Imperial March

Prologue
The Courier

The Mojave wasteland had, five years ago, been the center of one of the largest hot zones for dispute in the Post-Apocalyptic world. Control of the still intact Hoover Dam and its ability to produce massive amounts of life giving electricity had attracted the attention of two very powerful, very different tribes. Caesar's Legion and the New California Republic. Both desired the Dam for their own agendas and all the while they had been blind to the "smaller" tribe, the locals of New Vegas itself.

Mr. House has ruled the city with his small contingent of Securitrons with an iron fist. None could dethrone him and those who tried never made it in the first gate. And it was from this stable position he bled the NCR for their caps to further advance his dreams of restoring Vegas, and in doing so, the old world glory it held.

But that all changed when a factor was thrown into the arrogance of the Legion, the Entitlement of the NCR and the well-laid-plans of Mr. House. A man who had once only been a Courier, a messenger. Hired to carry an item from point A to B.

His latest delivery, a mysterious chip Platinum Chip. To be delivered to the Lucky 38 and he would be paid. A simple job.

And it ended with him kneeling, hands bound and in the shadow of a night new moon with the shining lights of the city of sin in the background he stared up into the face of Chairman Leader Benny. Back then, the Courier was just a man with a job looking down the barrel of a gun.

"I know it seems like this is a eighteen carat run of bad luck…" Benny had said, almost sounding genuinely remorseful for what had to be done that night. "But the truth is…" the click of a hammer going back. "The game was rigged from the start."

And so, the man who was a Courier died that night and received a more dignified burial than most did in such harsh lands.

Three days of darkness. Three days the man had been dead when, in the humble home of a kind-hearted doctor by the name of Mitchell, did The Courier was born into the world. A gasping breath of alarm, with words ringing in his ears followed by the sound of a life changing gunshot.

"What… where?" Gasped the man, covered only in a modest, but dirtied pair of boxers. His sun kissed flesh was covered in mottled dirt, healing bruises and bandaged scrapes. "How.. .Am I?"

"Whoa there," An elderly voice soothed to his left. The Courier turned his head and saw the smiling face of an old man. "Take a moment to gather yourself, you've been out a couple of days now…" he informed the Courier.

The man listened. Three days… rotations of the sun moving across the sky, day being when it was casting its rays across the land… night when it wasn't. The Courier groaned and raised a hand to his aching forehead. He felt the wound, skin bumped slightly over his left brow, healed flesh likely from medicines. He pressed it… and no bones beneath.

He felt his stomach churn and he paled. "I was… shot in the head." he whispered. Memories flashed before his eyes. The suited man, the Khans. The graveyard, the moon and the city of Vegas. All of it moved before him and he gasped as a sharp pain lanced through his head again.

He groaned.

"Take it easy now," The older man said, planting a comforting hand on the Courier's shoulder. "Try not to strain yourself," he advised coolly. "Lets start simple, can you tell me your name?"

"My name…?" The Courier had said then. The thought and words bringing a multitude of places and peoples to mind. Flashes of smiles, laughter, anger and hate. Peace and war, locations he couldn't place but they all felt familiar to him. "My name is…"

Of all the memories that came before his eyes, which narrowed in irritation as a soft tick of throbbing pain built up inside his right temple. Until finally, one word slammed into him. A word that held the most meaning to him.

"My name is Courier." The man said firmly, looking at the old doctor. "Just… Courier."

"Well," The Doc said. "It's not the name I'd have picked for you. But if that's your name, that's your name." He shrugged and stood. "Alright, no point in keeping you in down any longer." he moved over, taking the man's shoulder and arm. "Let's get you up."

The Courier stared up at the old man. Eyes focused like knives so sharp it actually made him freeze as those emerald orbs stared into his own, searching for something. Maybe deceit… maybe everything. And then, a nod. The man stood with the aid of the doctor until he was on his own two feet.

Mitchell stepped back and watched with medical expertise as the Courier got a feel for his limbs again. As if they had never been there, he stared at his hands. Unclenching them after clenching them. He stood on the balls of his feet, then on the toes… testing their strength and balance. Finally,

Doc nodded. "Looking good so far," he commented, nodding towards the Vigor-Tester at the other end of the room. "Why don't you head down over to that Vigor-tester machine there. We'll learn right quick if you got back all your faculties."

Courier nodded in turn and moved across the room under doc's watchful eye. The old man could see his stance change as the Courier walked. They started off cautious and slow, deliberate as if afraid to trip over his own two feet. But by the time he reached the machine in question the man stood with the confidence of an NCR general.

"Give the machine a go, lets see your vitals." Mitchell said, stepping up beside the man.

Courier nodded, looking at the machine. He reached down and gripped the joystick, the red button at the top of it glinted slightly and before Doc could explain how it worked the man pressed his thumb to the red button and there was a soft hiss as the machine stabbed the thumb with a needle in the blink of an eye. Drawing blood and then sending to an advanced analyzer buried in the machine to check DNA levels and get a "map" of several essential health markers.

Coincidentally. When you combined the seven traits of Strength, Perception, Endurance, Charisma, Intelligence, Agility and Luck. You got SPECIAL. It was always funny to Doc, how did you rate Luck and Charisma?

He peered over as the machine pinged to see the results. And when he did, he stared at the display in mute surprise as what he was seeing. Most everyday waste Landers topped in at three and four for their Vigor-testers, least what Doc had seen. Sunny had some real strength and endurance on her. Even Doc's intelligence and Charisma were above average.

But this man? This man… was… something else…

Strength: 3
Perception: 7
Endurance: 4
Charisma: 7
Intelligence: 10
Agility: 7
Luck: 10

Doc almost couldn't believe his eyes. Ten Intelligence? That was well above anyone in the Mojave! Luck he didn't care for that Intelligence… even his Perception and Charisma and agility were well beyond most men. This man, Courier.

"Well, would you look at that…" Mitchell finally said when he found his voice. "Maybe them bullets did your brain some good."

"That's not right." Courier mumbled, sounding frustrated as he stared at the machine. "Three years ago, I took a test like this… My intelligence, charisma… they were two and four… not seven and ten." he informed the further surprised doctor. The man's harsher edge made the old man step to the side a bit. "Everything else is right… what does that mean?" he scoffed. "That I'm somehow smarter?"

Doc Mitchell couldn't even begin to answer that. Something must have been throwing off readings, maybe contamination in the blood? Brain waves scattered due to the trauma of being shot? Medical healing was one thing, by neuroscience was waaaay above Doc's pay grade. "Son, I don't know what to tell you." he replied finally.

"It's alright." Courier whispered, continuing to stare at the results. "Isn't there some other tests you need to run?" he added, looking at the doctor now with the same intense gaze.

"Uh, right. Yes, come take a seat…" Doc Mitchell said, waving him over as he passed him to head into the main living room. Taking a seat and pulling out some documents and pictures. Sliding on some reading glasses. "Just some quick questions. To make sure that bullet didn't leave you nuttier than a bighorner dropping."

"Right," Courier said, sitting down onto the couch and looking at the doctor with rapt attention. And so, Doc Mitchell began to show him pictures, asking what he thought they were. He replied in honest, even when the personality markers came up. And finally, once they were done. The doctor nodded.

"Well, ain't got nothing to compare it to, but my honest opinion?" Doc raised a brow. "You're perfectly sane. You ain't frothing at the mouth, or confusing yourself for a ghoul, so, you get a clean bill of health from me."

"Thank you," The courier's speech had started off slower, more pronounced as if he was uncomfortable with it. Doc noted this as well, but now? The Courier spoke calmly, easily and more confidently. "I'm sorry if I cost you trouble." he added.

"Think of nothing it, son," Mitchell waved a hand dismissively. "Too much death in the world as is without some young, bright young man joining in it."

"Right," Courier didn't sound convinced. But they both let the topic drop. "I should be going then. I take it my personnel affects were lost?" he asked.

"Oh no, I have them. A moment," Doc raised a finger and stood. Moving off into the hallway, disappearing from sight leaving Courier alone to his thoughts.

He stared down at his hands. Clenching them again, feeling the muscled move beneath the skin. Fingers tensing, unclenching and slowly, he drew in a breath and closed his eyes. Recalling the cause of the wound on his forehead.

Truth is…

I'm not a fink, ya dig?

Maybe Khans shoot man with looking him in the eye

Khans…

"Here you are."

Courier was snapped from his thoughts by Doc's voice, having not even heard the older man come back. A tan fabric of a backpack was dropped onto his lap. A large fabric leather coat that had been neatly folded above what appeared to be black pants. He stared at the bundle, they looked foreign… yet felt familiar.

His body knew them. He looked to the smiling old man and nodded. "Thank you, doctor."

"Names Mitchell," Doc supplied. "I'll give you some privacy." he made his way back into the hall again, disappearing into one of the rooms.

Courier stared down at the bundle, he put the backpack aside, took the pants and held them and inspected them, then slid them up onto his legs. Tightened leather belt and locked it. He stared down at the pants… black, patches of faded grey. They were reinforced by leather at the knees, thighs and rear. Places that came under rough treatment if you needed to slide down rough terrain.

He grabbed the next article. body moving easily in half action and half instinct as he slid the patchwork vest on, zipping up the front and adding the two buckles across his gut and chest to further secure it. The vest lined with pockets, all buttoned. Then, the came the leather duster.

He pulled it up and stared at it. Onto the back of the coat was stitched in mottled yellow "21". "Twenty-one…" Courier mumbled. And he winced slightly as memories flooded his mind, vaults… nuclear war, atomic hellfire covering the planet. "Vault twenty-one." he said softly.

He spun the coat around and slid one arm mid spin, the other sliding into the coat and by the time he spun a full three-sixty degrees he was in the leather duster. The sleeves had been removed, showing off his arms. That done, he looked down at the empty holster on his belt.

He reached for the back pack and unzipped it before opening it to peer inside. He reached in, grasping around and felt the smooth, cool metal of a weapon. He grasped its handle and pulled it free, He stared at the weapon as the metal of the its slight glinted in the overhead lighting. Across the slide, near the ejection port read. .45 Auto.

The barrel was large, indicating a powerful round. Courier stared at it, he reached up with his free hand, pulling the slide back and checking the chamber. It was loaded. A single, bronze tipped bullet was resting nicely in the well maintained firearm. He let the slide close again and clicked the safety.

He paused… then clicked off the safety. He didn't like having it off. He set it into the holster. It slid perfectly into place. He paused as more memories flooded his mind, this time of a man covered in bandages, surrounded by tribals… he was with them, helping them… a voice he couldn't remember with a man who had no name.

By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat. Yea we wept, when we remembered Zion…

Courier shook his head. Freeing himself the memories before looking over the other supplies. He found spare magazines in side the bag. He slid those into the free packs on his vest. A few stimpacks and a few books, some rolled up papers. He reached in, taking one of the smaller slips.

It was a mail order from the office of Primm. The Mojave Express office.

He now had a destination in mind. Khans and Primm… those were his leads to find who had shot him. The suited man. "You look like a man about to embark on a mission," Doc commented when he rejoined the Courier in the living room.

"I am," Courier replied softly, folding up the paper and sliding it into one of his coat's pockets. "First. I need a drink."

"Try the saloon," Mitchell nodded, smiling.

"I will, thank you again, Mitchell." Courier said with a nod, bowing his head to the man.

"You're welcome."

That had been five years ago. Five years ago since Benny had set in motion events that would decide the fate of New Vegas for years to come.

And now? Courier stood in the penthouse atop the Lucky 38. Eyes staring down at the vast lights of the Strip and along the fringes, Freeside. Or, what had once been Freeside. Two years ago, he had absorbed it into the fold of New Vegas, turning it into Outer Vegas. He's made sure to clear the debris. Anything, from metal to concrete, had been melted down and recycled for other uses. It had taken five years for New Vegas to become as big as it had become.

Courier watched, arms behind his back. Duster fixed firmly on his person, even more worn then when his journey had first started down this path. Caesar had thought himself a conqueror? The NCR thought themselves best for the world? No, one was arrogant and foolish to believe he could alter human nature through discipline. And the NCR's entitlement had been its ultimate downfall which ended with it being pushed out of the Mojave, not it only maintained an outpost.

The Legion, after the assasination of Caesar and their defeat at the Dam, had retreated back West. The NCR, too weak to pursue, let them go and tried to refocus on Vegas. Of course, two thousand Securitrons armed with rockets, 25mm grenades launchers and lasers stood between their tired, poorly trained army and Vegas.

They'd had to retreat or be utterly destroyed. Courier had offered them no middle ground. He told General Lee Oliver that if he didn't peacefully leave the Mojave and Vegas. Then he would be leaving it as dust in the wind along with the dying wails of hundreds of NCR's soldiers.

True, the Courier had supported the NCR's efforts up until that point. But because it had put him in the perfect position of trust for them. He needed to get on their good side so his movements and affiliations wouldn't be so closely monitored. And true to his predictions, he had been right. The NCR paid little attention to him higher up, and the grunts viewed him as a moral paragon.

They, along with Mr. House. Had no idea that from when he had first stood before the bound and kneeling Benny in Caeser's fort, with the First Recon Sniper Boone and former Brotherhood of Steel scout, Veronica. Enclave Scientist Arcade. That Courier had been, in Benny's word, rigging the game to his own desires.

"You're next…" Courier had told Benny after he finished off the last of Caesar's Praetorian guards with a clean headshot. When the man belittled him for shooting him while he was tied and on his knees, Courier showed off a side that Arcade had called "horrifically ironic".

"I know you must be thinking this was a eighteen carat run of bad luck," Courier had said, smirking slightly as he pulled the slide of his .45 back, chambering a hand loaded round. Benny sputtered, looking aghast. "But the truth is…" he raised it, aiming right between the man's eyes. "The game was rigged from the start."

Bang.

Benny had learned, just like the NCR and Caesar. You did not underestimate Courier. Even Mr. House in his grand scheming had not seen him coming.

Now Vegas was his. His own city, his own people. The future of this glorious technological empire was his to command and it was all at his fingertips. The Courier blinked once and the console on his work desk pinged him, alerting him to a communication from one of his many subordinates. His Securitrons were often employed to patrol the streets, but mostly they were patrolling New Vegas' territory in tight, efficient search and engage missions against any NCR, Fiends or remaining Legionaries.

His inner streets were patrolled by hand picked "police" candidates he and his security staff had chosen from the roughly two hundred strong force he employed. He understood the Securitrons were good enforcers, but to keep his population comfortable they required a more human edge. And this way, people earned their keep.

He walked over to the console and clicked a key, accepting the connection. A moment later the voice of his Research Director appeared on screen, adjusting his glasses. "Courier," Arcade, tilting his head. "I've got some samples from the Vault Twenty-two data. Looks like we can cut back the sporation of the plant life. So, we can keep the growth rate, but lose the whole… horror movie after affects."

In the last five years, Arcade had aged extremely well. He didn't look a week older. Then again, he had been young to begin with when Courier first met him. "That's good." Courier said simply, sitting down. "How about our other projects?"

"Ah, those," Arcade said, a little less enthused. "Well, Veronica and I have made some breakthroughs with the T fifty-two Beta armors, between the Enclave armors and the Brotherhood's tech schematics. We could have a working prototype working within the month." he paused, then said. "I say it would still be easier to just keep producing the cheaper Fifty-One Bs and be satisfied."

Courier sighed. "I know war machinations like this are not on your top favorite lists of things to work on, Arcade." He said patiently for what felt like the millionth time in five years. "But to defend ourselves, and our neutrality as a power, we need to not only have good tech, but to improve upon it." he said. "Remember, we defeated the Brotherhood with our pulse guns, their power armor meant little then. If we don't develop a viable defense against such technology, then we are doomed to the same mistake."

"I know that," Arcade said. "Just… the funding we're putting into this stuff, we could be using in the research for better live stock care, farmland, homes…"

Another sigh. "I ran the numbers with you, Yes Man and ED-E, The budgets that I've allowed have spread us out well, but they're balanced for what we need to get done. Between the power armor, plant life, genetic and power source research. We're also dealing with a shortage of raw materials." Courier explained, frowning. "We may have the caps to throw around, but the NCR is being stingy and there's only so much salvage we can get from the surrounding area."

That was certainly true. They had the land to get gold, silver, iron ores. Even stone for cement. And Vegas' caps kept flowing, even as it was being transformed into part city, part fortress. Many still flocked to it for a new start, to gamble, NCR patrons were still accepted so long as they followed the strict rules put in place. Legionaries as well.

But if either made trouble, they were executed. On the spot.

It helped keep them all in line.

Hell, Courier knew they recruited from the defeated armies. Legion or NCR, soldiers, officers both came to Vegas to enlist with his growing army or find a new, more lawful home. Of course, precautions were taken to ensure they weren't plants. Lie detecting tests were administered every other month to ensure they weren't feeding intel to their old masters.

Sides the annexed Brotherhood of Steel, who'd suffered a crushing defeat since the pulse guns had shut down their power armor, they'd fought bravely, but in the end. He stood above them, telling the elder and the survivors they had two choices now. They could leave the Mojave on a provided transport of Vertibirds to a location of their choosing, or they could join him.

Many had left, the elder included. Others, like Veronica, were younger and more open minded. Joined him. It had been a blessing, since they were naturally more techno-savvy than other waste Landers. Arcade and Veronica wouldn't have to handle all the heavy lifting in the Science Branch.

"Can you blame them?" Arcade smirked wryly. "You did kinda boot them off their own Dam and out of the Mojave."

Courier let a rare smile grace his lips. "All for the greater good, Arcade." He replied.

All he had done had been for the greater good of Vegas and his own vision for the future.

"Of course," Arcade said. "Now, I've given my report, I'm going to get back to work, unlike some people!" he called to someone off screen. A certain redhead calling back with a disgruntled, "Hey!" before the screen shut off.

Courier chuckled. He looked to the window again and then smiled slightly. He had gathered some interesting individuals to his banner in his quest. In trying to find Benny, he had been tangled in the Khans, breaking their loyalty to Caesar and convincing them to leave the Mojave. Word had it they joined up with the Followers and formed a strong community. He was glad.

The Brotherhood, he had been on good terms with them until the time came that he needed to know if they would fold to his ways or have to be removed. In the end, they'd killed only a few of them, since the shut down power armor wouldn't move. It had just been dealing with the scribes and scouts.

The Fiends of Vault 3, Any stragglers had been hunted by Securitron and the Courier's private forces in black Power armor, known only as the Vegas Knights. They'd cleaned out Vault 3, and the surrounding area. Now, it was part of outer Vegas and serving as the Science and Research divisions home base.

He same with the former Brotherhood bunker. It had been purposed as a training facility , the long open range of the valley allowed training of snipers. And the brotherhood VR pods furthered the experience. Boone had been placed in charge of training the "Second Scout Hawks", Vegas' primary long range killers. Sloan Quarry, Red rock canyon and three other locations were being mined for ores. Damaged Vaults were being stripped for parts and schematics.

Factories in the Outer Vegas areas produced armor for police forces, along with weapons. A standard sidearm of the New Vegas police forces was, of course, the reliable .45 Auto. Jacobstown, along with Heck Gunderson and three other Brahmin farmers were all supplying them with meat, and crops were being more richly grown thanks to Arcade's research into the data found at Vault 22.

All in all, Vegas was advancing in ways that many would have considered impossible five years ago. But when you had a figure of power like The Courier overlooking you, saying you could get those results. Well, they were quite vigilant about it now. The sewers beneath Vegas were also abuzz with life, smaller fabric huts and cleaning duties kept them relatively clean. The Thorne was still a place of entertainment. But otherwise the sewers had been repurposed for living and water maintenance.

Another ping on his console. "Yes, Yes Man?" he asked, knowing who it was already.

"Hello there, Emperor Courier!" Yes Man, his AI secretary greeted with that same happy-go-lucky voice he always sported. "I just wanted to tell you that the envoy sent from the NCR is waiting in the meeting room and boy do they look nervous! Should I order their vaporization?"

"No," Courier rolled his eyes. "I said I would meet them if they had terms for a more befitting agreement. I'm a man of my word." he stood and stretched his arms out. "Tell them I'm on my way."

"Done and done!"

Courier sighed. It was time for his least favorite part of running a powerful economic, technological powerhouse. Politics.

End of prologue!

Welp, there it is. The prologue, yes, it's all jumbled exposition. I am sorry! Just… so much to cover, so, so much. And I didn't want to give you all the same novelisation of the game. So, thoughts?