New Vegas: Sheason's Story

Welcome back to the Mr. New Vegas Show. Got some news for you this afternoon. Travelers are still advised to stay away from the stretch of the Long 15 between Goodsprings and South Vegas. According to reports from Sloan, there is still a heavy deathclaw presence in the area. In other news, the town of Bonnie Springs has gone silent. Traders from the small town haven't been seen in several weeks, and it's believed to have been wiped out by raiders. This, however, remains unconfirmed. The news this hour has been brought to you by the Vikki and Vance Casino: be our partners in crime. Coming up next is a classic from the Slim Gaillard Quartette, so pull up a glass and I'll pour you that "Atomic Cocktail."

When I pulled the Corvega to a stop in front of "The Kings School of Impersonation," there was only one thought running through my mind as I stared at the giant neon sign, with the outlines of a guitar and the moving neon silhouette of a man dancing and swaying his hips:

"Man. Someone sure likes the color pink." And it was true. The sign, the dancing man silhouette, everything except the guitar was lit up with a bright neon pink. It really stood in stark contrast with the squat, four-story brick building, and the tough guys in jeans, leather jackets and greased up hair gathered all around the outside.

As the four of us got out of the car, I heard a couple of the Kings whistle, and yell out stuff like "Hey hey, lookin' good red!" Cass just let out a huge groan and rubbed her temple.

"I swear," Cass looked about ready to go for her shotgun. "Next fucker t'whistle at me's gettin my boot up 'is ass!"

"Didn't you say you thought it was cute, like, half an hour ago?" Veronica asked, giving ED-E a pat as the flying metal ball hovered down close to the car.

"Well, yeah, I thought t'was funny th' first time, but ev'ry one'a those assholes've been catcallin' me. Now, it's just gettin' old."

The four of us walked inside, and I couldn't help but notice all the posters hanging on the walls. Most of them were cracked and faded, but I could make out a few details. For one thing, they all seemed to center around the same man. I read the titles on a few: "King Creole," "Jailhouse Rock," "G.I. Blues," "Viva Las Vegas," and "Flaming Star" were the most legible, but there were others that I just couldn't read. And then I realized – all the Kings were wearing outfits that looked like they'd been copied straight from the posters.

In the center of the room was a dirty counter, and behind it was a glass case hanging off the wall. Inside the case was, quite possibly, the tackiest outfit I've ever seen. It was a white jumpsuit with a massive popped collar, covered in rhinestones, with tassels on the arms and legs, and a white cape with a red lining draped over one of the shoulders. Right above the outfit in the case was a pair of massive mirrored shades.

To the left of the counter was a door. Leaning on the wall next to it was a heavyset guy with greasy black hair, his arms folded across his chest chewing on a toothpick. He was wearing a pair of black pants, a black jacket with the numbers 6240 stenciled over the left pocket, and a black and white striped shirt underneath. It made him look like the character from the "Jailhouse Rock" poster... only a bit fatter. When we walked in the room, he looked up questioningly, and removed the toothpick from his mouth.

"Well, what do we have here?" He didn't sound like he was from around here - he spoke with an odd sort of slow drawl I'd only ever heard in Old World holotapes. "Another petitioner for the King?" I nodded.

"I suppose you could say that. I'm just here to see him."

"Is that right?" He looked from me to Cass, to Arcade, to Veronica, and back to me again. "I suppose it might be possible for you to meet him. How much is it worth to you to meet the big man?"

"How much?" Veronica spoke up. "What for? He got-" I held my hand up to stop Veronica. I knew what this guy's game was.

"I'm new in town," I told him. "I just wanted to meet The King, and pay my respects." The heavyset guy looked at me with a raised eyebrow, and then chuckled.

"You know what? I like you. Half the people around here, they forget who runs this place." He reached behind him, and opened the door. "Head on through, the door at the end of the hallway's the theater. The King's the bored-looking guy by the stage. Can't fuckin' miss him."

As we all walked down the hallway, Cass slid up beside me and grabbed a hold of my shoulder.

"How th' fuck d'you do that?" she asked. I just sort of stopped and blinked at her for a few seconds.

"Do what?"

"How'd y'know what t'say? One minute, he's bein' all pissy, next minute he's fuckin' lickin' yer boots." I shrugged.

"You've never had to deal with gangs before, have you?" I asked her.

"Raider gangs, mostly. Why? What's that got t'do with anythin'?"

"I've run some delivery jobs for at least half a dozen gangs in the past, and the one thing I've noticed about all of them is they want respect more than anything else. More than caps, more than sex, more than violence – even raider gangs want respect, in their own twisted way. Show a gang respect, they're much more willing to work with you."

The door at the end of the hallway opened up onto a surprisingly large theater. On the stage at the far end of the room was one of the Kings, microphone in hand. He was standing in the middle of several colored spotlights and shaking his hips just like the neon signs on the front of the building. I could barely hear some instrumental music playing over the rusty speakers on either end of the stage, and it sounded like he was singing some old world song to go along with the music.

All around the room were tables and chairs, like the sort you'd find in a cocktail lounge. For some reason, I immediately thought of the Shark Club in New Reno. Every single table was empty, except for one table near the stage that only had one occupant. He was sitting with his back to me, scratching the ear of the German Shepherd curled up next to him. I couldn't see his face, but I could see that he had fairly dark hair, a cream colored jacket, and black slacks.

"Excuse me. Are you the King?" I asked when I finally got close to him. He turned in his chair, and I did a double take. He was the spitting image of the man in those posters I'd seen. Literally, his face was exactly the same – it was uncanny.

"Look Rexie," the King said in that same old world drawl. "Someone new's come to see us. Poor boy. He hasn't been feeling well lately." He gave his dog a scratch behind the ears, and I suddenly realized that the dog's brain was visible from behind a glass dome, and quite a bit of the dog was replaced with metal. He turned back to me, shook my hand, and gestured at one of the chairs. "Yeah, I'm the King. Have a seat. Danny up there's just finishing 'Hard Headed Woman.' What can I do for you?"

"Well, I'm not really sure," I said, pulling up a chair. "I'm Sheason Fisher. I was just going to get lunch with my friends here, when a couple Kings came up, said you wanted to see me."

"Did I?" He cocked an eyebrow and looked confused for a minute. "I don't recall asking for a Sheason."

"Well, they were looking for The Courier," I shrugged. "And I suppose if that's what people are calling me now, I guess I'll have to live with it." The King looked back at me with a sudden dawning comprehension.

"Ah, so you're The Courier. I've heard about you. You do look like you can handle yourself, just like people have been saying. I have to admit though, I was expecting someone a bit… taller." Immediately, I thought of my rather unpleasant meeting with Caesar.

"Yeah, I've been getting that a lot." I scratched the back of my head, which had suddenly started aching at the memory of Vulpes whacking me in the back of the skull. "So, why'd you want to see me?"

"I got a job for you," he said, leaning back in his chair, giving me a good view of his light blue collared shirt with the top three buttons unbuttoned. "But first, I have to see if you're as dependable as people are saying. Interested?"

"I'm listening," I said. I still needed a good distraction from all the harrowing putting-my-ass-on-the-line for House, and this might just fit the bill.

"I'll start you off with something easy. If you're as good as they're saying, this should be a walk in the park," I looked back at my friends; while The King and I were talking, they'd all sat down and started watching the show. "Did you notice the bodyguards for hire near the gates when you entered Freeside?" I thought for a minute, and then shook my head.

"No, I must've missed them. Then again, I did roll into town in my Corvega, so that's probably not surprising, I guess." The King chuckled.

"It's good money if you can stay alive long enough. Freeside's not nearly as safe as it used to be, especially these last few months, so the money is well earned. Well… usually well earned, that is." He leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table, and laced his fingers together. "Recently my men have been telling me about one of these bodyguards – a man by the name of Orris – is making a little too much money."

"How much is too much?" I asked. I was trying to figure out why The King had a problem with this guy. So he was making some money? Good on him. So what?

"Too much," he said simply. "He's making a killing in repeat business. Once someone hires him, they never want anyone else. I want you to find out why," he said, pointing at me for emphasis. "Specifically, I want you to hire him. Play the part of an innocent tourist and follow his lead. If nothing happens, so be it. But I'm guessing things won't go smoothly. Call it a hunch."

"Why are you so interested in this?"

"Some of those guards out there are Kings. I'm just looking out for my men. Don't get me wrong – I'm not trying to get some kind of unfair advantage. I just want a level playing field for my boys." It was a noble enough sentiment, and… strangely enough, believable. Something about the way this man carried himself, something about how he spoke, I could tell – he was actually being honest.

"So, what's so special about me then, that you ask for me to handle this?"

"It's like I said before, I got another job for you – a real job – but only once I find out if there's anything to the stories about you. This is just a warm up. Besides, I can't send my boys to look into this. I've tried, but he can smell a King a mile away. Probably knows all our faces by now. He's not stupid, I'll give him that. So that's why I need someone he won't recognize, and that makes you damn near perfect. So, what do you say?"

"Could be a laugh," I smirked. "Yeah, sure. Where can I find this guy?"

"The last I heard from my men, he's up by the North gate to Freeside, over by Genaro's Diner. Oh, and here," From underneath his chair, he pulled out a bag of bottlecaps – easily 200 or so. "That should cover the cost of hiring him."

"Alright then," I took the bottlecaps and got up. "This shouldn't take too long. I'll tell you what's up when I get back." The King just nodded, and leaned back in his chair again.

"Thank you, thank you very much."

"Alright, run this by me again?" Arcade asked as we all made our way back to the car.

"The King wants me to find out why this guy Orris is making so much money. To do that, I need to look like a 'helpless tourist," I made finger quotes in the air. "So, I'm letting you guys have the car for the afternoon."

"Y'sure?" Cass asked, twirling the keys around her finger, and smirked at me. "I mean, y'remember what happened last time y'thought you could handle yerself. I wouldn't blame you if ya didn't, ya did get hit in th' head pretty hard."

"Not to mention you lost a lot of blood," Veronica added helpfully.

"Broke a couple limbs…" Cass added, nudging Veronica in the ribs.

"Had your organs melted by radiation…" Veronica smiled back at her.

"Not to mention you made us waste a couple of days, waiting for you to get better." Arcade folded his arms across his chest and nodded. "Personally, I don't want to waste another half a week waiting for you to get mended if you decide to get banged up again."

"Yes, yes, very funny," I scowled at everyone except ED-E. "Are you all quite finished?"

"I think I got a couple more," Veronica smirked, and drummed her fingers on the Corvega's roof.

"Look, I'll be fine. The worst I'll have to deal with here in Freeside is some idiot trying to mug me. It won't be like trying to sneak into the most heavily defended slaver stronghold in the wasteland. So take the car, don't wreck it, enjoy yourselves for the afternoon, and we'll all meet up back at the 38 close to sundown. Alright?"

"Sounds like a plan," Cass patted the hood a couple times and got in the driver seat. "See ya t'night then!" Veronica got in the passenger seat, and, predictably, Arcade got in the back. As they drove off, ED-E hovered beside me, emitting a soft mechanical whir.

"So, what do you say little buddy?" I turned to the floating eyebot, and he swiveled in the air so his speaker grille faced me. "Think you can be my guardian angel eye in the sky for a few hours?"

ED-E responded by letting out a burst of triumphant marching music, and zooming off into the sky directly above my head.

Freeside's North gate was maybe two or three blocks away from the Old Mormon Fort. On the East side of Las Vegas Boulevard was a diner that looked like it might have been a train car if not for the lack of wheels, the fact that every window was broken, and the sign on the top that said "Genaro's Diner" in mismatched neon lights. On the opposite side of the street was a building with an awning that looked like it had been sewn out of whatever cloth the residents could find, and a sign that read "BODYGUARDS 4 HIRE."

There were a fair amount of people on the street, but not enough that I really needed to push my way through. Eventually, I came to a stop under the awning, where about half a dozen tough-looking guys were gathered around a table, playing caravan, presumably. It didn't look like any of them were Kings, but I did hear some old world music coming from inside the building. Most of them didn't even look up from their game when I walked toward them.

"Hey, do any of you know where I can find Orris?" I asked. Most of them groaned, and I heard one of them say "Oh, God damnit," under his breath. A man with shaggy black hair, a messy goatee, slightly sunburned skin, and metal armor set his cards facedown on the table, and stepped up.

"Guess we'll have to finish this game some other time, boys. Sounds like someone else has heard about how awesome I am." The guy with the ammo bandolier who was sitting next to him just scoffed and shook his head.

"You know man, this is getting too convenient. Why do they always come 'round askin' for you right when yer about to lose?"

"Hey, it's not my fault my excellent skills are in such high demand," Orris said, brushing some dirt off his shoulder and finally turning to face me. "Hey there. I'm Orris. If you're looking to cross Freeside, no one will keep you safer than I will."

"Yeah, I heard you were pretty good. But why do I need a bodyguard crossing Freeside?" I didn't want to seem too eager. Besides, I was kind of interested in his sales pitch. So far, I wasn't really impressed.

"Just look around man. People here in Freeside? They're as likely to stab you as say hello," he cocked his head to the side, and looked as his nails, presumably in an attempt to look nonchalant. "That is, if I weren't at your side." He looked down, and I saw his eyes lock onto my Pip Boy. "Oh, so you're a Vault dweller, eh? You don't look like you're from Vault 21."

"Nah, I'm from out of town. Vault 13," I said, thinking quickly. Honestly, I didn't know anything about that Vault, except that it was one of the two Vault's close to Shady Sands. I figured it was as good a story as any. "I heard about Vegas, so I decided to hitch a ride and come see what's what. So, how much is it to hire you?"

"Two hundred caps get you my watchful eye for a trip down to the south gate," he said with well practiced precision.

"South gate? What, you mean the Strip?" I asked. "What if that's not where I want to go?" He just rolled his eyes.

"Sorry pal, but all the people with any real money head for the Strip, so that's the way I go. You want to go somewhere else, hire one of these losers," he jabbed a thumb behind him, and I heard the group still playing cards grumble and moan. Obviously, they'd heard that line one too many times before.

"Fair enough, I guess," I nodded, and reached into my jacket, pulling out the bag of 200 caps. I paused to make it look like I was counting them out before handing him the bottlecaps. He took it without question and put it in a compartment on the left thigh of his metal armor.

"Done and done," Orris said, slapping me on the back and maneuvering me away from the card game. As we walked, he seemed to drop the genial demeanor and get slightly serious. "I want to mention a few things up front. In order to ensure your safety, I need you to follow my instructions to the letter. We'll be heading down the main street here the whole way down. No detours. You go off sightseeing and I go off to find another customer. I keep a brisk pace, so try not to fall behind. Understand the rules?"

"Oh yes, absolutely," I did my best to sound genuine, but something fishy was going on, I could tell. Best to play along, see where this leads.

"Good. Then let's head out."

Brisk pace my ass.

When we finally got going, I damn near jogged right past him. It looked like he was running as fast as he could, and I really had to slow myself up just so he didn't get suspicious. From the look of it, the reason he was running so slow was the armor he was wearing. If you've never seen the kind of metal armor people wear in the wasteland, the most important thing is this: nine times out of ten, it's made out of bits of rusted old motorcycles. That's… all that needs to be said, really.

Personally, I've never really liked wearing too much armor. I know that may seem crazy, since I've always seemed to run into some kind of dangerous situation in the wasteland, but I have method to my madness. Sure, if you wear armor, you're less likely to get injured if somebody shoots you, but the tradeoff is the weight makes you heavier, and a lot slower. I'd much rather be able to run from a fight that's gone tits up than be forced to stay and slug it out.

So he was jogging along at only slightly faster than walking pace, and I was doing my best not to laugh when he started talking about some of the sights. Going on about how you can get patched up at the Old Mormon Fort, oh but he's never needed their services. Nope, no sir. Or how Fremont street is the fun part of town, and how "you haven't seen Freeside till you've been to the Wrangler."

I started to think that the King was worried for nothing – maybe some of the more naïve people visiting Vegas were actually taken in by his boasting as self-congratulation, and that's why he was getting so much repeat business.

And that's when he came to a stop in the middle of the street.

"What's going on? What's the problem?" I asked. I looked around – we were close to Buck's Steak House, and pretty close to the gate to The Strip. He drew his pistol – a practically pristine hunting revolver, complete with a ridiculously oversized scope mounted on the top.

"I don't like the look of some of those men ahead," he motioned at a group of four men in the crowd ahead of us. Unlike everyone else, they were standing still, and not even hiding the fact that they were staring right at us. "Let's take a different way around."

Without even waiting for me to respond, he took off and ran to his left down a side street. This time I really did have to run to keep up. He turned a corner, kept running, and before I could catch up to him completely, I heard him fire off three shots. When I finally got close to him, he was blowing smoke away from the barrel of his revolver.

"Thought you could ambush the great and powerful Orris, did you?" he said as he holstered his pistol and turned to face me. He seemed a little surprised that I wasn't further back, but very quickly regained his composure and smirked cockily at me. "Nothing to worry about. If you had hired one of those other hacks, you'd be up to your ass in lowlife right now!"

I looked past him to see what he had been shooting at: lying on the ground and clustered around the rusted hulk of an abandoned car were the four men that he'd been trying to avoid before. It didn't take a genius to realize what was wrong about this situation.

"So three shots take out four bad guys, does it?" I asked with a smirk. Orris blanched and his smile faded momentarily.

"Er… noticed that, did you?" He cleared his throat. "I… keenly aimed one of the shots through some soft tissue of one of them to hit the man behind him. I'm just that good."

The two of us were standing a good ten, fifteen feet away from the four "bodies," and even from this distance I could make out the rise and fall of their chests as they continued to breathe.

"Or it could be that you just set up this whole thing to drum up repeat business. That seems a lot more likely, don't you think?" Orris just scowled from underneath his bushy eyebrows.

"That's an interesting theory you've got there," he said, putting a little emphasis on the word. "But you don't have any proof, so I'd suggest you keep it to yourself. Now, let's get moving." He turned and started walking away from me, but I just stood still.

"You know," I said loud enough for him to hear before he got too far. "I could probably make it to the Kings from here." He stopped dead in his tracks. "I'm sure The King would be very interested in hearing about this…" He turned around and stormed up towards me.

"I ought to take my chances and kill you right here -" is all he managed to say. Before he could go any further, I reached behind me and drew That Gun before he could go for his own revolver and pointed it at his forehead.

"You were saying?"

"Ok, so you figured it out. Good for you. But you're still gonna have a hard time running to The King when my boys and I break your legs." He did his best to sound tough, but I could tell he was straining to keep his voice from wavering. I just continued to smile at him, and nodded once. In a flash I pulled out Roscoe with my free hand and fired off a shot behind him before he could react. I'll admit, what happened next was rather amusing.

"FUCK!" I heard one of the men lying on the ground shout. He was probably the one I'd aimed closest to. I didn't want to kill them; I just wanted to scare them a bit. "Man, fuck this! You ain't payin' us enough for this shit!" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the four thugs get up and start running away. Orris didn't look behind him, but I saw one of his eyes twitch.

"So… what now?" he asked. "Are… are you gonna kill me?"

"Only if I have to," I said calmly, still keeping That Gun pointed between his eyes. "I'll probably feel like shit about it for, oh, hours, at least, being forced to kill a man with blanks in his gun." His eye twitched again. "But I'll tell you what. I feel sorry for you, so I'm gonna let you go. My suggestion is that you get out of town though. I'm pretty sure The King isn't gonna be happy if you stay." He just nodded, but stayed still. "Well, go on, get out of here."

I put That Gun away, but kept Roscoe drawn, just in case he tried anything. He didn't. I was actually quite pleased with myself – not only had I not gotten injured, but I was able to defuse the whole situation without actually killing anybody! I watched him as he just started running off down the street like a scared puppy with his tail between his legs.

He didn't get far.

Before I knew what was happening, I heard a boom in the air like some kind of old world explosion, and a beam of bright blue light lanced through the air from the roof of a nearby building. It sheared him clean in half. Instinct took over. I steadied Roscoe with my other hand and started scanning the rooftops, eyes down the pistol's sights, trying to see where the shot had come from.

I heard a burst of triumphant marching music from behind me, and felt a gust of wind as ED-E zoomed perilously close to my head. He was swiveling around, like he was looking for the shooter as well. There was a glint of metal above me, on the roof of one of the buildings on the right side of the street. I pointed Roscoe at the flash, but when I saw what was up there, I hesitated.

Standing on the roof of the building and carrying a large kind of rifle I'd never seen before was a figure clad all in black. It looked like it might have been human, but I couldn't tell. In fact, I couldn't make out any details about the figure or the gun he or she or it was carrying. The only thing I could make out were three yellow circles of light where its eyes should've been. The figure clad in black just stood there with its weapon lowered, staring at me.

"What the fuck?" I said aloud. The figure merely lifted a hand away from the rifle, and placed a finger where its mouth should've been. The air around the figure shimmered with a blue crackle, and promptly disappeared. Who or whatever had just blown Orris in half must have been using a Stealth Boy.

A deathly silence fell over the alley. The only noise came from ED-E, who let out a series of mechanical beeps that made it seem like he was just as confused as me. A minute passed, and nothing happened. Finally, I moved from the spot where I'd felt rooted to the ground, and put Roscoe back in its holster. Slowly, cautiously, I made my way to where Orris' body lay in pieces.

His upper half was a good ten feet away from where his legs had fallen. His left hand and his right arm below the elbow were completely gone. There was a large blackened hole on the street between his torso and his legs; it was easily six or seven inches deep. There wasn't any blood – it looked like whatever blew him apart had cauterized the wound and completely fused the meat and bone together.

The only kind of guns I could think of that fuse wounds like this were energy weapons, like laser rifles and plasma rifles, but… the level of power required to do something like this was completely unheard of. I'd certainly never encountered anything that could've done this, and I'd never heard of any energy weapons hitting people with enough force to blow them apart like this.

I just sort of stared at the body for a minute. ED-E beeped next to me, and I just sighed.

"When the fuck did my life get so weird?"