Chapter Text
Darkness.
Movement.
Darkness.
All at once, he came back together. Waking up, he blinked a few times before he could get his eyes to focus.
He was staring at a wooden ceiling. Despite having woken up under many many ceilings under various circumstances, he somehow knew this one was unfamiliar. This wasn’t one of his usual awakenings though. For one thing he was in a tremendous amount of pain, especially at his forehead. He lifted his hand to touch the epicenter, but it was grabbed by a rough hand.
“You're awake. How about that.”
It was an elderly voice, almost grandfatherly.
He started to sit up, making it to a sitting position in spite of his unfocused vision. He was dizzy and felt like he wanted to vomit. The grandfather reached out and helped him steady himself. After some more blinking, everything returned to clarity.
His eyes focused in on the grandfather. He was bald, with a thick gray mustache. He was elderly but he still had an air of strength about him, like he could kick your ass despite being several decades older than you. He was dressed in blue overalls with a red bandanna. Despite being dressed like a farmer, he didn’t look like he actually spent much time outside.
“Whoa, easy there. Easy. You been out cold a couple of days now.”
A couple of days? What had happened to him? This wasn’t just a recovery from one of his wilder nights. Was this guy a doctor? How did he get here? Why was he naked?
The grandfather followed up quickly, sensing his confusion. “Why don't you just relax a second? Get your bearings.”
Relax? No, he had to get back on the road. But for what? He knew he was doing something important, something that needed to be done asap. But what was it?
“Let's see what the damage is. How about your name? Can you tell me your name?”
He sat for a moment on the bed and thought as best he could. Thinking hurt. Remembering hurt. The memories weren’t coming to him. His mind was like a clogged faucet. There was stuff inside but it was unable to come out.
“I. I don’t know my name.” The voice that came out was rough. He soon realized his mouth was quite dry and he was unable to gather even the smallest ounce of saliva.
“Huh. Well I’m sure it’ll come to you. A bullet to the forehead is sure to have some residual effects like that. I'm Doc Mitchell. Welcome to Goodsprings.”
So he was a doctor. Wait, a bullet to the head? He reached back up to touch his forehead. There was a large cloth bandage wrapped around his head. When he got close to where the pain was, Doc Mitchell slapped his hand away.
“Have you ever known anyone that touched their own brain and survived?”
“Well no but-”
“Exactly. Now sit there and let me finish the spiel I’ve been planning for the last 36 hours.”
Was this a joke? Had his brain finally crapped out on him? Was this a very long and excruciating process of death?
Doc cleared his throat, bringing him back to focusing on the present. He continued. “Here’s a mirror. I hope you don't mind, but I had to go rooting around there in your noggin to pull all the bits of lead out. I take pride in my needlework, but you'd better tell me if I left anything out of place.”
Doc handed him a mirror. Scanning his face, everything looked as it should, apart from the bandage. He knew that was his face, he knew this was him, but he didn’t know who he was. He scowled and handed the mirror back to Doc.
“It looks fine to me. At least as fine as I can remember.”
“Okay. No sense keeping you in bed anymore. Let's see if we can get you on your feet.” Doc helped the stranger get to his feet, slowly and shakily. His vision wavered for a moment but returned to normal faster than the last time.
“Good. Why don't you walk down to the end of the room? Over by that vigor tester machine there.”
His feet and legs worked slowly, but held his weight for the most part. After a few cautious steps, he was soon walking as best he could remember. The wood felt rough under his bare feet. The floor creaked with each step as he marched towards the large contraption Doc had pointed towards.
“Looking good so far. Go ahead and give the vigor tester a try. We'll learn right quick if you got back all your faculties.”
The machine was a mix of wood and tarnished brass. “VIT-O-MATIC VIGOR TESTER” was emblazoned atop the machine. On the front of the machine to the left were vertical lightbulbs, numbered 1 through 10. To the right were words
Rate Your…
- STRENGTH
- PERCEPTION
- ENDURANCE
- CHARISMA
- INTELLIGENCE
- AGILITY
- LUCK
A single handle pointed up, beckoning to be grasped.
He grasped the handle and he felt a jolt pass up through his skin. His whole body buzzed for a few moments before the electricity was pulled back into the machine. The screen changed quickly; the lightbulbs flashed as the machine displayed his attribute scores. Doc came up behind him to review the results.
“Well I’ll be. With luck like yours I'm surprised them bullets didn't just turn right around and climb back into the gun.”
The numbers all came back normal, with the exception of Luck which was 9. How could someone be that lucky and also get shot in the forehead. Hell, how could a machine measure luck in the first place?
“Don’t think too hard about it. Come on, I have your stuff here in the living room. Maybe it’ll help you remember who you are.”
They walked into the living room and Doc motioned to a worn-out couch. The room was sparsely decorated, just the couch, a chair, and some bookshelves. The fireplace had a fire going and there was a large pot above it. Judging by the smell, it was probably bighorn meat.
Doc came back into the room holding a familiar rucksack and a pile of clothes stained with blood.
“These clothes are yours. Was all you had on you when you was brought in.” He handed the jeans and shirt to him, but he just shook his head.
“It might be bad luck to go out in clothes with this much blood.”
“I suppose. Is this your bag? It was brought up by Sunny the morning after you got here. Said she found it near where Victor found you, and guessed it might be yours.”
Yup, it was his all right. He’d been carrying this since he started his courier job.
Wait, courier. That’s what he was. And he was set to deliver something. And it was a rush job.
He dumped out the bag looking for anything that could have been the item. Nothing but some jerky, healing powder, and a pistol with bullets. He looked back up at Doc who was holding a piece of paper in his hand.
“This note was in the bag. I hope you don't mind but I gave it a look. I thought it might help me find a next of kin. But it was just something about a platinum chip.”
He tore the note form Doc’s hands and began to read
Mojave Express delivery order
COURIER SIX
Deliver the package at the north entrance to the Vegas Strip, by way of Freeside. An agent of the recipient will meet you at the checkpoint, take possession of the package, and pay for the delivery. Bring the payment to Johnson Nash at the Mojave Express agency in Primm.
Bonus on completion: 250 caps.
MANIFEST
This package contains:
One (1) Oversized Poker Chip, composed of Platinum
CONTRACT PENALTIES
You are an authorized agent of the Mojave Express Package until delivery is complete and payment has been processed, contractually obligated to complete this transaction and materially responsible for any malfeasance or loss. Failure to deliver the proper recipient may result in forfeiture of your advance and bonus, criminal charges, and/or pursuit by mercenary reclamation teams. The Mojave Express is not responsible for any injury or loss of life you experience as a result of said reclamation efforts.
He read and reread the note again and again. So he was supposed to deliver this Platinum Chip, which was no longer in the bag. That’s what he must have been shot for. And he was the sixth courier for the job, or was that his name? Title? It didn’t matter. It was the closest thing he had to a name and he was going to latch on to it until shown otherwise.
“So I’m Courier Six and I was supposed to deliver a package. A package I no longer have.”
Doc shrugged. “It would appear that way. There wasn’t anything that looked like a chip on you or in the bag when Sunny brought it in. Maybe talk to her or Victor.”
Six sat down on the couch. He racked his brain for any other information that he could think of. He laid down and closed his eyes, deciding to take an inventory of what he knew about himself.
- He was around 30 years old.
- He worked for the Mojave Express.
- A sign for “New Reno” flashed in his mind. Was that where he was originally from?
The sound of metal clanking brought him back to the present. He opened his eyes and looked at the fire to see Doc pouring some of the stew into bowls. Doc turned to face him with the two bowls. A growl echoed through Six’s stomach and he was instantly reminded that he probably hadn’t eaten during his 3-day coma. He tore the bowl away from Doc and scooped a portion into his mouth, only to spit it back out when his mouth realized how hot it was.
Doc laughed quietly and shook his head. “Bless your heart.” He moved to a chair across from the couch and set his bowl on the ground.
“Well, we know your vitals are good; but that don't mean them bullets didn't leave you nuttier than a Bighorner dropping. What do you say we go through a couple questions? See if your dogs are still barking.” Doc pulled some papers out of one of his pockets, along with a pencil.
Six nodded. “Sure. Need to pass the time while this bowl cools off.” He furiously blew on the bubbling liquid, stirring around the chunks of meat, potatoes, and carrots.
They ran through a battery of questions and word associations. Some were obviously trying to gauge how violent he was, others deducing his method of problem solving. Last was a series of cards with black splotches.
At the end of it all, Six’s bowl was empty and Doc was reviewing his answers against what looked like some sort of rubric.
“Here’s your results. I don’t have anything to compare it to, but maybe you’ll find them interesting.”
Six read over the paper before folding it up and putting it into his bag. It didn’t tell him anything particularly useful about himself. He was average in almost every way, with the exception of being obscenely lucky. With his bowl empty and his stomach full, it was time to figure out his next steps. He set the bowl down and closed his eyes, still trying to coax memories from his brain.
He looked back up at Doc after a minute. “I’m going to get out of your hair in a moment. But before I do, I have several questions. First, where the hell am I?”
Doc leaned back in his chair. “This here's Goodsprings. Named after the water we got here, just down the road to the southeast. Goodsprings Source, they call it. It's a quiet town, and that's how we like it. We don't go looking for trouble, though occasionally it sees fit to come looking for us.”
Six nodded. “What can you tell me about Victor? The guy you said pulled me out of the ground.”
Doc chuckled to himself. “Victor’s not a man. He’s a robot, from back before the bombs fell. Curious fella. Sort of odd. And I don't just mean 'cause he's mechanical. I couldn't tell you much about him. He’s been here forever, at least 10 years or so. Yet I don’t really know where he came from or what he does. Never really thought about it too much before now.” Doc’s voice got soft towards the end. He stared off into nothing before shaking his head and looking back at Six. “He's real friendly, don't get me wrong. You just get the sense that ain't the whole picture. Just a feeling. What else you got?”
“What about Sunny? The one who found my bag.”
“Sunny’s about the closest thing we have to a sheriff here, but don’t tell her I said that. You can usually find her down at the Prospector Saloon with her dog Cheyanne and her wife Trudy. Trudy actually owns the place, she’d be mayor if we had a need for one. Stop on in, they’ll both be glad to see you’re alive.”
Six made a mental note to go there next. Maybe she would have something for him. Maybe she even had the platinum chip.
Doc continued. “If you’re in need of supplies for your trek off to God knows where, you’ll do good to see Chet at the General Store. Nothing fancy there, but he's got enough to cover what you need to get to somewhere with a better supply. Don’t bother selling nothing to him though, cheap bastard could pinch a hole in a cap.”
Six just stared. He’d never heard that turn of phrase before. He was back to believing he was in either a coma or some sort of death hallucination.
“Okay well that about covers what I need. Thank you for the hospitality, the medicine, and the very delicious stew.” Six stood up before realizing he was still naked. His old clothes were unwearable and he couldn’t go out in nothing.
“Well, if you're heading back out there, you ought to have this.” He reached behind the chair and grabbed a piece of electrical machinery. “They call it a Pip-Boy. I grew up in one of them vaults they made before the war. We all got one. Ain't much use to me now, but you might want such a thing, after what you been through.” Doc’s eyes started to well up as he looked over the computer. “I know what it's like, having something taken from you.”
Six had no response. He just took the Pip Boy and started to buckle it to his wrist.
“Wait.” Doc stopped him from closing the latch. Put this on first. It’ll be easier that way.” Doc had one last gift for him. A blue skin-tight one piece jumpsuit complete with built-in shoes, yellow accents, and the number 21 on the back. It was a vault suit. Six couldn’t remember but he didn’t think he had ever seen one before, but less put one on. He took a moment to put it on. It was incredibly snug, yet very easy to move around in. The suit even had a sewn-in holster, which easily held his gun.
“Just so the locals don't pick on you for lacking modesty. Never was much my style anyway.”
Six reviewed his gear. He had his bag, his gun, and his rations. He logged everything in the pip-boy and took one last look around. He hoisted the pack to his shoulder and Doc walked him to the front door, past the exam room where he first woke up.
“Thanks Doc. I’ll try to stop by soon and check up on you. Maybe after I find the guy who shot me.”
“I look forward to it. Take care son.”
Six opened the front door into a blinding light.