Fallout 1. Prologue

Prologue: "Ain't That a Kick in the Head?"

Two figures walked along the mountains west of Goodsprings. A man and a woman, both blond, her hair shoulder-length but tied back for wandering, and his long enough to come right above his brow. The man carried a sidearm, his trusty 9mm pistol, and a light messenger bag, which held nothing but a strange platinum chip, some water, and his stash of caps.

"I have a bad feeling about this..." the woman mumbled. She had all their camping supplies and a week's worth of food in her sachel, but no weapon.

"You always say that." he responded.

"And half the time I am right."

"Not very good odds, especially for a woman of medicine."

Rustles were heard in the bushes, and the man pulled his gun out as if on cue. They were surrounded almost immediately.

"What's in the bag, friend?" their leader, a red head with a rough face and a high warhawk, asked snidely.

The man looked their armor over: Khans. "Don't you guys have better things to do than rob couriers? It's nothin' you guys'd be interested in anyways."

" 'O but we are, baby." Greasy black hair, checkered coat; the man decided his name would be Douche until he could learn the real one.

"What are you doing off the strip, douchebag?" The girl spat.

"Gentlemen, please to be escorting the dame from the area. Me and the courier have some business to discuss." Douche lit a cigarette.

The woman began to resist the two Khans who grabbed at her arms.

"Wait for me in Goodsprings, Sis, I'll be there soon," The courier winked.

She gave way, and Douche watched until she was out of sight. The courier took solace in the fact his gun was still in his hand.

"Man, that girl has legs down to her feet!"

"You touch my sister and I'll make sure you have lead where you once had testicles." Cue snarky smile.

"Noted baby, walk with me."

The entourage turned to walk towards the graveyard. 8 Khans and the Douche counted and taken note of. One of them grabbed his left arm: mistake. Time for a fight.

The courier pistol-whipped the Khan to his left in the face, let him recoil, and put a bullet in the right one's eye.

Cue Shovel hit.

Again...

And again...

And again...

"Don't kill him yet, Jessup. I really do need to talk to the guy. Give him one last sayonara." How comforting to here Douche's voice before passing out.

.'===='

/'

"Look who's waking up."

"Just hurry this up Benny, I wanna get this over with."

"Hey! Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain't a fink dig!" so Douche's name was Benny, that made things a bit easier.

A bagstrap slipped off the courier's head. Benny flashed the chip from his bag. "You've made your last run."

The courier spat blood, aimed at his feet. "Fuck you, strip boy."

Benny laughed; fucking strip boys. "From where you're kneeling, this must seem like an eighteen karat run of bad luck..." He pulled a pistol: 9mm, gold, nice. "... but the truth is..." The pistol slowly flashed towards his head, and the courier felt liked he'd read this story somewhere before. "... the game was rigged from the start."

BLAM!

The courier lunged forward in an attempt to attack Benny, the bullet grazed his brow, dug into his skull...

BLAM!

The next one was in the back of his skull, and everything went black...


	2. Chapter 1

Authors note! The Courier's Tag skills are hinted at in the psych eval, so go check the wiki if you really need to know. I'd also recommend, to those who haven't played the game, to go there to see the Rorschach images.

Chapter 1: "Back in the Saddle, Pt. 1"

Blurs, lights... it was like the worst hangover in the universe.

"Doc! Doc, he's awake!"

Holy shit, I'm not dead.

"Hold on a sec. Make sure he doesn't get up yet."

"Don't get up yet..."

"Yeah I heard, Sis."

Holy shit, I can talk.

"Oh my god, he's speaking!"

Things started to come into focus; his sister was sitting in a chair in front of the bed. He was in some sort of pre-war house turned hospital. The Doc waved the young woman out of the chair and sat down. He was an old man, balding neatly, a nice gunslinger's stash of pure gray, he had the kind of settler outfit that was common in the mojave. His face was weary, the kind you find on a man trying to forget something.

"Now, can you sit up?" his voice was soft, kind, but aged.

The courier sat up, everything went hazy. He was in his boxers, or someones boxers.

"Where are my clothes?"

"I had to cut you out of them, you know what they say about the bowels on death?"

"But I'm not dead..."

"You were damn close, boy. If your sister hadn't gone to the saloon when she had, you wouldn't be breathing."

The courier felt horrible, like the world had been tilted on him, liked he'd... well, like he'd been shot in the head.

"Now, your name. Can you tell me your name?"

He paused. "Devin..."

The Doc indicated to his sister, "And hers?"

"Daria."

She broke into an exhausted smile. "I told you he'd be okay."

"Now try to stand up, but easy now. It ain't a race."

He stood up, fell, then rose back up.

"You steady?" Doc lightly clapped his hand on Devin's shoulder.

"Yeah..."

"Now, try and walk over to that Vigor tester machine over there," he said, indicating to the end of the room.

Devin glanced around. He found a mirror and stared himself over. The face was one he remembered, except for a new scar over his right eye. His eyes were the same green, his hair the same yellow, and his skin the same tanned color he remembered.

He went to the machine the doc had gestured to and took his place at the stick it had on it's front.

"Now, do you know what a S.P.E.C.I.A.L. score is?"

"Yeah. They had some weird the device that measured it in our old village. Me and Sis have the same one, something to do with being twins..."

He pressed the test button on the vigor tester and checked his scores:

S: 5

P: 5

E: 5

C: 5

I: 10

A: 5

L: 5

"Was that the score you had before?" Devin had almost forgot the Doc was there.

"Yeah, it was," Daria cut in.

"Okay then..."

He sounded a bit annoyed Devin wasn't speaking for himself. "Go sit on the couch there and we'll do a quick psychological evaluation. Make sure those bullets didn't leave you nuttier than a bighorner dropping."

Devin followed the doc to his living room and sat upright on the couch, alert and aware; the whole chain of events had left him on edge. Daria sit beside him, leaning over herself and ringing her hands, worried. The doc relaxed in his easy chair; how was he so calm with these two young people invading his home?

"Okay, now I'm gonna say a word, and I want you to say the first word that comes to mind, okay?"

"Yeah, let's do it. I've got business to attend to."

"_Dog_."

"Train."

"_House_."

"Renovate."

"_Night_."

"Silencer."

"_Bandit_."

Cue smirk "Swiss Cheese"

"_Light._"

"Torch."

"_Mother._"

"Regret."

"Okay, good. Now I've got a few phrases here, and I just want you to tell me how well they apply to you."

"Okay, let's just hurry up."

The doc seemed a bit aggravated at the young man's short temper.

"_Conflict jus' ain't in my nature._"

"Strongly Disagree."

"_I ain't given to relying' on other for support._"

"Strongly Agree"

"_I'm always fixing to be the center of attention._"

"Disagree"

"_I'm slow to embrace new ideas._"

"Agree"

"_I charge in to deal with my problems head on._"

"Disagree"

"Okay, one last test. I'm going to show you some images, just tell me what you see."

Doc held up a card with some ink stains.

"A broken chain."

He showed a new card.

Devin's eyes went wide. "Do I have to say what that looks like?"

"Last card."

"Um... Two bears high-fiving?"

"Hehehe... haven't heard that one before, but if it's what you saw..." The doc shrugged. "Okay, that's about it. Come to the door with me."

Doc lead them to the front door, and handed Devin his messenger bag.

"I hope you don't mind me going through there. I gave you 5 stimpaks, and you have enough water for a week; there's also a Mojave express order in there, they have an office in Primm. That might be your first stop."

"And my gun?"

"Oh!" Doc pulled the 9mm pistol out of his back pocket and handed it to Devin. "You're out of ammo, but I'm sure Chet in the general store can hook you up. And you might wanna go check with Sunny in the saloon for some lessons to catch you up for your journey."

"I'll be sure to. Thanks for patching me up, Doc."

Daria had tears in her eyes as she lunged to pull the doctor into a hug. "Thank you, thank you so much. I have no idea what I would have done without him..."

Doc smiled. "Here are some clothes so the residents won't talk ill of ya'," Doc handed Devin a vault suit with a large 21 on the back. "And here's something to help you on your travels," he strapped a computer-like device on Devin's arm. "It's a pip-boy. It'll help you keep inventory of yourself, your surroundings, and your belongings."

"Wow. Thanks a lot, Doc..." said Devin.

"It's nothing. Just try not to get shot any more, 'kay?"


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: "Back in the Saddle Pt. 2 (A Day of Recuperation)"

"What's our plan of action?"

"What?" Devin still hadn't regained all his mental facilities; the extent of his plans were go speak with Sunny Smiles.

"Our plans. Are we going after this guy? Are we going to check in with the Mojave Express boss? Stay here awhile?" Daria was anxious. She talked fast when she was stressed...

Devin sighed; his thinking was still slow. He held his forehead in his hand, and thought for a moment. "We'll stay a night, maybe two, find some work to keep us busy. I want to get my head clear... I can't really plan in advance from there." he said, lifting his head.

Daria sighed, "Okay, it is... 8 A.M. We'll go talk to this Sunny girl." She sounded annoyed but Devin didn't mind. It was a lot to go through, sooner or later she'd lose the impatience. Right now they just needed to get prepared if they were going to do anything.

She started ahead of him, but Devin held back."Let's stop by the General Store, 'cause I could use some armor."

Daria sighed, heavily. "Fine, but let's hurry along."

.'===='

/'

The twins rolled into the General Store. The place was dusty, and the long, slow, high creak of the door seemed to describe the place perfectly. But the shopkeep was a jolly middle-aged man who perfectly opposed his surroundings.

"Chet, I suppose?" Devin asked leaning over the counter. He took a look at a piece of leather armor folded on counter, the kind that would go over the simple undershirt and rough pants attire most wastelanders wore, that Daria and he had been wearing the night of the ambush, and the same kind he knew Daria had at least 5 of in her pack of joyous wonders.

"That's me. You must be the one Doc Mitchell was patching up. Am I right?" Chet looked left and right trying to determine which twin was the patient. Daria wondered how people could live in such a cramped town and not know what was going on; that's how it was in her village back west, anyway.

"Me," Said Devin "That was me. Khans got me in the graveyard, and Doc saved my life. How much for the armor?"

"98 caps." A businessman, liked profit, no nonsense, Daria noted.

"I've only got 85... how much will you take for the Vault suit?" Devin indicated to his chest.

"Uh, that and 85 would cover it, yeah" Chet's voiced wavered, _This man seems almost eccentric..._

And he was. Devin stripped to his boxers and threw the Vault Suit on the counter, along with the caps from his bag. Chet was taken back, but money was money.

Devin turned his head to Daria, "Clothes, Sis?"

To Chet's surprise, she handled it like a random occurrence, and handed him a spare outfit from her bag.

Devin pulled it on, and strapped the leather scraps and metal plates over in an armor like fashion, and walked out with his sister.

.'===='

/'

Next stop was the Saloon, where the twins were greeted by the angry barks of a local dog. Daria shrieked; her brother took a look around, apparently oblivious.

"Cheyenne, stay! Don't worry about her, she won't bite unless you threaten her. You two look new. Your names are...?" the girl smiled. She had long red hair tied to a tight bun, and she wore leather armor similar to Devin's but without the metal plates.

"I'm Devin and this is my sister Daria. Doc Mitchell said you could teach us 'bout surviving in the Moja-"

"Us?" Daria cut in, speaking only to her brother, "I do not recall there being an 'us', I recall there being a 'you'."

"Your going to have to learn to survive too, Little Sis. This isn't California anymore..."

"Sure thing. I've got two spare rifles out back. Meet me behind the Saloon."

.'===='

/'

Guns felt good. Devin couldn't understood why Daria didn't feel that when he saw her barely containing disgust as she attempted to inspect the rifle. He didn't bother trying to lecture her as he had when he tried to teach her shooting back home. She didn't take him as serious as she did Sunny, as she explained the proper techniques of her 'varmint rifle', as the pip-boy called it.

Devin inspected his, then finding everything clean and loaded, he crouched and aimed.

Bang!

Shatter.

Bang!

Shatter.

Bang!

Shatter.

Three bottles had been cleanly ripped from the fence. Devin waited for Daria to shoot the other 5, which took a good minute each, and half of it almost seemed like she was trying to shoot a smiley face in the Prospector's wall. But she'd learned to aim, and though she was scared of the recoil, she was eager for more practice.

So Sunny obliged.

"What we're going to do is head up to the ridge there, and to the water source. We've had a gecko infestation of late, so we're going to go up there and make sure the geckos won't be a problem for people getting water."

Devin smiled; he'd been waiting for some combat since the ambush last night. Daria was just as eager, Devin could see it. But she hadn't had any combat experience, never seen the life leave a person's eyes... it'd be good for her to start on animals, but he had a bad feeling of how she'd handle people...

By this time they'd jogged their way to the ridge above the first set of troughs. Devin laid on his belly and propped the small rifle against his right shoulder, aimed at the heads of one of the geckos and waited for the girls to follow suite.

"Have a plan?" asked Daria.

"Yeah, we do this first recon style: track it's head, fire on three. Say 'locked' when your ready."

Both aimed. "Locked."

"Locked."

"1..."

Daria was filled with adrenaline. She was ready for this, firing a gun on a real target...

"2..."

She imagined the Gecko was some evil raider, or genocidal Enclave officer...

"1..."

BBBoooooommm...

Three shots, all dead-on; 3 Geckos brains exploded from their skulls, delicious chunks where they'd once had heads...

Daria found the violence nearly offensive, and she was almost angry that she'd killed something. It was a dismal feeling.

"Next trough?" Devin had sliced Daria's thoughts. She had almost forgotten there were other people there.

"Yeah, two more."

The next two trough's weren't particularly exciting. There were a few more geckos than the first, but the 'recon' strategy served them well. Daria found she was less worried about what the lives of the geckos meant because of the fact they attacked on sight, but was happy for an end to the action nonetheless.

.'===='

/'

"We've got guests, Trudy!" The Prospector was obviously home to her. She slung her pack on a chair and grabbed three beers without asking the barkeep.

"So you two must be the ones Doc Mitchell was talking of..." The barkeep, apparently called Trudy, was a raven-haired woman in her late 40's, which brought Devin to the conclusion that Sunny was the only person under 30 in this town. But Trudy had kind eyes and a kind voice, so Devin trusted her.

As Trudy was giving the twins info on the visit of the Khans, a rude, purple dressed, dark-skinned man burst through the Saloon door.

"I'M DONE, TRUDY!" the letters NCRCF (New California Republic Correctional Facility) were printed on the back of his kevlar vest. The fact that he had dynamite AND a revolver made Devin uneasy.

"Yu have 12 hours to give me Ringo, or Goodsprings burns..." the convict left as fast as he came.

"Well," said Devin. "Sounds like I'm going to have to teach that asshole a lesson."


End file.

Fallout, Adventure, Family