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anti_griefer_666

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Hi. Im A New Member To Desura. I Might Not Be So Active On Desura, So Be Sure To Check My Steam! It's What I Put For My Homepage. And Please, Don't Get Mad I Type In All Caps. I'm A Nice Guy. As Of Now, I Am Writing A Story Based On Fallout New Vegas

Blog RSS Report abuse The Courier's Story Improved: Part 2

0 comments by Anti_Griefer_666 on Apr 4th, 2014

Part 2: Welcome To Goodsprings

I stepped out into the Mojave, only for my eyes to instantly burn in agony, at the extremely bright and towering
sun. My body once again, shook at the tremendous heat of the outside world. It radiated through my body, piercing every inch of my skin, coating me in layers of sweat. But it was more than just heat; it felt as if I was covered in molten lava. My head throbbed and pounded, as if being smashed with a hammer. As my
eyes once again adjusted to their surroundings, I barely gazed forward through my hazy eyes to witness the town of Goodsprings.

It took me a moment to realise I wasn't on some forgotten western movie set. This place didn't even hold a
candle to the inside of the Doctor's house. A town of wooden and brick shacks
stood before me, most facing terrible structural damage. Entire sections of
wall missing, as if an elephant had come crashing through them. Crumbling
paintwork, smashed fences, and everything made worse by a cloud of thick dust,
making seeing further and breathing difficult. One building, named the
'Prospectors Saloon', seemed the only building to stand out from the rest. A small
neon sign flickered, and blew in the dusty breeze, struggling to keep itself in
operation, shorting out every few moments.

As if by irony, A tumbleweed rolled by me, making this seem all the more like a dream, maybe I was still a
little lucid from my rude awakening. It was shortly followed by the unmistakeable sight of a RobCo Securitron, standing almost eight feet tall. It moved on a monowheel, and was connected with a thin steel beam to the rest of its body. The arms reminded me of the grabbers on claw cranes, and they met the
body through large, coiled metal rings.

 These models were well known for their giant bodies of thick steel; an intimidating sight for anyone
considering starting a fight with one. They all featured an antenna, standing
tall and centred above them. While the purpose of them was a mystery to me, I would
have thought they no longer had any functionality, since the Great War. As he
turned to me, I noticed the familiar visage of the monitor. They all had
varying personalities, and whatever image was featured onscreen would give you
an idea of who they'd be like. Behind the hardened, bullet resistant glass, I
could make out the stereotypical image of a cowboy.

"Well howdy partner, good to see you again!" he said enthusiastically, in a Texas accent. Even though
the machines were all the same, the personalities were a nice change, and it
was a pleasure to talk to them, provided you didn't find one that acted like a police officer.

"Hey." I replied. "Are you Victor?"

"Sure am! You came to thank me over that little incident?" Victor asked.

"Yes, of course! I don't even know why you'd bother going through the trouble for some traveller like
me." I replied with a cheer. Even though I knew he didn't have emotions, I
wanted him to know how happy I was for making the effort. I almost felt like hugging him.

"Don't mention it. I'm always ready to lend a hand to a stranger in need" he assured me. Was I really
dreaming? What town full of helpful, friendly people have I stumbled into?

"Well then, how did you come to save me?" I asked him, in curiosity.

"I was out for a stroll that night, when I heard a bunch of commotion up at the town graveyard. Saw what
looked like a bunch of bad eggs, so I laid low. Once they'd run off, I dug you
up to see if you were still alive, turned out you were, and I hauled you off to the Doc, right quick." He replied.

"So did you know any of the men that attacked me?" I questioned him. While the doctor told me Trudy
would be my best bet, I still wanted to know from my saviour himself.

"Can't say that I'm familiar with the rascals. Some of the fine folks in town might be able to help you out with
that." he responded. Damn, I was going to ask Trudy anyway, but it would have helped if he knew any of them.

"So, what are you doing in a place like this?" I thought, this really seemed like a town far away from
anywhere popular. As a Courier, I felt as if I knew everywhere, I could even
make a mental map of my surroundings usually.

"You know, I can't quite say I know myself. Just wandered into town about... ten to fifteen years ago.
Certainly doesn't feel like a bad move at all, friendliest folks this side of
the Mojave." he said. Tell me about it.

"Well, It's been quite interesting talking to you, but I've got to go ahead and get my life back on
track. Thanks again." I laughingly stated. There's a time and a place for life
stories, but I really needed to start getting back to my own life.

"Aw shucks, how silly of me. Happy trails!" he cheered, and began to slowly depart up the cracked road on his squeaky monowheel.

"Hey, hold on. You're going somewhere?" I stopped to ask. I couldn't think of any reason for him to be
going out into the desert, but of course it wasn't really my business; just
curious.

"Of course, silly you! I'd best be reporting back to Mr House, being acquainted and all." Victor answered. "I can't overstate how sorry am I to be leaving so sudden and all, but I'm sure you'll get along fine here, and
I'll be back before you know it."

I could only think back to the Doctors words at this moment. 'You just get the sense that ain't the whole picture' he said; and Victor was causing me serious concern. Knowing that Vegas would be miles away, I'm not sure how far he was stretching the idea of being back 'Soon'. If I had to guess, the fact
that he's on wheels, doesn't need food, water or rest is a step in the right
direction, so there may be some truth to his words. Whatever the case, I wasn't
to stop him, and I'm sure we'd meet again, so I'd best let him get on his way.

"Hope I do see you again!" I said in a half honest voice, but I'm
sure Victor wouldn't pick up on it. I watched him depart up the road for a
while, until the dust and haze left him nothing but a speck on the horizon.

With nothing else on my mind, and only one clear thing to be doing, I headed
towards the Prospectors Saloon to find Trudy, and hopefully get a drink to
alleviate me of the awful headache, that started the moment I stepped outside.

I hadn't seen anyone in my short time of wandering the town, other than Victor
and Doc Mitchell. It felt like a ghost town, and thinking back, the tumbleweed
didn't shine any light on it. You could tell there was at least some care taken
in this place. Not in the way of the rotting paintwork, that's excusable,
because the winds would just lash it away in an instant if you tried. The sign
was clearly maintained, as the bulbs wouldn't last an awfully long time in
conditions as harsh as this.

I felt as if I was to expect any social encounter with people, it would
be here. Without a moment of hesitation to get out of the choking atmosphere, I
pulled open the cold, iron handle to the decrepit building, and stepped inside
turning back to close the door behind me, my sight was blocked by the viciously
sharp claws and teeth of an attack dog. I pressed myself against the door,
trying to look as unthreatening as possible, in the hopes that it would go
elsewhere for dinner, but to no avail. I found my eyes locked to it, snarling
and barking like all hell, and making slow but steady advances on me.

"Cheyenne, Stay!" came a female voice from somewhere. I could place it in
front of me, but with my life being in danger and all, I had been stuck
noticing the dog until she broke the silence.

In an instant, this dog went from burning vengeance on furry
legs, to the most soft looking, approachable thing imaginable. I looked up, to
meet eyes with my saviour; I really can't write in words how bizarre and
foreign the idea of being saved so much feels. I found my eyes met a teenage
girl, no older than 20, wearing thick leather clothing, with braided hair.

"Don't worry; she won't bite unless I tell her to." She said,
reassuringly.

With careful and practised movements, just to prove to myself that the
dog wouldn't take it as a threat, I slowly dug my fingernails out of the door,
and got back up to standing.

"Thanks...I appreciate it." I said, thanking her for treating me as more
than food for her dog, while still being hesitant of how hostile it was to me
in the first place. I guess it's required these days, less an acquired
behaviour, more taught, so he can keep her safe from real threats.

"Ha-ha! Yeah, she's got a menacingly sharp pair, don't you think?" she giggled;
a rhetorical statement. "Name's Sunny Smiles, It's nice to meet you."

"As the same here." I replied. "Just be sure to remind him that I'm neither a threat, nor a treat for
lunch time."

"Not a problem sir!" she said in enthusiasm. "She's mostly around for when
I help clear the outskirts of town for Geckos. Nasty things bite deep, and
everyone's thankful for the help. I guess you could call that my job really, a
‘Sherriff', if you will."

"That's a welcome sight; seeing someone care about their community, good
on you. You're insane though. Dog or not, you shouldn't mess with Gecko's. I
remember my first bite, and the pain and agony that followed, not pretty." I
said in a somewhat deadpan manner. Still, she had a fairly powerful looking
rifle strapped to her back, and she's probably a crack shot against them.

"I'm flattered." She giggled sarcastically. While I didn't have anyone
that I loved in my life, I wasn't looking to settle down and start a relationship anytime soon.

"At any rate, I've got to run, goodbye." I said to finish the conversation, still somewhat unsure of her dog.

"DISMISSED!" she shouted and stood straight; hands by her
side, as if to pretend she really was a Sherriff, and I was in trouble.

Turning away from her to check out the rest of the bar, I could see I had
wandered into yet another inhospitable looking place. Small, unordered holes
were dotted throughout the walls, letting in streams of light. The metal tables
were all dented, and wobbly on the uneven, and squeaky floorboards. The windows
were considerably broken, with hinges just barely hanging to literal threads.
Yeah; not the kind of place you'd want to come for a drink or hang out.

The bar wasn't what you would call teeming with life. Only a few old folks,
and the bartender herself were present. Upon glancing towards them, It seemed
most of them were staring daggers at me; out of shock of seeing me alive, or
just out of curiosity, I didn't know. It didn't feel like a town that
discouraged and had problems with visitors, not if Victor and the Doc had
anything to say about it.

I sat down uncomfortably for two reasons, one being all the attention
directed to me, and the other was that this ‘stool', was literally a steel
frame, all the soft cushion having been torn away from wear and tear. It was at
this moment that I completely forgot to look through everything that was in the
backpack. I got it out, and spilled the contents onto the counter.

To start me off, a hundred and thirty two caps. Hardly anything in the
way of money, and I knew that Mitchell hadn't taken any, while my shooters must
have looted me for anything valuable. Lucky that I keep about one hundred and
fifty caps hidden in my shirt, for special occasions and emergencies.

Half a glass of Vodka was present, but I wasn't interested in it.

Ten Lock-picks, coming in handy for just about any sort of entry into
abandoned buildings to search for any sort of loot.

My Diary came next. I wouldn't be here today without jotting down a few
tricks and tactics about survival. With as much knowledge and prior experience
that I had, I could use the last pages to record this story, for anyone who'd
ever encounter it on my corpse, should I succumb to the perils of the Mojave,
or pass onto someone, should I live a long and enjoyable life. Let's be honest,
the likelihood is that it gets shot to pieces, or eaten by some fearsome
creature, along with the rest of me.

And finally, the sight that brought an instant, unstoppable grin to my
face. They hadn't touched, broken, or even acknowledged my automatic hunting
rifle. This is my pride and beauty, which I've carried for the longest time. It
looks like it was crushed under a train, with more duct tape than wood. It
wasn't varnished, leaving sharp splinters throughout the wood. The problem was
none of this mattered, because this was the most reliable firearm I've ever used.

I'd mounted a scope to it, and regardless of its condition, it took out
threats at shocking distances with pinpoint accuracy and lethality. I've
realised for too long now the need to get it replaced, but until I do, I can
trust it in its operation to kill.

With an understanding of what I was carrying, I moved onto my Pip Boy. I
was kind of concerned about it, because it actually entered my bloodstream, in
order to check for infection and radiation poisoning. I'm sure he wouldn't
knowingly do this if it had any danger, and he could likely remove it if I
really got worried. I wasn't in a hurry to remove it, not if what he promised
was true. It'd be incredibly efficient, saving me time visiting a doctor, if this
device could already tell me what was wrong with me.

Lastly, I turned on the radio function, and tuned it into the only
available station, the ‘Mojave Music Radio'. I was instantly blown away by the
sound quality coming from this thing, and kind of only drew more attention to
myself when it started blaring at maximum volume. I quickly turned it off,
happy in the knowledge that I could listen to the radio portably now, useful
for long journeys.

It seems I caught the attention of Trudy, the bartender, as
she began to turn to me. She wore a tight fitting set of a floral shirt, over a
white apron. She seemed well kept, without a stain of dirt on her, and finely
combed, black hair running down to her ears.

"So, you're the guy Mitchell's been patching up all week?" she asked. I
was kind of irked that everyone so far only knew me as ‘That guy who got shot',
but I understand that they really can't address me properly without my name.

"Yeah, major credits to him for someone contacting God, and performing a
miracle." I replied, showing her how much I admired his work. "Name's Micheal, I take it you're Trudy?"

"Damn straight. But now that you're back, how can I serve you?" she asked.

To be fair, I was still pretty thirsty, and entirely lacking in any form of supplies to continue my trek through the wastes, but there was something more important at hand. If she had any information at all about those men, she would know.

"Thanks, but what I really need is information. Do you know anything about the men who shot me that week?" I questioned her.

She scoffed. "Are you sure you'd want to pursue them? I would have thought getting shot would be a great reason to stay away!"

"Maybe so; I'm not stupid to go after them wildly. I have a score to settle with them, and they have something important to me." I replied

"Well, in that case, afraid I don't know much about them. Other than they
were freeloaders, that expected a few rounds on the house, and threw slander at
me for being a woman. Of course, one of them knocked my radio to the floor ‘By accident', and it hasn't been working since."

"Do you have any idea where they were headed? Just basic directions if
you can, thanks" I pressed her, I needed more detail than that if I was to ever
find them in such a huge landmass of mostly desert.

"Sorry, I never left the bar that night, and all I know is they left out
the front door. There was one guy in a chequered suit though; he seemed to be
calling all the shots. Heard him mentioning the Strip, but that's miles away
from here, far up north. Your best bet though, they didn't say much more than
that. They mostly got shamelessly intoxicated, and staggered about." She said,
describing the night in as much detail as she could.

Well, it seems as if I've ran into awful luck. Before I could even get a
chance to see them, I'd be walking a good thirty miles through the Mojave Desert,
and I didn't have anything in the way of supplies. I got up to leave, but remember
something she said to me, and turned back.

"Hey, do you want me to look at your Radio? I should be able to fix it, provided it's not entirely busted." I asked.

"Oh? Sure you can. The outside looks fine, but I can hear something
rattling inside when I shake it. I'll throw in some bottle caps if you can work
it out. I do like to hear what's going on in the world, and that ‘Mr. New
Vegas' sounds like such a gentlemen." She replied, I hadn't even thought about
getting paid, but it was something I really needed, so I was more than willing
to lend a hand.

I got and followed her behind the bar, and she showed me the radio in the
corner. I knew quite a bit about fixing technology. It was an important skill
out here in the wastes, and it plays a big role in many areas. While not a
common thing to find, you can learn to hack computer terminals to open safes
and doors, usually finding a good haul behind if you're lucky. The more common
use was in maintaining systems like old engines, and heaters.

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