I hate having bad days. You would think that after several years of carrying packages as a courier for those rich shmucks in the wasteland id probably seen it all. Stabbings, tripwires, super mutants gutting folk alive for no reason, hell, going into gang territory is always a plus too, I get to use my 10 millimeter for a change instead of a baseball bat. But damn, getting captured and robbed by some zoot suit wearing mother****er and left in the ground with a bullet hole in your head counts as a bad day if you ask me.
I guess I should be thankful a bucket of bolts named Victor pulled me from my dirt nap. That creepy robot pretty much saved my life, taking me to this Podunk town called Goodsprings out in the Mojave Wasteland. I must have been real messed up, it took a while before the good doctor could fix me up, even drilling me with tests to determine my strengths and weaknesses. Well whatever they are, getting shot in the face changes a lot in a man, so all I got is what I said it was.
I guess that’s also why I’m writing this all down. Id rather it be written then spread out on a ton of holo-tapes for some wanderer to muse to himself when I’m gone. I work my ass off as a courier, traveling all across the western wastes. Now I got a purpose, to find that bastard and make him pay. It may not be that interesting since it’s a tale of revenge, but screw it I want to get my package back. He stole my charge, a platinum poker chip, so chances are he’s heading to the only source of light in this desolate hellhole, New Vegas.
Ahh New Vegas. A microcosm of greed, power and sex, yet perhaps the safest place in the wasteland. At least in New Vegas we got gambling and police forces to keep the riff-raff out, for the most part Gommorah, The Tops, even the Lucky 38 which is run by that shadow man known as House is pretty much the neon beacon in the skyline for people to flock to. You need the caps to play and stay, but it’s worth it even for a moment of glitz and glamour.
Especially now, with so many territorial groups coming in. I heard about that New California Republic making their claim to some land, something about liberating the people. Probably bullshit, but at least they aren’t like Cesars Legion, some gang that’s been growing in power, dressing up in skirts and enslaving or crucifying anyone in sight. I would rather not mess with either of these factions, or even the small fry gangs like the Powder Gangers or the Khans, but hell, I need allies and information to survive out here, so making friends by doing jobs might be the way to go, even if it means pissing off the others. Hell, all the little towns can give good info if I butter them up enough. Rumor has it it’s boiling over to some big war between the NCR and the Legion, so they are recruiting right off the bat for it. War never does change it seems.
At least I get some good backup from time to time. Had a guy named Boone, an ex NCR sniper, join me for a while. Also some doctor dude, Arcade Gannon was at my side. Was good to have some companions who can take care of themselves for a change. Usually I just hoof it alone, but it is a lot safer with a group this time around. Easy to give commands and to haul ammo and weapons with. Better than a Brahmin any day, and smarter too. And it is a lot more fun to talk to these guys and gals and learn their stories, cause you know, well got them in some way.
Hell, that’s why I’m writing this all down now. The Mojave wasteland ain’t no joke. If you want to survive it hardcore, you need to keep eating something to fill your belly, drinking to quench a growing thirst and track every last bullet, every last shell of ammo as you travel. Good thing you can mix and match the parts of any ammo source to create stronger bullets. My personal favorite is my armor piercing .32 rounds, goes right though metal like a needle through fabric. Protip, learn to use workbenches because it can save your sorry life if you have the right ammo. Hell, campsites usually have a firepit so you can cook some food for though. Bloatfly sliders with a adsorption casserole is the cornerstone of any couriers lunch.
All in all, I guess it’s not too bad out here. We got some sun, we got some color, we got a flavor that is unlike any other wasteland I know. Sunset sarsaparilla billboards next to white cactus flowers is already a step above other wastelands. Hell, I hear horror stories about the DC area, all hollowed out and gray with decaying buildings crumbling every so often. Id rather live in the heat, dying of thirst than being crushed under rocks with hordes of mutants shooting my ass. I guess the desolate desert does have drawbacks. I’m not sure if it’s a side effect of my new bullet wound or what, but I keep seeing strange **** all of a sudden. A guy disappearing into thin air, a radscorpion stuck in the ground. Hell, I even see faceless people from time to time, and they keep talking like I’m staring at them. It’s like I’m suffering from Psycho withdrawal, and I don’t even use the stuff regularly. Hopefully time is gonna change that, but for now It’s just annoying. It’s also annoying to hear the same friggin songs on the radio every ten minutes. Mr. New Vegas, that boring, dry DJ, seems to just pick from the same pile and then drearily talk about the news all the damn time. It gets tedious, even if the songs are pretty catchy.
Eh, why am I complaining, it’s a friggin wasteland, it can’t all be sunshine and roses. New Vegas is pretty good, the other towns are all right, and I’m sick of writing. So if you ever find this, tell them that the courier gave you some ideas and some history about the Mojave wasteland, and that if you do travel the pathways to the sparkling city, be on your guard and enjoy yourself. Life is short, and in a moment it can be snatched out of your hands. Happy hunting. Oh, and if you ever find a guy in a checkered suit, kick him for me, because he should have a hole in his head. Turnabout friends, is always fair play.
Final Score- A-