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Jessup wasn’t kidding when he said the Great Khans set up a little camp near the mountains. The Courier nearly missed the landmark with how nestled it was in the landmass’ looming shadow. It was a steep climb up from there. The rocks all looked the same, and though Melissa said they didn’t like to leave trails, the Courier had long since run out of patience looking for signs of Jessup’s friend after doubling back to Goodsprings. Chet said he sold a shovel to a strange one that morning, but the Courier couldn’t find a so much as a cigarette butt between the store counter and the camp.
The Courier was starting to wonder if, in the time it would take just finding the stray Khan, the Platinum Chip could have already been sitting pretty on the palm it was supposed to be in.
Radioactive wind blew over hopelessly vast plains of sand, but New Vegas’ light seemed to pour into every corner of the wastes. Benny was somewhere in there, checkered suit camouflaging him between blinking lights and amorphous shadows. The Platinum Chip was there too, and in a place like New Vegas, it could easily be hidden in plain sight. It would be too easy to get lost chasing Benny through that mess, not to mention the struggle of getting through the big gates at all.
The Courier knew that. Jessup seemed to know that too.
This “N.S.” was supposed to be as much of a greyhound as a cat burglar. A veteran scout who could almost always find something as long as you were clear about what you were looking for. With a guide like that, the Courier could cut straight to the chase. No more mucking the stables before being allowed to borrow a horse. No more getting lost in the weeds, everybody else’s problems suddenly becoming the Courier’s responsibility to resolve. No more getting bounced at the door by people who didn’t even want to try getting along. No more tiring bullshit tripping the Courier up on what should have been an easy delivery.
If Jessup wasn’t lying, and he didn’t seem like the type, the Courier would finally gain breathing room to regain some footing.
Just grit your teeth.
Getting pelted by Mr. House’s rolling turrets was kinda similar, and you didn’t freak out bad over that…
Back then, Chance was there.
But seriously, what the hell was that all about? Dragging my feet after hearing all that buzzing. Course there’d be bigass cazadores swarming the place after such a huge shitshow. If I got a shovel from the get go, I coulda dug my own grave and then some!
Guess this’s just what would go down though. Figures. I’ll just die like a stupid mutt for chasing a guy to his grave. Not like I got stuff to do now… stupid.
Sure
hope ghosts aren’t real. I don’t wanna
stick around when
the others
find out.
… Damn, the Fiends really wiped the whole village. First time I’ve gotten a good look at everyone down there… Pretty lucky Chance isn’t sitting pretty with the rest of them.
Tough luck, guys. I was gonna clean you all up in a bit, honest. But don’t count on it now.
Huh. Looks like a few more of our guys are down there too. Let’s see, there’s…
Eh… Face down, buns up to toast under the Mojave sun like a hangover at Lake Mead. That’s gotta be Aubrey. Hope your ghost gets a good laugh out of it, man.
And you over there, looking like iguana on a stick: I remember, you hated me so bad, I had to ask someone else for your new name! You were… Terry— no wait— Terran. Terry’s just for friends, right? My bad.
Well, Terran, it could be worse. In one of those big books Jerry read, some guy got stabbed ass to mouth like a spitroast for trying to fuck the main man’s wife. You sure hated that kid too, but you actually listen to him and find out he’s got words for every anything. And y’know what? You got stuck through more like that guy who died standing up: Choochoo-lane or something like that. So add that to your list of accomplishments.
I kinda envy you. I always wanted to know what it was like to get staked through. That’s a lot of blood on the long end. Were you trying to pull it out or something? I hear you die faster that way. One of those Follower doctors told me that a long time ago.
He passed it off well in the moment, but Jessup was ultimately asking the Courier for a favour, same as everybody else.
“Hey, if you guys cross paths, my buddy’s going through a hard loss right now. It’ll probably do you both some good if you can give ‘em something to do.”
After all all the trouble, putting the Courier’s distance towards New Vegas practically back to the start line, the idea was easy to fantasise about.
The Great Khans were a hardy group. It would be nice to have someone take off the weight that was leaving the Courier’s shoulders aching day and night. Someone that would take the pressure off, make the Courier feel less like one of the hunted. Nobody would think they were getting the jump on some lonely sap, and if anybody started something, there would be someone to watch the Courier’s back.
And a travel companion would make it easier to sleep at night when the wind’s howls were hard to tell apart from the howls of mutated beasts. Someone who’d help without making the Courier jump through hoops and pay a bullshit information tax. Someone who’d keep well enough to themselves but still have reason to listen when talked to.
The Courier tried to focus on the exciting novelty of keeping friendly company to distract from how inconvenient it was to hunt for it.
… What’s up with me? This is the worst… Can’t even keep my head on straight…
Ah, fuck it! I need to get a move on! I mean, damn! That’s a lot of baby bugs down there. Once bodies start rotting, I guess they do start to soften up a bit. Can cazadores even eat them at that point?
Those guys from way back when never attracted any. This thing a Mojave special?
…Jesus. Did McMurphy and Jessup really drag Chance’s heavy ass up here? Why’s this fuckin’ hill so steep? Feels like I’ve been hiking this thing forever. My head’s gonna explode!
What was that thing Arcade said? Pressure point or something. If I press right…? Here? It’s supposed to make it go away?
… Nope. Didn’t think so. Feels like my head’ll pop like a grape if I keep pushing. This is way worse than getting all dizzy…
This hurts.
I feel like shit.
Dragging my stupid dying ass up a hill like it even matters. Everyone’s fucking dead! And I’m up just about ready to join ‘em! So what’s the point? What am I even doing right now?
I’m tired of this shit.
It’s all shit!
Whatever…
Let’s just get it over with…
Gotta catch up somehow.
When the wind blew through the valley, it carried down a familiar, awful stench. The Courier shuddered in disgust. It was reminiscent of Nipton, but gone stale. If that was where N.S. was supposed to be, it was hard to believe their first meeting would be all that pleasant.
If what Chet said was true, that Khans were “mean but not crazy”, and N.S. was fresh off a “hard loss”, the chances of making mutually good first impressions were near zero. The Courier’s highest hope was to make an impression that didn’t compel N.S. to add another bullet to Benny’s happy pair.
There was plenty the Courier could bring to the table, but that didn’t matter as much if nobody asked. A mourner made for a tough crowd too. Since the odds seemed bad, winging it would be better than trying to strategise. Jessup’s description of N.S. was too vague to form a plan around.
The Courier breathed deep. The oppressive smell of death rushed in to fill all the way to the bottom of the lungs. After pushing through it for a while, it would become so normal that it’d disappear. N.S. probably had it worse, following that trail to someone important.
Hey, Chance.
I owe you a whole, don’t I? But what the hell am I supposed to say now?
“Thanks for taking one for the team.”
“You sure beat me to the punch. Here’s your medal.”
Y’know, Jessup made me promise not to kill myself before we split. He couldn’t spit it out all the way, but it was pretty obvious: “There’s no way I’m letting you go alone unless promise you won’t do something extreme.”
Pretty funny, don’tcha think? What’s he think he knows? Makes me wonder what he woulda said to you if we swapped places.
Wish I was the type to do something that crazy, but offing myself alone isn’t even worth it. Dunno what he expected me to do. Not like I’d just go back to camp without finding you first.
Wish they just buried everyone. Or at least finished the Fiend’s hack job and burned up the rest. Really left me one hell of a path.
… I’m gonna be sick. Wish this shit would just run its course already.
Feels like I’m being punished for making it this far…
What a shit deal we got. I hate this. I hate where they left you. I hate the way people start treating me the moment it’s just me. I hate having to play along just to get people off my back. It’s not worth a damn without you in the picture! It’s all shit! Why do I have to hold up my side of the deal when you’ve gone and ducked out, huh?!
I’M SO SICK OF THIS! I DON’T WANNA DO IT! I—!?
i’mgonnapuke!gonnapuke!puking!ithurts!it’sred!it’sred!WHY?red?what’shappening?why’sitsored?i’mscaredi’mscared!ithurts!idon’tgetit!IDON’TGETIT!whylikethis?idon’tgetitwhyi’mscared!whereami?what’sgoingon?chancehelpmei’mscared!i’mscaredidon’tgetit!iwannaseeyou!ijustwannaseeyouagain!ITHURTSSOBAD!ihatethisihatethisihatethisihatethisIHATEIT!chancepleaseidon’twantitlikethis!it’stoomuch!ican’ttakeitanymore!ithurtsithurtsICAN’TTAKEIT!i’mscared!whatdoido?whatamisupposedtodo?TELLMECHANCE!whatshouldido?iknowyou’rethere!idon’tgetit!YOU’RERIGHTFUCKINGTHERESOWHERETHEHELLAREYOU—!?
More lithe than the typical image of a Khan. Long-sleeved jacket. Missing half a right ear. Dark hair in a braid. And, assuming N.S. wasn’t among the corpses the Courier examined through binoculars, black eyes were something to look out for too. Much to the Courier’s relief, none of the bodies laying in the middle of the camp fit the bill.
Even if one of them did, it would be far too late. The cazadores practically turned the place into a hive.
Anyone along the trail of charred bodies had to be ruled out on principle. Those had to be victims of an older conflict. N.S.’ corpse would have to be fresh, assuming N.S. made the trip at all.
The Courier’s agitation grew by the second, slowly pushing on the limited space reserved for patience. The constant buzzing from beating wings couldn’t be tuned out and forgotten about like the smell. Everything screamed, “Leave already! There’s nothing for you here!”
And then from the left, cutting through bumps and ridges of rock, something screamed back. The Courier whipped around trying to find the source. It was one single noise, and by the time the Courier settled on it being something worth checking out, there was barely an echo left to chase.
“HELLO?”
The Courier shouted after a couple beats of relative quiet. The cry came from somewhere nearby. It was a sound like a wild dog caught in a bear trap, but not insistent enough to be a howl of distress.
“IS ANYBODY THERE? CAN YOU HEAR ME?”
It cut off like a coyote’s barely squeezed out whimper before the bullet passes through its heart. Death throes, with the same resigned panic of a dying beetle flapping its wings against the ground while rocking on its back.
“HANG ON AND I’LL FIND YOU. I WANT TO HELP, SO DON’T SHOOT!”
The Courier scanned for any place the sound could have come from. The cazadores didn’t seem to react to the ruckus, too gorged on the rotting bodies already underfoot to care for another hunt. A short distance back, something stood out at a second glance.
A miniature scene of carnage marked the foot of an uphill path. Two dead cazadores, one missing an antennae, both having severely mangled wings. It didn’t seem odd that they’d tear each other apart in such a populated area. The Courier always tried to get them frenzied so they’ deal with each other before turning towards the one who started it, and they were just as vicious towards each other as they were to anything else. Bits and pieces of orange wings were scattered around, reflecting amber like broken glass.
There was blood too. It dotted the ground like oil on concrete, and it didn’t stop as the Courier pushed a meter up the steep incline.
Nobody would have any business in the area except N.S.
The Courier cursed, transitioning from a power-walk to the fastest sprint manageable.
Now that I think about it… you pulled a dick move…
Scared of me… running out of your sight and dying… putting all that shit on me like it wasn’t your idea… leaving me some… letter I can barely fucking read…!
I was never like that…
If I was gonna die… I’d wanna see you… and I’d want you watching…
So why…?
Since you headed off to some suicide stunt… why didn’t you bring me…?
If that was your choice… I woulda respected it… you should know that…
It really stings… feels like you didn’t want me around you… in the end…
If that’s how it was… why not say so… that was the deal… wasn’t it?
Pisses you off… right…? I’m gonna die right in front of you anyway… and you can’t do a damn thing about it…
So we’re even now… Let’s… call it even…
So… Chance… what’s on your mind right now…?
I really want… nah… nevermind…
I’ll listen to anything… just… talk… to me…
A slimy reddish puddle took the Courier’s worn boot out mid-stride. A last-second save left that freshly stained sole mere few inches away from the crumpled figure the fluid must have come from.
Dark hair falling out of a messy braid. Bloodstained sleeves with criss-crossing string holding overlapping cloth shut. Even the biggest man would look small in such a pitiful state, but the Courier checked off enough boxes to say with certainty that it had to be N.S. And if something wasn’t done soon, that would be the only thing the Courier would be able to say.
N.S. must have been trying to get to the grave at the top of the hill; no reason to drag yourself so far for a few broc flowers. The Courier glanced at the blank piece of wood sticking out of the ground. It was hard to imagine someone being important enough to drag your bleeding body to but not important enough to get their name marked down.
There were signs of life, barely. The Courier gently turned N.S. to face the sky and tried not to get distracted by the tattoo leering back from a rattling chest. A cool silver necklace adhered to sweaty skin. Its charm’s weight couldn’t beat the extra holding power of half-dried blood.
N.S. must have had an unlucky break. The Courier noted how just grazing fingers over a puncture where the stinger must have hooked underneath the collarbone caused the Khan’s face to twist. There was still enough life left for suffering, it seemed.
“Hah… hiya… big guy…”
There was a faint whisper, surely not for the Courier, dark eyes barely cracked open to greet the fuzzy figure overhead. The Courier remained silent as N.S. shifted lethargically to get a few millimetres closer. The misery drained out of N.S.’ expression enough to reveal the ghost of a smile, drawing comfort from something far beyond the Courier’s knowledge or understanding. So the Courier stayed silent.
This person is near death. Multiple puncture wounds are bleeding moderately and there are signs of severe poisoning. There is still a chance of survival with prompt treatment. Would you like to try? (Medicine 50 or higher required)
Alternatively, if you have a Super Stimpak and Antidote, treatment is possible.
[Do nothing]
[Treat with medicine]
[Use Super Stimpak and Antidote]