Catolog of a Fanfiction Author

Fallout: Courier Six

Fallout is owned by Bethesda

Welcome to the archive: This is a story I wanted to do as a challenge to myself but I failed because I couldn't get myself to write for it. It's basically a test for me writing in the first person and since I was playing through New Vegas I thought I'd use it for it. Hope ya'll like it.

"You made your last delivery bud. Sorry you got twisted up in this scene," The man in the checkered suit pulled out a poker chip, a platinum chip, the delivery I was meant to deliver before putting it back in his suit and pulling out a 9mm. "From where you're kneeling it must seem like an 18-karat run of bad luck," the man leveled the gun to my head, "but the truth is, the game was rigged from the start."

Bang!

My eyes snapped open and I surged up, that was obviously a mistake because as soon as I did my head felt like it'd been hit with a sledgehammer with a side of migraine. I groaned and held my head before registering the rapidly approaching footsteps. I turned my head to see an old man with a balding head and mustache looking at me in concern.

"Easy, you're okay. You're in a safe place," the man says as he sits down in a chair next to the bed I found myself in.

"Where am I?" Christ, my voice sounds like I'd gargled rocks. It didn't help that my throat felt as dry as the Mojave itself.

"My clinic," the man-doctor said, "or if you mean specifically then you're in Goodsprings. You know you've been out cold for a couple days."

Goodsprings? Wasn't that meant to be where I was gonna stop for the night after hoofing it from The Hub without stopping for two days straight? Thinking back that was obviously a mistake but the client apparently wanted it within a few days. A happy client is one less bitchy client.

Wait, what did the doctor just say?

"How many days?" I rasped.

"About two, we're going on the third day now. Victor found you halfway buried and scooped you out of the grave then dragged you here. Your real lucky ya'know that?"

I couldn't help the grim chuckle that left my lips, at both the amount of days and the concept of my luck. I was nowhere near lucky, this bullshit just added to the proof.

"I hope you don't mind, but I had to dig in your noggin to pull all the bits of lead out. I'm guessing you'll want to see the new companion pieces on your noggin?" The doc said.

I did in fact want to see the scars. I had enough around my body and would prefer to know what they looked like. I nodded and he turned in his seat, reaching down for a mirror and presenting it to me. I took the mirror and looked at my reflection.

Two circular scars adorned my forehead, one directly beneath my hairline on the right side of my forehead and another just above my left eye which cut through my eyebrow leaving that patch bald. Well, at least I wasn't that much uglier.

Shit, how did I survive? Those two shots should've killed me.

Maybe some god decided to take pity on me or something. Saw how Lady Luck kept screwing me over and decided to bring me back from the dead as a way of saying sorry for how things tended to go for me.

Or maybe I was just too thick headed to let something like two 9mm bullets kill me.

Neither would surprise me.

"Another thing," the doc said, bringing my attention back to him, "I'm not entirely sure if my lead fishing didn't nick something important. So what is your name?"

My name? Marcus was the name I was born with but I'd long stopped responding to it since nobody but the family I'd left behind used it. How long long ago was that? Shit it'd been a whole decade since he last saw anyone from his family. Oh he'd heard what they'd been up to, it was on any poster for the NCR military asking people to join.