Fucking around New Vegas

Image source: The Kite - Mojave Lovers

At the edge of Goodsprings was but a humble Courier of the Mojave Express, hands, and feet bound in rope, struggling as two leather jacket-wearing thugs dug a grave. Knowing damn well who the grave was for, the Courier struggled, alerting their consciousness to one of the thugs who notified a scrupulous character wearing a black-and-white checkered suit.

Said scrupulous character turned to the Courier, smoking a cigarette and brandishing a 9mm.

"Well, kid," Flicking the cigarette away, it was only the 9mm in his hands now, "you're our last loose end. Shame you had to get caught in the middle of all this. Bet you didn't even know why you're here."

Rubbing their wrists together, the Courier just did what their survival instincts had to say, not that it would help as the checkered-suit man aimed a pistol at their heads.

"But hey, if it makes you feel any better, it's nothing personal." And by the dimmest glimmer from the fire, the Courier saw that his finger was already wrapped around the trigger, "Just bad luck."

And with one loud sound blasting through the silence of the night, the Courier slumped to the ground, losing consciousness. The last things they saw were the thugs throwing their body into a shallow grave and tossing the shovel-worth of sand back in the ditch.

As far as they knew, Jesse McMurphy was dead - killed trying to deliver a package.

Darkness consumed them, and the Courier knew that there was no point in resisting any further.

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Within the darkness was the sound of a radio singing. Either the afterlife was exactly like the city of New Reno, or Jesse wasn't dead yet, and as the Courier opened their eyes, they witnessed a ceiling fan twirling around, as well as the voice of an old man.

"So you're awake. How about that?" Unable to see the source of the voice, they stood up which only resulted in their vision going blurry, much to the worry of the source, "Whoa now, take it easy. You've been out for a couple of days now - relax for a second."

Nodding and muttering a thanks to the old man seated in front, Jesse was glad that their vocal cords were working at least.

"Now, 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." The old man then pulled out a mirror of sorts and handed it to the Courier, "I take pride in my needlework, but you'd better tell me if I left anything out of place - How'd I do?"