Night settled over Zion Canyon and the Dead Horses took their rest; their hunters slinking back from their day of hard work, and those who guarded the camp during the day changing posts with the night watch. Protected by the towering stone walls, huddled by the campfire, the stranger to Zion took up her post by the freshly lit campfire; readying herself for another sleepless night. Across the flames was Joshua Graham, one leg pitched as a rest for his arm; allowing him to read his bible in peace.

Settling down beside the stranger who was clad in a strange dark suit with headgear hiding her face, Follows-Chalk held out a piece of Yaka Fruit; offering her a smile, "I don't know why you carry all those bottle caps, they jangle like crazy…"

She accepted the fruit, letting out a short breath of laughter, "they're currency where I'm from… You pay for things with them; like trading. You can also collect caps with little stars on the bottom to get some kind of treasure…"

Follows-Chalk quirked a brow, about to ask only for her to beat him to the punch; after digging through one of the pouches on her belt, she produced a bottle cap. Holding it out in her palm, Follows-Chalks eyed the cap, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the blue star in the bottom of the cap.

"Take it," she encouraged.

Follows-Chalk accepting it, tilting it to see the light hit the cap; studying the way it caught on the blue of the star. "Hard to think such a small thing could lead to treasure," he stated, holding it out for her, "you civilized people are something funny."

She shook her head, "keep it, I've got plenty already."

"So, what is your name? I understand you are Courier, but…?"

"That's my name," she dismissed, "Courier Six. It's not what I would have called me either, but, hey; it's my name."

"That's some kind of funny name," he smiled at her; receiving a simple shrug in response.

"So is Follows-Chalk, to me at least," she mused, "so, tell me your story. What's brought you to this moment?"

"My story?" He took a moment, turning his thoughts over in his head. "Not much to tell – I've lived here my whole life, I'm a scout for the Dead Horses, I'm excited to see the taboo areas with you…"

"Well, the taboo things are the most fun," Six remarked. "What about the future? What do you want to do?"

He smiled, the expression sheepish, picking at the Yaka Fruit in his hands, "I want to see the world…"

Six let out another breath of laughter. "I get that… When I was younger, I wanted to see the world too…" She took in a deep breath, "I left home at the first shot I got and never looked back – not that I had a lot to go back to at that point…" They lapsed into silence, the crackling of the flames accompanying the night's chorus of distant buzzing Cazadores and howling coyotes in a soft song to fill the silence.

Follows-Chalk cleared his throat, taking a bite of the fruit before stealing a glance at her. "What about your story? Tell me about you...?"

Six let out a long breath, tossing the fruit in her hand from one to the other; staring into the flames. "Well… That's a tale," she mused, "but if you've got the time… I've got enough Story to fill our whole Journey; from now until we part ways."

Follows-Chalk adjusted the way he was sitting so he was facing her more, taking another bite of his fruit; waiting for her to start.

Six laughed again, the sound rough and faint; taking a moment to think over her words. "Alright…"


War. War never changes.

When atomic fire consumed the earth, those who survived did so in great, underground vaults. When they opened, their inhabitants set out across ruins of the old world to build new societies, establish new villages, forming tribes.

As decades passed, what had been the American southwest united beneath the flag of the New California Republic, dedicated to old-world values of democracy and the rule of law. As the Republic grew, so did its needs. Scouts spread east, seeking territory and wealth, in the dry and merciless expanse of the Mojave Desert. They returned with tales of a city untouched by the warheads that had scorched the rest of the world, and a great wall spanning the Colorado River.

The NCR mobilized its army and sent it east to occupy the Hoover Dam and restore it to working condition. But across the Colorado, another society had arisen under a different flag. A vast army of slaves, forged from the conquest of 86 tribes: Caesar's Legion.

Four years have passed since the Republic held the Dam - just barely - against the Legion's onslaught. The Legion did not retreat. Across the river, it gathers strength. Campfires burned, training drums beat.

Through it all, the New Vegas Strip has stayed open for business under the control of its mysterious overseer, Mr House, and his army of rehabilitated Tribals and police robots.

I was a courier, hired by the Mojave Express, to deliver a package to the New Vegas Strip. What seemed like a simple delivery job had taken a turn…for the worse.

I can't tell you how long I'd been out for, all I remember was hearing a voice; rough, coerce and bitter, the kind of voice that belonged to a man who had a pension for jet and other similar drugs. His voice was distant, white noise like the howling wind of the Mojave, I don't know what he said; but whatever it was, the son of a bitch that hired him didn't like it much.

At the time, I didn't care; I was too distracted by the rope wrapped tightly around my wrists, doing what I could to wriggle lose but finding no luck.

"You're crying in the rain, pally," snapped their boss.

All my struggling must have caught the attention of one of the goons; one of them letting out a low, short cackle. "Guess who's waking up over here," he cooed.

I raised my head, a dull ache throbbing in my skull; catching sight of my captors. Before me was a man dressed in a suave checkered suit, carrying himself like a high roller straight off the Strip, with a Great Khan at either side; like Legion Mutts hanging around their trainer.

Their boss took a hit of his cigarette; letting out a long breath before dropping it to the ground and crushing it beneath his dress shoe. "Time to cash out," he stated; taking a few steps until he stood directly before me.

"Would you get it over with?" One of the Khans hissed only for his Boss to raise a hand; silencing him.

"Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but, I ain't a fink," he glanced over his shoulder as he slipped his hand beneath his blaze, "dig?" After digging through a concealed pocket he produced a large Casino Chip; more glamorous and well kept than anything you'd find in your regular casino. "You've made your last delivery, kid," he remarked before returning the chip to the internal pocket, "sorry you got twisted up in this scene…" In the chips place, he drew a pistol; sparing a moment to study the gun, "from where you're kneeling it must seem like an 18-carat run of bad luck. Truth is… the game was rigged from the start…" He took aim and fired.


"What?" Follows-Chalk spoke up, catching Six by surprise. "I do not think you could get shot in your head and live…"

Six tilted her head, "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Then you must be some kind of lucky," he mused.

"Yeah," she agreed, "some kind of lucky is one way to put it… The Casino's just say I'm a cheater..." She chuckled to herself. "From what I heard, a strange robot found me; my hand protruding from the soil, tucked away in a shallow grave. Through the night he dug through the dirt until he pulled me free. I was delivered to a local Doctor, a kindly old man by the name of Doc Mitchell..."


Coming to, my eyes fluttered open; the blinding light of morning clouding my vision, blurring my surrounding with a burning glow. Blinking, I cleared my vision until I could make out the ceiling fan and cracked wooden ceiling. I rushed to sit up, my vision spinning and blurring again as pain shot through my head and trickled down my spine; the old man by my bedside, quick to steady me, setting his hands on my shoulders. "Woah, woah; easy there, easy..." He soothed, "you've been out cold a couple of days now... Why don't you just relax for a second? Get your bearings..."

I took a moment, letting my surroundings seep in and vision to clear as the pain faded; being greeted by the warm safety of a well-maintained Doctors office. He took a moment, keeping an eye on me; waiting patiently to make sure I didn't pass out again. My head was throbbing, my perception off; making the world seem odd. "Let's see what the damage is," he stated, "what's your name? Can you tell me your name?"

I blinked, gritting against the pain; lifting my hand to my brow, finding rough thread sewn into my skin. I hissed at the pain, gently trying to trace the damage, "six..." I muttered.

Doc Mitchel let out a short, half-hearted breath of laughter, "can't say that's what I'd of picked for ya', but, if that's your name, then that's your name... I'm Doc Mitchell," he greeted, "welcome to Good Springs." He tilted his head, studying me; watching as I traced the scars of his surgery. "Now, I hope you don't mind, but I had to go rootin' around in your noggin' there to pull all the bits of lead out.. I take pride in my needlework, but, tell me if I left anything out of place." He reached down beside his chair, producing a broken mirror; handing it to me.

Studying the woman looking back in the reflection, I couldn't help but wince at the ugly mark left by the gunshot to the head; a nasty stitched up wound just above my brow. Mitchell had done a good job at replacing the bone, but there was no saving my eye. "Well, I got most of it right... Stuff that matters, anyway..."

I set aside the mirror, not sure what to think or do for a moment; locked behind a haze of, 'is this a nightmare?'. "No sense in keeping you in bed anymore," Mitchell stated, catching my attention, "let's see if we can get you on your feet..." He reached out, helping me out of the bed; catching me as I stumbled, my legs shaky and vision blurring again.

When I found my balance, he slowly let go; as he straightened up he rose to half a head taller than me. "Good," he praised, "why don't you walk down to the end of the room? Over by that Vigor testing machine there..."

Scanning the room I caught sight of the machine on the other side; steeling myself for the walk. Putting one foot in front of the other was hard, everything about the world offset without my other eye. Awkwardly stumbling to the machine, Doc Michelle following me all the way to make sure I didn't hurt myself, I made my way across the room; eager to use the machine to stabilize myself once there.


Courier Six trailed off, Follows-Chalk having long since laid down on the ground had finally dozed off. She let out a short breath of laughter, watching him. "Seems you have a knack for storytelling," Joshua remarked, startling Six, making her jump.

Glancing at the Burned Man across the dying campfire, Six simply shrugged, "I guess..." She dismissed, rising to her feet before melting into the darkness of the night; leaving Joshua by the campfire, his bible in hand, and Follows-Chalk asleep on the ground.