up a group of ex-cons there, trying to stay on the straight and narrow."

"Are you stupid?" the second outlaw protested, remaining firmly on the ground. "When the townsfolk will pay the ransom, we're gonna be rich!"

"If they wanted to pay it, they would've paid it already," the first convict retorted. "And Dufresne doesn't promise riches, but I'll take stability over pie in the sky at this point. We can go join him, or we can wait for another teenage girl with no qualms about killing to pick us off one by one."

"Fine, let's get outta here," the second convict groaned. After a pause, he added: "I'll need to get up first. Am I allowed to?"

"Slowly," Makoto muttered. "And no fun-"

"What's going on here?!"

Everyone present turned to see a group of outlaws that used to patrol the streets of Primm, and now were staring at the commotion. Some of them were holding pistols and bolt-action rifles. Makoto took a breath, trying to keep calm. "Well, I was in the area," she said, as if her being there was completely natural and not grounds to open fire, "and I was just talking with one of your colleagues about how your leader doesn't respect you."

"He's taking the piss," the first convict nodded. "Him and his sycophants are holed up in the hotel while we're out here, patrolling in the open air."

"She's right!" went one of the voices in the crowd. "Any two-bit lawbringer with a rifle can pick us off!"

"We don't have to risk it here!" another voice went. "We could join the Westside group!"

The crowd murmured in agreement – the resentment must've been building up for the past few days. "Shit, I wanted to get outta here too, but I didn't wanna do so alone," the second convict muttered, tossing the coat to Makoto.

"Nobody can stop us from walking off, can they?" the first guy proclaimed. "Let's get outta here!"

The group collectively agreed, and marched south down the worn-out road. Makoto watched them in silence, feeling a tinge of relief that she managed to get through that situation without any bullet holes in her.

It went away instantly when the first convict broke off from the group and trotted up to her.

"Um, do you want the gun back?" she asked.

"Keep it." He reached into his pocket and pulled out something. "Shit, have a spare mag for it." He tossed it at her, and she inspected it in her hands. "Both are a payment for letting us all go… and forgetting our faces."

Makoto inspected the magazine before sticking it into her breast pocket. "Are you really going to go to… Westside, was it?"

"Like I said, it's better than staying here," he shrugged. "Last time I heard, they grow their own food and need a militia to defend themselves from the raiders. It's just far away and lots of folks didn't want to march there at first."

"Some outlaws are staying behind though," she pointed out.

"Most of them. They're holed up in Bison Steve," he said, pointing at the hotel behind her. "Stay clear of it. The folks inside are more loyal to the leader than we were, and will probably shoot you on sight if you try to talk to them. They've kidnapped the deputy and are holding him for ransom that nobody will pay."

"Because you've…" She cut herself off, as if pointing it out would've drawn the convict's wrath.

"Killed everyone?" he finished the sentence. "Oh, no no no. They've holed up over there," he pointed at the large building opposite the hotel, one with a neon sign reading 'Vikki and Vance Casino'. "They won't shoot you if you open the door carefully, and might have some food to share or somethi…" He turned around and realized the others were already gone. "Shit!" he cussed, then ran after his crew, leaving Makoto alone to consider her next move.

The chapter uses bits of lore from Working on the Chain Gang by Confusious. You can find it on Nexus Mods, but fair warning, it doesn't let you talk down convicts in Primm :P