Work Text
August 2nd, 2281
We got whatcha want! Now pay up.
Heh, you're cryin’ in the rain, pally.
Eh? Guess those two are early birds, look who's wakin’ up.
Binds of rope. Vision returning. Pain flared. Smoke wafted.
Will you get it over with?
Maybe Khans kill people without lookin’ ‘em in the eyes. But I ain't a fink, dig?
Voices. Several. Gruff. Smooth.Eyes darted up. A dusty red, wrapped around. In center stage, a checkered suit.
You've made your last delivery, old-timer. Shoulda cashed out while you were still ahead.
A glint of platinum, a miniature moon.
BANG!!
The protective figure slumped. Warm liquid trickled. Hands clawed at the jumpsuit.
Sorry kid, for gettin' ya tangled up in this scene. Threw yourself into an 18-karat run of bad luck out there.
Truth is…
A black void meeting eyes.
Game was rigged from the start.
BANG!!
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Wheel turnin' round 'n round.
You go back, Jack, do it again.
A young man kneeled in front of the massive supercomputer. It was the day of their 20th birthday, their 20th year in the vault.And that was the reason this boy was here. The years spent in the vault… It was comforting. They never were left hungry or cold… It never felt like home. It never filled the empty ache in their chest. It felt like shoes too big, that never quite fit…“Sixer, sir,” the boy bowed their head.“[No need for such formalities, Jack,]” the supercomputer hummed.A bashful, and nervous scratch of the back of their neck. “S-sorry, sir- I, erm… I… Got some questions to ask.”“[Please, ask. I will attempt to answer them to the best of my abilities.]”Jack's fingers dug into their legs, as the question laid on their tongue. A question saved until this very moment, this very day.“You said you try and keep logs of anyone who makes this vault their home,” Jack finally said. “Do… you know who my parents were? I know they ain't ‘round anymore, I just… Wanna know.”A tentative silence, as the computer processed the request. “[Indeed, I have recorded the identities of them. One who gave you life, and one presumed to be the other father.]”Jack's breath caught on the lump in their throat.“[Your father was a man by the name of Wyatt. Captured by the Legion during their sieges, he took refuge here,” Sixer explained. “He passed in childbirth, with you in his wake. He did not leave much about his past. But Wyatt did mention another man.]”The boy leaned forward, each word a fountain of information long withheld from them.“[Some of our tribe scavenged the remains of their town. No cadavers were found, nor was any trace of this man. There is a belief that he is still out there. But I do not wish to overload you with this all. This should not be saddled upon you at once.]”Jack could only heave a sigh at that comment. Relieving, but dangling temptation just an inch out of their reach.“[I understand your trepidation, Jack. My data will not be wiped soon. Please, enjoy this day. It is a celebration of your life. I will tell you more tomorrow.]”“... Thank you, Sixer, sir. I will.” Another respectful bow of their head, and Jack rose to their feet. They diligently returned tomorrow. And the day after. Sixer exhausted all that it knew. Wyatt was not one for discussion of himself, burying himself in tinkering with the Vault’s technology, even as his energy dwindled more and more. He only left two items for Jack: their dog tags, and a worn bomber jacket. Nothing was known about the other father.Like seeing a shrub, with only one branch living to its name. No matter how deep Jack dug the spade, only dead roots and dust came from their digging.But their hands itched for more. Thoughts continued to pile, days later. Jack stared their reflection down in the mirror, neither blinking.It was the same as it always was. Olive skin, tanned by Arizona sun. Green eyes below furrowed brows. Even their blond mohawk seemed exhausted. The tall spikes drooped, falling slightly off-kilter to one shaved side.The reflection showed a sigh, as Jack retreated for the day. They pulled away from the dingy mirror.They were quite a tall fellow, much to their dismay. Their jumpsuit had to be custom stitched, they loom over vault residents, furniture seemed a little too small... They flopped onto their bed.Weary shoulders slumped on a rough-hewn pillow, fabric aged and worn over the decades of use.Most of the items in the vault were centuries old, either still intact, or recycled and patched up. Jack's bed was no exception. Patches of different colors speckled their pillow and blanket. But it was theirs.Not much to their name in this room anyway. A bed, a desk with pre-war books that they still struggled to understand, and a cushion on the floor for their companion yiptail.Not that it ever slept there, preferring Jack's bed. It scrabbled up to join them, letting out a chirpy "meep!"That's why Jack named it Meepy, from when they first found it. A cheesy name, but they were young. Worth some slack, wasn't it?Meepy continued to clamber around the bed. Eyes never quite blinked in sync, as it found its way in a crook in Jack's arm. It rested its snout on them. By its head, was a bulky arm-mounted computer, the Pip-Boy 3000. Old, but durable.Jack scrolled through their Pip-Boy, hazy green screen flickering. A few more clicks and- the crackling feed of Radio New Vegas came through. Too weak a signal for a flawless broadcast, but it was better than nothing.Tantalizing tastes of a society beyond the charted territory of Vault 6. That's all Jack wanted this evening after a day of herding the caravan yiptails. Some returning with traded goods, others needing to be prepared for tomorrow's routes.Vault 6. The Sixed. A tribe that arose from the embers of a Pre-War tribe, entrusted with technology beyond understanding. That's the tribe they've known, even in the earliest recesses of their memories.Yet it never settled right. Like a cowlick that never stayed flat, or a pillow being a little too lumpy. Jack's fingers drummed in a restless rhythm.No family to call their own. Dead and gone. They were raised by the larger community of the vault, each pitching in their energy and wisdom. No matter their questioning or pestering, it was answered...And it only stoked the fire. Thoughts swelled and swirled, causing Jack to clamp their eyes shut. Allure of the outside, a potential destiny beyond the walls. After so long, they finally had a thread to grasp onto. But it burnt in their hands. Fast slipping.Meepy thrilled, its tail and tongue a-flicking. It lapped at the Pip-Boy.Jack sighed, trying to wrangle the lizard away from the dial. "Meep, not again-"Too late. Meepy nudged the scrollwheel, the radio channels tuning beyond Jack's control.A mild air of annoyance hung over Jack. Just a few clicks back should put them back to Radio New Vegas-"-We're always lookin' for new couriers for the Mojave Express. If you're able and lookin' for new horizons, consider comin’ down to the Hub for hirin’."Wait. Fingers hovered over the dial, as green eyes widened. Jack blinked, hearing the ad trail off into a song. The notes never registered, as they replayed the words in their head.
Lookin' for new horizons…
Meepy licked an eyeball, as it looked up to Jack. Its long tail flicked. "Mrp!"Silence for a moment more. Gears were turning in Jack's head. Maybe that was just the excuse they needed.Their eyes glanced to the recorded time on their Pip-Boy. 8:27 PM. May 18th, 2281. Twenty didn't quite feel the right age for them yet.Jack had been made tangentially aware of journeys and pilgrimages made by the Sixed once they were of age. Many returned, some found a purpose calling to them from outside the vault.Perhaps this was their time.Well. Not tonight, anyway. It was about their bedtime. Curling up with Meepy in their arms, Jack fell into a hazy slumber. Only the rumbling purr of the yiptail soothed them. After two days of deliberation, fretting, crying, and a multitude of other noises, Jack made the final preparations on their knapsack. The navy blue of their jumpsuit was a pillar against the warm morning light. Sleeves were rolled up, as Jack hugged the Sixed.“Remember, Jack, you always have a home here,” one kindly woman said. Marie- she was Jack's frequent caretaker from their earliest days. “But I believe some time away will do you good. The air is stuffy down here, heehe!”Jack sniffled. Tears threatened to roll over streaked cheeks. “Tha-thanks, Marie. Thank ya for everythin’.”“You always were my little sunlight. I believe you'll do the same for others.”The two embraced, hanging on for just a moment longer. “I better not keep you. There's only so much daylight left,” Marie stated, and released Jack.The young man nodded. A smile brightened their face.Jack Pierce turned towards the sunlight. Dog tags shimmered in the beams. Sand and dirt crunched solemnly beneath their feet, coupled with the farewells yelled by their tribe.This was their start as a new man. Better start it on a good foot. A final few waves to the tribe… Their attention turned to their Pip-Boy. First things first… Set a route to the Hub. That's where they hire ya, right?And to soothe the nerves…
I feel so welcome each time that I return
That my happy heart keeps laughin' like a clown.
I love those dear hearts and gentle people,
Who live and love in my home town.
Some tunes to fill the empty air and ease the heartache. The young man's head held high, eyes full of hope. June, 2281Dawn was marked by the steady encroaching heat. Light grazed fluttering eyelids, and the day was greeted with a wide yawn.Jack freed their arms from their sleeping bag, stretching out lingering stiffness. Then out snaked the rest of their body. The boy sat up, eyes blinking away drowsiness.Nature made a good alarm clock. In the vault, they had to rely on their Pip-Boy for such a reminder. But the warmth of day was a much less noisy method.Jack stood up. Time for morning routine. A few windmills, leg stretches, toe touches... Need to stay limber and relaxed for hours of courier walking!They sat back down. A ration scarfed down chased by some water, now the real event could begin: their hair care.Hair gel was just freshly applied two days ago, so Jack's mohawk was still relatively intact. Just some touch-ups... A hand-held mirror reflected their face back at them, as they slicked back loose strands into sharp peaks.The sun continued to hike higher, the warm dawn quickly exited when the Mojave heat took over. Jack patted their mohawk, satisfied by the strong hold of the hair gel.Their attention turned towards their face. Compared to their hair and pierced ears, Jack's rosy cheeks and rounded eyes... miffed them. Too bare. Not strong enough.Their hand settled on an answer: fingers brushed against the remnants of their nighttime fire. Black charcoal stained their fingertips. Jack raised their hand again, staring at the mess...Their fingers dragged across a closed eyelid. The mirror watched, as Jack applied a thick, dusty layer of charcoal around their eyes.A small "hm" came from them. A bit of hair gel was sacrificed to make its consistency more akin to paint, if a little too thick. Jack spread out the eyeliner more evenly, some messy splotches still remaining.They lowered their hand. A look to the left, a tilt to the right... Not bad. Made them seem... tougher."I like it..." they hummed to themselves. Charcoal and hair gel... save the recipe for next time. There wasn't a night rivaled by the canvas the Mojave sky had to offer. A day with no clouds, miserable, the sun beating down like infernal judgment. A common occurrence.But at night? No distractions in sight. Only the base of space black and the twinkling of stars as paint.Jack only needed to see this once, for it to be imprinted in their memory forever. There they lay, bedroll just a bit too small for them, staring at the sky above.The stars were their only company, after all. This was a journey embarked solely on their own. Not even their beloved pet could attend, for its own safety.Jack thought that being alone, untethered, was what every adult strived for. They'd read stories of adults moving out from their home nest, buying homes of their own... Making names for themselves, and finding who they were, deep inside.Yet Jack only felt more questions bubble inside. This trip wasn't the answer they so hoped. Not even finally being enrolled in the Express extinguished that ache within.Their head fell to the side, in hopes of rest being on the horizon. Dog tags jingled, shimmering by their face."J. V—" was the familiar title engraved on the metal of one tag. It was their name for as long as they remembered. The last name lost to the sands of time scratching it away.Yet it never felt like theirs. The set of dog tags, and jacket were bestowed upon them once they were of age, inherited by Jack's parent who fled to the vault.Said parent had long left this world, to bestow Jack their own life. The other parent- they only had a wisp of him existing. Not even a notion of him being alive today. Were they the last remaining branch of this legacy? To wither away in the claws of the desert?Warm trickled down Jack's cheeks. Thoughts spiraling out of control unleashed tears welling up in their eyes.They flopped over onto their other side. Anything to distract them. Curling tighter, the only comfort was the warmth of their sleeping bag.The desert was a lonely place. July, 2281
Big iron, with blood red hands
“Got ‘nother package for ya,” the man behind the counter greeted the scarlet poncho fluttering through the door.“Already?” the courier tipped up his hat.“Ya know ya got 100% customer satisfaction on your courier job, Reddy. Dunno why ya just don't do it full time!”The courier, Redmond, strode over to the counter. On it, was a gleaming chip. Platinum engraved with “Lucky 38”. Beside it was a contract. Hm. Usually the Express doesn't fool with contracts, instead just relying on honesty and a big iron.The note crinkled in bandaged hands.North Entrance of the Vegas Strip, through Freeside. An agent of the recipient at the checkpoint, and a trade of parcel and payment. Then a double back to Primm, to convene with Johnson Nash. 250 cap bonus.One oversized platinum poker chip.And a penalty- a threat, almost- guaranteeing the arrival of the chip. Failure may result in forfeiting the advance and bonus, criminal charges, and or… pursuit by mercenary reclamation teams. Mojave Express is not responsible for any injury or loss of life experienced as a result of these reclamation efforts.The final part just warranted a chuckle from Red. He was no stranger to merc work, so it hardly fazed him. “Guess this thing is important, whatever it is.”“Tell me about ‘bout it. 5 other couriers got the same contract ‘n somethin’ just as random. Whole random batch of folk, hired by Nash,” the worker rambled. “One guy got fuzzy dice, one of our veteran couriers. Then a guy with a mohawk a foot tall! One guy flaked ‘n you got called in his place.”Red's eyes went down to the signature portion. Just a “Courier 6” scrawled on the line. Peculiar. And 06 wasn’t a designation he heard in quite some time.Well, a job's a job. Rest of his July was about as empty as the Mojave, so this is about the best he could get.Red took the parcel, tucking it into a belt pouch. “See ya later, compadre.”“Don't lose your head out there!”The door creaked shut behind him. Sunlight beat down, casting a familiar shadow over his eyes. He approached his mode of transportation: a rebuilt old world motorbike. It was a monster of a machine, even centuries later. Helped with those longer trips. He appreciated a good hike, but sometimes, one just wants to cruise along.Red gave one last glance at his package. His reflection studied him back. Brown, scruffy beard, recently trimmed. His ponytail was getting a bit too long for ease, perhaps it was time to lop that off... Under the deep shadow of his sturdy cowboy hat, complex golden eyes glinted in the sleek silver sheen. What an odd little item...But the chip would be better off closer to him. Saddlebag space would instead be saved for rations and gear. A cursory check of the bags… Hm, a pit stop midway through would be in order, but there was no time limit placed on the delivery. Wouldn't be long before he hit Primm. The engine key turned, the fission battery buzzed to life, and Red kicked the stop back into position.A billowing dust left in his wake marked the beginning of his trek.The desert was a dangerous place.