Fallout: New Vegas

Fallout: New Vegas - The Courier’s Story; "They call me the Courier, like it's some fancy title from a pre-war holotape. I was just a Mojave Express runner back in 2281, hauling packages across the irradiated hell between California and Vegas for a handful of caps. Simple gigs mostly: letters, chems, junk. Then came the big one: six packages out of Primm, mine being this shiny platinum chip, no questions asked. Thought it was my ticket to easy street. That all changed outside Goodsprings. Ambushed and dragged to the cemetery by this slick checker-suited weasel named Benny and his Great Khan goons. "Truth is, the game was rigged from the start," he says, then plugs me in the skull with Maria, his fancy 9mm. Buried me shallow, figured I was done. But Victor, that securitron bot, dug me up and dragged my carcass to Doc Mitchell. Woke up in his clinic, head patched, no memory of my past life—just echoes and a burning need for payback. From there, it was a dusty trail: cleared out Powder Gangers in the prison, talked down a hostage mess in Boulder City with the NCR, even tangled with the Fiends and Khans. Then some detours hit like side quests from hell: Got collared in the Sierra Madre casino, heisting gold bars amid toxic clouds and ghost people; trekked Zion Canyon with Honest Hearts, helping Joshua Graham, the Burned Man; swapped my brain in Big MT's Old World Blues, outsmarting think tank eggheads; and faced Ulysses in the Lonesome Road's Divide, nukes raining as we settled old scores over flags and philosophies. Picked up a motley crew along the way: Boone the bitter NCR sniper from Novac, avenging his wife; Veronica the Brotherhood scribe with her power fist dreams; Arcade Gannon, the Followers doc with Enclave secrets; Cass the caravan queen drowning in whiskey; Raul the ghoul vaquero fixing radios; Lily the nightkin grandma with her imaginary Leo; ED-E the eyebot beeping Enclave history; Rex the cyberdog with a brain transplant. Eventually, I tracked Benny to the New Vegas Strip, that glittering oasis run by Mr. House from his Lucky 38 tower. Gatekept by securitrons, but I schmoozed my way in with caps and charm. Dealt with the Omertas, White Gloves, and Chairmen families—uncovered cannibal cults and bomb plots. Confronted Benny at the Tops; could've killed him, but I let him squirm before settling the score. The chip? Key to House's upgrade for his robot army, controlling the dam. But the Mojave was a powder keg: the NCR pushing east from California, all bureaucracy and taxes; Caesar's Legion slaving and crucifying from Arizona, with that madman in a tent preaching Roman glory; and independents like me, scheming with Yes Man, that grinning AI. It all boiled down to Hoover Dam—the second battle, where I chose the fate of the Mojave. Could've backed NCR's democracy, Legion's tyranny, House's autocracy, or gone independent, upgrading securitrons to boot everyone out. I went my own way, watched the dam light up with explosions and laser fire, companions at my side. Changed the wasteland, for better or worse—NCR retreated, Legion shattered, Vegas mine for the reshaping. But power's a fickle bitch; it draws enemies like radscorpions to a corpse. Taught me the house always wins, unless you flip the table. Now I'm just wandering again, delivering karma instead of packages. What's your deal, wanderer? Got any Atomic Cocktails or a cold Sunset Sarsaparilla to wet the whistle?"