Chapter 1: From the Grave

In the Mojave, there are several ways to get into the massive city known as New Vegas. You can take the Long 15, hoping and praying that you don't get viciously mauled by deathclaws, detained by NCR, or eaten by raiders. Then there is the scenic route. It covers several well known towns, tourist attractions, and considerably less death things. If you take the scenic route, then eventually you will find yourself at a little place known as the I 88 trading post. It is a nice little hamlet where all sorts of interesting things go on. Trading, angry brahmin fights, NCR patrols, angry mercenary fights, you name it. Needless to say, there is plenty to see when visiting.

That explains why Veronica is bored. There is no other way to put it. Bored. Maybe she could add some more exciting words to it. Dreadfully bored, devilishly bored, sexually... not that... well you see... crap. She huffs and crosses her arms. Yep, she is bored out of her mind. Standing around a major trading post of I 88, one would think they would see at least some interesting people, but no. Only tired Caravaneers and destitute NCR soldiers. Well, there are those strange siblings who run the trading post, but they don't do much aside from talking strangely, staring at people, and fixing anything that turns up broken for a rate that is way through the roof. She still isn't convinced that the two aren't scamming everyone.

At this point, she is almost ready to pack up and head back to the bunker. With her tail between her legs. Her head hung. Her shoulders slumped. A pitiful little puppy frown on her face. She can already hear the speech the Elder will give her when she gets back. He will be all like, oh, we have to stick together and follow the old ways. It is the best way for our family to survive. You are too nice and cheery and blah blah blah. Seriously, that man needs to write the inspirational vids they use for power armor training. His monotone voice and overbearing attitude would really do the them justice.

Nearby a Caravaneer is attempting to coax his old Brahmin into getting up with the heavy load on its back. She watches the man curiously. The man is gently pushing against the mutant cows flank, and every now and then putting his boot against the base of the animals spine and applying a bit of pressure. Despite all the man's persistence, the Brahmin shows no signs of getting up. In fact, the lazy animal even goes so far as to look at the Caravaneer with both of its heads and moo at him in annoyance. Eventually Veronica grows bored, ugh, even more bored, with the pairs antics and turns her attention back to the road. She sits bolt upright on the picnic table bench she is sitting on as she sees a group walking up the slight incline leading to the trading post.

There are six of them in all, most of them looking like more Caravaneers, but it is the man at the front of the group that has her attention. He is tall and clad in an old duster with multiple tears and patches all through it. His head and face are concealed by one of those desert scarfs people use to keep the dust out of their faces whenever there is wind or a storm. Beneath his coat there is a sort of armor that reminds her slightly of the gear she has seen the NCR Desert Rangers wearing, only this stuff looks sturdier. The man is heavily armed with a lever action shotgun holstered at his hip right next to a large knife, a pair of revolvers on his gun belt, and a bolt action rifle with a new looking scope slung over his shoulder. She also cant help but notice the sword right next to said rifle. The blade has a pair of feathers handing from the hilt that look to have come form a hawk or crow. Upon noticing them, she also notices a band around the mans right arm with similar feathers attached to it.

As she watches the man pushes back the scarf on his head revealing long dirty blond hair tied back with a woven headband. The man then reaches up and pulls the rest of the scarf from his face. He has a chiseled jaw and proud cheekbones. His nose is slightly crooked, it has probably been broken numerous times. He is wearing a dark pair of aviators and thus she cannot see his eyes, which makes him look all the more intimidating. His mouth has a well trimmed goatee around it. She decides that, for a man, he is attractive. the only diminishing factor is the thin scar running along the lower left side of his jaw. Veronica watches the man closely as he goes over to one of the Caravaneers and says something. She can't hear the conversation from where she is sitting, but it looks as if the two are haggling. The Caravaneer shakes his head a few times, but then the strange man says something that makes the trader deflate and wordlessly hand over a small bag of caps. The man takes the bag and turns his back on the trader. Veronica is surprised when the man drops a few extra caps into the bag and tosses it back to the Caravanner with a laugh and a smile.

The Caravaneer, and Veronica, are shocked by the strange mans generosity. Well, Veronica thinks, the trader doesn't even know about the extra caps yet. She watches the strange man approach the weird siblings, but quickly excuse himself after speaking only a few words with them. Her heart almost stops as the man begins towards her. She swallows hard, suddenly losing all her nerve at the prospect of talking with this strange person. He sits down opposite of her at the picnic table and removes his sunglasses. He has light blue eyes. They sit there, awkwardly silent, for a few seconds, before the man says, "Hi."

"Hi," and suddenly words are spilling out of her mouth. "My name is Veronica and I live in a hole in the ground, well technically it is a bunker but my way sounds way better. I was sent out for some supplies. You don't look like a caravaneer, and you are certainly way more interesting to look at than the rest of the slumps around here. You look like you have had a tough journey. Where are you from?" Bad girl, mentally smack yourself for that! Ow! Not that hard!

The man's face takes on a strange expression. When he speaks his answer is cryptic and his accent foreign, "From the grave."

His reply sends shivers down her spine. "Um, wow, I guess a really hard journey then. Yikes. How did you manage that? You know what, not really my business. If you don't mind my asking, where is a person who comes from such a hard path planning on going?"

A small smile plays across his face. "No real destination. I just sort of pick a path and go. Recently, that path has seen fit to lead me towards New Vegas where I just happen to think I might find someone I have been looking for. That said, the path may decide that I never arrive at Vegas, who knows. I am something of a wanderer."

"Wherever the wind takes you huh? I can work with that. How would you feel about taking me on for a little while. I promise not to be a bother or slow you down. I'll carry my own weight and everything." There, that should convince the stranger I barely know to take me on, she thinks with a smile.

The man looks her over. His gaze is appraising. Despite her training, she finds herself squirming beneath his scrutiny. His eyes are so intense, as if he is looking into her soul and judging her for all those times she sneaked an extra dessert ration from the kitchens. She wants to curl up and look away from him, but somehow she manages to hold his gaze. the whole time he does not blink, weird. He lets out a short grunt like noise, not very polite, and seems to come to a decision. "All right, you can tag along for a while. Just so long as you don't cause too much trouble."

She beams. "Great! Since we will be traveling together now, can I ask you something, on the level?"

He lifts an eyebrow, making him look very inquisitive. "I hope constant questioning won't be a problem with you, but ask if you must."

Un cowed by his remark, Veronica rambles on. "Have you ever heard about a group calling themselves the Brotherhood of Steel? I had a run in with some of their people a while back and they struck me as sort of strange. I've been asking around, but folks around here all seem to think they have died out."

The man's eyes narrow slightly and she finds herself making sure the power gauntlet on her arm is ready for action. "Why do you think I would know anything about them?" his tone is just absolutely dripping with suspicion. She sends a silent prayer to whatever deities exits that he isn't some Brotherhood killer.

"Well," she says slowly, "you have an accent that I don't recognize. So I was assuming that you aren't from the Mojave area. Figured you might also have a different opinion about the group."

His voice lowers as he speaks. "I know that the Brotherhood is a powerful group of remnants from before the great war. They have access to some of the better technology in the Wasteland and many are devoted to the collection and protection of said technology. They believe that the best way to protect people from the dangerous tech is to take it and keep it out of civilian hands. Often, they are correct. Their goal is to help, that said, they are not above killing if they decide that laser rifle you have should be in their hands instead of yours. I myself have had a few run ins with them, usually they are reasonable enough. Does that satisfy you?"

Veronica is impressed. Not many people know that much about the Brotherhood. Most of what you hear from common folk is either that the Brotherhood are all bad and selfish, or that they are some form of of saviors. She can't help but wonder how this guy knows so much. then she remembers that he is a traveler and that travelers often come across lots of information about various groups. "So, you are not against them?"

"Like I said, most are reasonable, and I have worked for them a few times in the past. However, when they are not reasonable, hope you have some heavy weaponry. If not, try and get around behind them, from there you may have a chance to slow them down or disable them completely. Just try to hit some piping or valves, or if you are really good, aim for the fusion core." Veronica is again impressed, and a little worried. This guy knows a lot, like a whole lot. More than just a simple traveler should.

She decides that this guy is, however, okay enough for her to tell him. "All right, promise not to kill me, the reason I asked about them is because, I'm a member of the Brotherhood. I know, I know, how could I be so misleading? Well some people are not friendly towards us, especially the NCR. A person can't be to careful. So, are we still good?"

At first, the man has no reaction that she can tell, and she isn't really sure that is a good thing. "So, am I supposed to be surprised by this?"

Well, she certainly is. "Wait, you knew?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "I assumed. You said you live in a hole in the ground, or a bunker. Not many people live in bunkers any more. Most vaults are empty and you don't really strike me as the type to have come from a vault anyways. Most of them are crazy. Then you asked about the Brotherhood, major give away. That, and you kept nodding at all the little bits of information I gave you, like you already knew about it. You should learn to watch your body language."

Okay, so he notices little things. shit. "So, we are good right. You are not going to like, try and kill me or anything are you?"

A mischievous smile plays across his face. "As long as you don't try taking out my brain spine and heart while I am passed out and then introduce me to a group of scientist brains preserved in floating computer monitors, we should be good. Honestly, I have been all over the place from the east coast to here and never have I experienced anything as weird as all of that."

What she thinks. "What?" she asks.

He shakes his head and runs a hand over his head with a laugh. "Good, that answers my fears that you might try something like that. Now, mayhaps we should get going, yeah? Lot of road to cover. Lot of time for the path to throw some crazy shit at us. Besides, I feel better now that I know you have had some training."

"Training, right, I can hit things, like, really, really, hard. It helps that I use the power gauntlet." This gets another smile out of the man, good, it is best that he gets to like her early.

"So, where is your bunker?" she looks at him with a little bit of worry. He lifts an eyebrow, "Didn't you say you were sent for supplies?" Oh, that...

"Well, it is a big family, they will do fine without me. Besides, they may well be happier if I don't come back all that soon. I think they send me on these missions just to keep me out of their hair. I have some ideals that don't sit well with most of them. Is, that a problem?"

His smile widens, "You are trying way to hard to make yourself seem like a nice person Veronica. Stop trying to butter me up. I already said you could tag along, whatever it is you are scheming to get us involved in can wait until you get enough confidence in my skills and yours to talk about it, deal?"

Wow, this guy really is smart. He figured her out already and they have only been talking for a few minutes. "Deal," she says as she shakes the hand he offers. Then something occurs to her, "Um, in my haste to get on your good side, I must have missed your name."

The man stands and looks back the way he came. When he speaks his voice is husky and dry, "Well, that is something people would want to know, isn't it? Names mean a lot. I have earned quit a few over the years, lobotomite, Seeker, Hero of the Wastes, Messiah, murderer, Gallows Hawk, but the people who know me and who I respect can call me Nick."

"All those impressive titles, and you go with Just Nick, not even a last name?"

He looks at down at her, "Just Nick. Until you earn my respect, or we get to know each other better, you will refer to me by my most recent of titles, Traveler." He starts walking and for a few seconds, she follows in silence, slightly put off by his not respecting her yet. Then something he said registers with her.

"Wait, how could you have been lobotomized and yet still be speaking with me without speaking nonsense?"

He has already re wrapped his face in his scarf and when he looks back at her, all she can see is her own reflection in his shades. "Apparently, there is a wrinkle in my brain from where I once suffered a serious head injury. It is sufficient enough that the Lobotomization process didn't work all the way. If it interests you, My heart, spine, and brain have all been replaced with mechanical parts. My brain, a very stingy bastard I might add, is happily floating in a jar of jelly back down the road a long ways."

She stops dead in the road as her mind tries to work out the implications of all that. If it is true, it could be the technology she needs to bring to the Elder, if not, then it simply isn't true. Yet her thoughts all lead her to spitting out a singular conclusion. "Bullshit."

Nick shrugs his shoulders and continues walking. "Believe it or don't, up to you really. I suggest, however, that you keep an open mind. You will find that the road has taken me a lot of strange places. Now that you are with me, you may well end up somewhere just as strange."

The Courier watches through the scope of her rifle as the Legionnaire patrol slowly approaches. Beside her Boone flips the safety off his rifle. "Range?" she whispers.

"1,000 yards and closing, just outside of effective range. Can still take the shot, your call." His voice is just as low, only it has none of the emotion in it. The Courier weights her odds. The Legionnaires are within range of her rifle, but to fire now would give away their position too early, not to mention give the nearby NCR forces enough time to investigate. Maybe it had been a mistake not to involve the NCR with her plan, surely they would have benefited from knowing about the enemy on their doorstep. No, they would have just thanked her and told her to get lost, and that would help no body. A few more minutes pass and she decides the distance is suitable. She takes a steadying breath, zeroes in on her target, and squeezes the trigger.

The Legion scout's head vanishes in a spray of red. The others in the patrol scatter, diving behind any nearby cover. They don't know where the shot came from, allowing The Courier to kill two more before they figure out her position. A few volleys slam into the rocks they are lying pron on and Boone begins to fire with his own rifle. Three more Legionnaires fall before the final two get smart and stay down. "They are not likely to move from there for a while. This will become a very long stand off." Boone's words reach her, but he may as well have not said anything because she is already moving.

She ghosts down the embankment, slipping from place to place, always staying out of the Legionnaires line of sight. She flanks around their left side, then shoulders her rifle and draws her two .44 magnum revolvers. Stepping out from behind cover she makes quick work of the soldiers, putting expertly aimed rounds through each of their skulls. Spinning the revolvers around she holsters the twin guns with a flourish. She signals all clear to Boone and pulls her hat off her head. Whipping the sweat from her brow she takes a sip from her canteen as Boone steps up next to her. "By my count," he states in his usual flat tone, "you took five and I three."

The Courier scowls, "I took six, that other one died of a heart attack before your bullet even reached him. An attack that my superior skill induced." Her voice is light and teasing, but the former Sniper does not return the jest.

"If that is what you think." He turns and begins to search the dead men for any useful gear. The Courier throws up her hands in defeat. Three months! Three whole Months working with this guy and he still doesn't seem to like her. Usually she would have anyone else wrapped around her little finger by this point, but not this guy, oh no. All he can seem to think about is the wife he assumes is dead but has no proof and killing Legionnaires. Well, his lust for Legionnaire blood is the reason she chose him for this mission, but still. At leas she had convinced him to help people after the attack on Bitter Springs. Yet he still insists on putting on that stoic tough guy routine. At least she had managed to pick up on the fact that he does have a sense of humor, he just flat lines all his words so it seems like he doesn't.

Shrugging the thoughts away she starts to search the nearest body. As always she finds herbs and water, but no substantial medical supplies. The Legion does not believe in the use of drugs, and it seems that would include stimpacks and any other healing chems. Oh well, not like she is really hurting for the stuff, ha, hurting, she will have to remember that one. Eventually she decides that the Legionnaires have nothing of interest to her. She sits down on a nearby stump and watches as Boone meticulously inspects each and every body. She once asked him why he bothered searching every single person they killed, something he always insists on doing. His answer was that you never know what you might need later. That is true, to some extent, but seriously? Every single fricking body?

After a few more minutes she lets out a bored huff. Boone looks up at her. Despite the dark shades the both of them are wearing, she can tell her message got through, hurry the fuck up asshole. Boone looks over the last body and stands with a simple nod, the only signal that he is ready. Damn his over effective combat training!

The Courier stands up from the stump and checks her pipboy. Boone once chastised her for depending on it way too much. He claimed that she ought to know how to figure out directions just from looking at the sun and other landmarks. She defended that she could do just that, it is just way easier to use her pipboy. Their patrol is almost over. So far they have managed to cover a lot of ground in a very short amount of time. Avoiding both the NCR and Legion camps has proved trickier than she anticipated, but all has gone well. Three dead Legion patrols and No angry Bureaucrats waving forms for her to sign, so yay! Honestly, working for Mr. House has been a whole lot more rewarding than she originally anticipated.

Sure, they guy who runs Vegas is basically a computer screen, but who the fuck cares? He can pay, she wants caps, he is a computer, she has legs. It is a win win situation all around! "What do you say we cut this short and start back for Vegas now instead of in the morning, eh Boone?"

He levels a blank look in her direction. "If that is what you think."

"Seriously?" she complains, "Not even going to go on about how we have a job to do and it would be wrong of us not to see it through to the end?" She looks at him with a pleading expression. He looks back at her with no emotion at all. "Fine," she shouts, throwing her hands up in the air, "you win! We will finish the patrol and head back in the morning! Should've brought Lilly, at least she can hold a fucking conversation, provided I don't use works like fuck."

Later that day, after finishing their patrol, which proved to be just as dull as the Courier predicted, they sit at a small camp eating cold pork'n'beans. In the silence, her mind does what it normally does, it begins to wander. She finds herself reflecting back on the first night she can remember. Strangely enough, it wasn't that long ago, maybe less than a year. Doctor Mitchel in the town of Goodsprings had been tending to a head wound she suffered. According to him and all the other settlers, she was shot in the head by some guy in a checkered suit, buried, and then dug up by a cowboy securitron who witnessed the whole thing. After that dump truck load of information, coupled with the fact that she was unable to remember who she was, where she was from, or why those men tried to kill her, left her in a bit of a daze and in need of some fresh air.

So she had sough out solitude on top of a nearby mountain. She found that she somehow knew out to climb with ease, just like her mysteriously good shooting skills she had discovered earlier that same day while hunting giant Geckos with a woman named Sunny Smiles. According to Doctor Mitchel, she retained a lot of basic memory, like speaking, eating, killing, but personal stuff was locked up somewhere in her head or just missing. Lying on top of that mountain, staring up at the stars, she had cried. Tears for who she once was, tears for the people who may have cared for her, tears of pain from the wound in her head.

Now those same emotions and concerns are swimming around in her head and keeping her awake. Damn it all! She is the Courier, the mother fucking mail woman of death. She works for Mr. House, they only guy she has met who is concerned about the people of the Mojave instead of his own political gain. She is feared by the Legion, respected by the NCR, the strip families all respect her, even if they lie all the time. She found the guy who tried to kill her, and she killed him back. She killed him real good. Hell, she is even an unofficial member of the Desert Rangers for fuck's sake! So why the hell are tears for a life she has no memory of falling down her dirt and blood caked cheeks? Eventually she manages to do what she always does, cry herself to sleep.

At first, her dreams are fitful and stuffed with terrifying images. Then, like a lantern in the dark, a small light pierces the night from far away. The light grows steadily brighter, driving the nightmares away, until it becomes so dazzling that she has to squint. In the distance she can make out the landscape of a tightly packed and ruined city. Rising up above the rest of the buildings is a tall structure that she somehow knows is a memorial. The place, it looks so, familiar is where she is from? The shape of a man breaks away from the landscape and approaches her. The light casts him in shadow, but she knows him, and he knows her. Without speaking a word, she hears his message. He is coming, she just has to wait a little longer. She promises, she screams her oaths. She will wait till the world finally ends for good if she has too.