New Vegas: Sheason's Story

The hour is late, and the road is long, but that's okay. As long as you keep your dial tuned into the sweet sounds on Radio New Vegas, I promise... everything will be all right. You're listening to the Mr. New Vegas show, and I'm your host, Mr. New Vegas. Got some Dean Martin coming up later on in the program, but right now it's time for a little western twang. It's Hank Thompson, singing about his "Hangover Heart."

It was pretty late - or was it early? - when I got back to the suite at the Lucky 38.

The elevator doors opened to the suite, and I realized all the lights were still on. Part of me wanted to get to sleep, but I thought it best to check around - just to make sure Veronica and Arcade hadn't started destroying things again when they got back. I checked the kitchen first: everything was still where it was supposed to be, cleaned up from earlier. Well, that was good.

When I went into the common room, I was surprised to discover that Cass was still there... sort of. She was completely passed out, slumped in one of the easy chairs. Her hat and jacket were discarded somewhere, as were her boots. In her left hand, she was still drunkenly clutching an empty whiskey bottle to match the others scattered around the room. Her head was tilted back, propped up only by the back of the chair, and every so often she would let out a distinctly loud snore. There were half a dozen pool balls and two cues lying on the pool table, and the dart board was full of 5 different sets of darts.

In my head, I debated what I should do. Should I find a blanket, turn off the lights, and let her sleep here? Or should I risk waking her up by trying to carry her to her room, so her back didn't kill her in the morning? I was just about to leave to find a blanket when I was interrupted by Cass waking up with a snort.

"Snxxk- whu-huh? Wussat? Whos 'ere?" She wearily blinked her eyes, and dropped the whiskey bottle on the floor. She picked herself up and sat up in the chair, rubbing her face.

"Hey Cass," I said, a bit sheepishly. "Didn't mean to wake you up. Sorry 'bout that."

"Nnf," she grunted, getting up off the chair. "Sheas'n. W'time issit?" She rubbed her face again.

"About 3 am," I said, looking at the clock in the corner of the Pip Boy. Cass shook her head and blinked, determined to wake herself up and shake away her grogginess.

"Well, c'mon," she said, a bit more coherently than before. "Y'find any 'evidence' yet? M'not gonna wait f'rever, y'know." I nodded, slowly.

"I have. And you were right - the Crimson Caravan and the Van Graff's are the ones responsible. I'm sorry for doubting you." I stated as plainly as I could. "But this is bigger -" Cass cut me off before I could finish.

"Well, c'mon! What're we waitin' fer?" Cass started walking past me, but I caught her shoulder before she could walk out of the room.

"Hang on," She shrugged off my grip, but stayed still. Well... relatively still; she was wobbling in place quite a lot. "You're not seriously suggesting we go now?"

"Course I am!" Cass started getting in my face. Her breath was so pungent with the aroma of whiskey, I felt like I was getting contact drunk from the fumes. "Can ye conjure up a terribly compellin' reason not to?"

"I can give a couple. For one thing, you're way too tired and way too drunk to go after the ruthless bastards I saw tonight!" I looked down, and pointed at her legs. "I mean, look at you - you can barely stand!" It was true. Her legs looked remarkably unstable, swaying back and forth. It looked like she was exerting a considerable effort just to stand up straight. She just scowled back at me. "For another, I didn't just get evidence that they're responsible, and I want to go over it with you before we do anything. The two of us go off half-cocked, like I did back at the Fort, and we're both gonna get fucked. Besides, I'm exhausted, and I'm not gonna let you go there without me. We both need sleep, and these assholes can wait."

"They c'n wait, but I can't!" Cass was really getting in my face now. "We know who's responsible, an' I want blood! You tryin' t'stop me jus' ain't fair, y'fuck!"

The next thing I knew, there was a fist hurtling through the air towards my face. It felt like time slowed down just long enough for me to get out of the way. I leaned backwards just in time, and I was hit in the face with the wind displaced by her fist - which only missed me by centimeters.

"Cass, wait-" I was cut off again by her other fist coming towards me. I brought up the arm with my Pip Boy and bent my knee, getting me out of the way and allowing me to use my arm to push her fist away from me at the same time. I twisted around, and brought the arm with the Pip Boy down, grabbing her by the wrist.

"Sonuva -" Cass started to take another swing at me with her free hand, but with me holding onto her other arm, she couldn't help but telegraph her movements. She didn't even get her fist halfway before I grabbed it, and pulled her arm away from me. Both her arms were now crossed over her chest; she looked around, realizing her predicament. She started struggling and straining against my grip, but I held firm - because I still had a point to prove.

"Fuck you, man!" Cass growled through gritted teeth. "That caravan was th' only family I had left! I just wanna do right by th' dead! Why're you... why..." She trailed off, words failing her. There was a faint moisture at the corners of her eyes, like she was on the verge of tears, but holding it back almost completely. She was still struggling against my grip, but I could tell she was struggling just as hard to simply keep her balance - which was probably the only reason she hadn't tried to knee me in the crotch.

"I'm not trying to stop you getting revenge! But going right now would be suicide!" I said as forcefully as I could without yelling. "Cass, if you go up against them now... I mean, look, if I could subdue you this easily, you wouldn't stand a chance against half a dozen plasma rifles shooting at you. What good are you gonna be to those who got killed if you die in the process of trying to avenge them? I mean... my life ain't worth much, but you... If you die, then I -"

Cass didn't cut me off this time. I stopped myself. I didn't really know what I was going to say... or did I? It was really late (or was it early?) and I think my mind was fucking with me. All the more reason for the two of us to get some rest before getting to work. She was looking up at me, with half-lidded eyes that looked simultaneously exhausted and confused. I shook it off, sighed, and continued.

"I just want us to do this smart. I want the two of us to pull off your revenge and come out the other side alive."

"Sheason... I..." her eyelids started to sag, and I felt a shock run up her body as her knees buckled. "Oh, fuck." Her eyes rolled back in her head, and her whole body just became dead weight. I let go of her wrists, and wrapped my arms around her waist as quick as I could to keep her from falling. As soon as I let go, she reached out and clutched at my shoulder with one of her hands, desperately trying to steady herself. "Arrigh'... mebbe ah do need s'me sleep..."

"Damn right you do. Now, c'mon y'silly girl," I shifted my grip, holding her in the middle of her back and grabbing her behind her knees, picking her up. "We'll talk in the mornin', alright?" She shifted the arm that was clutching my shoulder, and draped it around my neck. The other arm fell limp at her side, and her head lolled around, eventually coming to rest against me.

"Arrigh', fuggit, Ah give, y'win," Cass mumbled into my chest. A short while later, I carried her into her room, laying her on her bed as gently as I could. I tried to remove her arm from around my neck, but I could feel her hand start to grip at the hair on the back of my head. She turned her head towards me, and half-opened her eyes.

"Cass?" I asked, unsure of what was going on. "What are you..." As I spoke, her hand ran down the side of my head, and her fingertips started slowly tracing the bullet scar on my cheek. She lifted her head a little towards me, closed her eyes, and parted her lips... and then both her hand and head fell back, and she started snoring loudly.

I just walked out of the room and shook my head. Yup. Time for sleep. My mind must be playing tricks on me again.

Cass didn't wake up until around 10:30 or so. I'd only slept for a few hours, and had been busy the whole time I was awake. By the time she entered the kitchen, all bleary-eyed and such, I had everything I'd been working on spread out across the dining table. She was wearing the same thing as last night; the only difference was her hair, which she usually kept tied back, was hanging loose and sticking out everywhere.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," I said jokingly. She gave me the finger, and walked past me straight towards the coffee machine. I'm pretty sure that "coffee," as it was before the war, doesn't exist anymore. I've never seen any coffee beans, that much I know for sure. But there is a recipe to make a cup of "piping hot brown" using boiled water, some coyote tobacco, and honey mesquite. It's bitter as the universe, but keeps you awake and alert... if a little jittery for awhile.

"You doin' alright?" I asked, after she'd finished making herself a cup. She took a sip of her coffee, and nodded slowly.

"Yeah, m'fine... Sorry fer goin' off on y'last night." She then knocked back half the cup, and her eyes snapped open. "Gah! Damn. But, yeah... I know yer tryin' to help, but I was jus' pissed off. Sorry fer takin' a swing at ye. Didn't really mean it."

"Don't worry about it," I waved it off, gathering together a couple of the papers in front of me. "Here, let's get to work."

"Alright," Cass set down her cup on the edge of the table. "So, what is all this, anyway?"

"Well these," I said, handing her the agreements, and Alice McLafferty's letter to Gloria. "prove that the Crimson Caravan and the Van Graff's have been targeting caravans around the wasteland - including yours." Cass looked over the documents I handed her, and started slowly shaking her head.

"No shit... there t'is. Th' blood, th' motive, all clear's day. Fuck, they must've penned these with snake venom."

"No arguments there," I said. "But this isn't just about a couple of caravans getting burned in the Mojave. This is a lot bigger than that." Cass raised an eyebrow and looked at me questioningly.

"What're ye talkin' about?" I pointed at a few more of the agreements.

"Take a closer look at some of these. A lot of the caravans targeted have their hearts back west. Hell, your caravan isn't from here, and the Happy Trails caravan is based out of Sac-Town. Then there's this." I handed her a holotape. "That right there is a series of weapon schematics that I stole from Mclafferty's safe. Based on the file's authors, they stole it from the Gun Runners first," I tapped the side of my Pip Boy. "And on here, I downloaded some files and at least one email that indicates the Van Graffs and Crimson Caravan are trying to drive the Gun Runners out of business - not just here, but back in the rest of the NCR as well. We kill Alice and Gloria, and the real people in charge of their organizations back in the NCR will just keep butchering people to make a profit."

"Alright, so... they're fuckin' around with people all over. An' this damns 'em, but only if someone listens."

"Exactly," I said with a nod. "Is there anyone you trust to get this back to the right people in the NCR?" Cass scratched the back of her head.

"Well... Jackson in th' Mojave Outpost could prob'ly get it to folks in th' west." She shrugged.

"Wait, Jackson? Ranger Jackson, the guy you said was a washed-out old fuckup? You trust him?"

"Well, I wouldn't trust anyone closer to th' Colorado," Cass chuckled once grimly. "But yer right. Crimson Caravan an' th' Van Graff's have their heart back west. Not sure it'll do any good, though."

"May do. Might not. We have to try, at least. But that's not the only card I have to play, and I'm not done rigging the odds just yet," I said with a smirk. I pulled some large printouts from the end of the table and slid it towards her. She leaned over it with a furrowed brow.

"Th' fuck am I lookin' at?" She asked.

"Funny thing about my Pip Boy... One of the features it has is a map making utility. What you're looking at are maps of the interior layouts for the Crimson Caravan camp and the Silver Rush."

We didn't get to the Mojave Outpost until a little after noon. We probably would've gotten there sooner if we'd been able to use the I-15, but as far as I knew Sloan was still overrun with deathclaws... so we took the long way around. Out of a sense of morbid curiosity, I actually checked my Pip Boy's map, and realized the path from the Lucky 38 to the Mojave Outpost taking the long way was almost 92 miles long.

"Goddamn," Cass took a swig from her flask when the giant scrap-metal monument came into view. "I thought I was done with this fuckin' place."

"Don't worry, we won't be here long," I said.

Ranger Jackson was in an office at the back of one of the squat buildings in the Mojave Outpost. Like other NCR rangers, he was wearing a brown Stetson and a pair of mirrored shades... but I really had to keep myself from laughing when I walked into his office, if I'm honest. That Fu-Manchu mustache on his face made him look like an idiot. He was leaning back in his chair, and had his boots propped up on his desk.

"Looks like we got a new visitor in the ol' brahmin pen," Jackson took his feet off his desk and motioned for me to take a seat. Cass didn't sit down, and instead leaned against the doorframe behind me. "And Miss Cassidy? I haven't seen you for a couple of weeks now, right? What can I do for you?"

"I have evidence of a caravan conspiracy," I said, reaching into my jacket and pulling out copies of the agreements and the letter I'd pulled from Gloria's safe.

"What is it? Let me see," Jackson took hold of the documents, and started looking over them - he even took his sunglasses off. After a few minutes of looking over the documents, he set them down and looked back up at me. "All right... This is... this explains a lot of the lost caravans. Where did you get these?"

"Where do you think? We investigated a couple of destroyed caravans, put the pieces together, and I stole those from the Silver Rush and the Crimson Caravan's camp - proof that they're the ones responsible."

"I thought it was Legion work, but..." Jackson shook his head, and put his sunglasses back on.

"Can y'get it to th' right people back west?" I heard Cass ask from behind me. He nodded.

"I can promise you that, but what happens after... not even God himself could move the Congress in or out of sessions. And this... this is a tricky matter," Jackson sighed, and clutched his head. "God, what a mess. People turning against each other when the Mojave's at risk of falling? If the Republic's sinkhole-progress doesn't kill us, greed will," He composed himself and got up from his chair; I got up as well, and he shook my hand. "Thank you for bringing me this."

"Just make sure you get it to the NCR government." I said, turning to leave. Cass had already left the office.

"I'll do what I can," Jackson said. "Those folks that got killed need to be answered for."

"I'm sure they'll answer for it," I said, holding onto the doorframe before I left. "Just keep in mind when you send this that if Cass and I could figure this out, other people probably have as well. And there's no guarantee those people won't want blood."

A few minutes later, Cass and I were walking away from the outpost, back towards where I'd parked my car.

"Well, that's settled... I s'pose." Cass mumbled.

"No it isn't," I said simply. "That's just the first part of the game. Getting that information back west will help in the long run, but we still have to settle things here in the Mojave." I looked over at Cass, and she smiled wide, with a gleam in her eyes.

"We gonna make that bitch Gloria eat her hair?"

"Damn straight. We're gonna show those two how couriers and caravan bosses settle accounts. And I know just who can help us with that..."

The Gun Runners factory south of Freeside's east gate looked like a fortress. I hadn't really paid any attention to it on any of my other visits, because I was more concerned with buying weapons and ammo from Vendortron in the kiosk. The chain link fence surrounding the factory was just one of the defenses - there was a big wall behind the fence that was probably concrete reinforced with steel rebar, razor wire around the top of the fence, and I think I even saw some sandbag walls that could be used by the guards inside as cover.

I looked in through the front gate - past a sign that said in big red letters "TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT! THIS MEANS YOU!" - towards a pair of guards (one male, one female) in olive drab combat armor sitting behind a wall of sandbags. Both of them had rifles slung across their chests.

"Hey," I called out to get their attention and rapped on the metal sign. Both of them looked up, and looked unamused. "Who's in charge here?" I asked.

"Who's asking?" the female guard smoking the cigarette called back, not moving from her post. She looked incredibly serious.

"I have some information I think your boss would like to have. I want to talk to him." The guy in combat armor chortled, and the female just kept staring daggers at me.

"Yeah, well I want to be Queen of all Baja, and wear a shiny hat," she said, tossing her cigarette in my general direction. "But we don't always get what we want, do we?" I sighed, and looked around at the fortifications... especially the razor wire. It looked new - like it had only been put up recently. I peered inside, and saw a few automated turrets as well.

"Someone broke in here recently, didn't they?" I asked, still looking around at the defenses. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the two guards look at each other with worry. Good, they'd taken the bait. Now, to give the line a bit more slack before pulling them in... "Yeah, this definitely looks recent. You guys wouldn't have put all this up unless someone had broken in and stolen something... maybe a prototype gun, or some top-secret weapon schematics, perhaps?"

Almost before I knew what was happening, I was inside the compound, being led by the arm up some stairs by the guard, before finally being shoved in a chair on the top floor of the building. It was in the center of an office, with wire reinforced windows that looked out over every possible approach in the wasteland to the Gun Runner factory. I didn't really have time to appreciate the view, given the two burly men in combat armor pointing assault rifles at my face.

Directly across from me, however, was a very large man leaning against a metal desk. He had a jaw line so sharp it was like it had been chiseled out of rock He wasn't wearing a suit, but he wasn't wearing combat armor either; instead, he was covered in tactical gear. His heavily tattooed arms were crossed over his chest, almost disguising the two under-arm holsters he was wearing. On his belt was a tactical drop-leg holster that looked like it was made out Kevlar, and held a pistol so big that it could only be chambered for 12.7 mm rounds. Not only that, but there were at least three knives on him that I could see - there were probably more.

"Alright," the big man said in a booming voice. "Start talking. What do you know about the break in two weeks ago?" I sat up straight in the chair, and adjusted my jacket.

"You know, you're a hard man to reach. I just wanted to talk some business, tell you about a mutual enemy we share." I looked at one of the guns pointed at me. "Do you think we can be civil enough to talk without your men threatening to blow my head off?" The man across from me raised an eyebrow, looking me up and down with an appraising gaze.

"What mutual enemy?" He asked. His tone of voice wasn't as harsh as before, and I could tell - he was ready to listen.

"I have proof that the Crimson Caravan and the Van Graff's are the ones behind attacking a number of your weapons caravans - and that Alice gave the order to steal some weapon schematics from this very factory."

"And how would you know that?" He narrowed his eyes. I started reaching into my jacket - and the two rifles pointing at my face clicked menacingly, inching forward. I raised my hands away, and instead of reaching in I just grabbed one edge of my jacket to open it up, and show them the inside.

"I'm reaching for the proof, not a gun," I said, slowly pulling out the papers which related to the Gun Runners. "The worst he can get from this is a paper cut. Settle down." I handed the large man the documents, and he took them from me, looking them over. A few minutes later, he looked up, and nodded at both guards in the room; without a word, they lowered their weapons away from my face. He got up from the edge of the desk, and circled around to sit at it properly.

"Alright. I admit, this explains a lot. You said you wanted to talk business, let's talk. Let's start with you telling me who you are."

"My name is Sheason Fisher. But ever since I got shot in Goodsprings, people have taken to calling me the Courier." Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the two guards visibly stiffen at that. I did my best not to look smug. "Alright, I gave you my name, can I get yours?"

"I'm Raphael, and I run this branch of the Gun Runners. I -" he was cut off suddenly by a sharp rap on the door. "Enter!" he barked. The female guard from downstairs opened the door.

"Sorry to disturb you sir, but there's a redhead woman at the front gate. Says she's with the man we just..." she looked over to me, and pointed. "with him. She's demanding we let her in. Normally, I'd tell her to get stuffed, but..."

"Well?" Raphael turned to me questioningly. "Is she with you?" I nodded, and the female guard left the way she came.

"Her name is Cassidy, and she's with me. She used to run a caravan, but it got burned to the ground."

"Okay. And that's relevant because...?" Raphael asked. "I thought you were going to tell me about the break in." I just smiled.

"I'm getting to that," I said. "Cass' caravan was wiped out by Van Graff mercenaries, working under orders from Alice McLafferty. And if I read all those documents I gave you correctly, then there have been Gun Runner caravans that have been hit the same way. Am I right?" At first he didn't do anything except stare at me from behind his desk... but then he started nodding slowly.

"Yes. We haven't admitted it publicly, but there have been a couple of caravans that haven't made deliveries. What do you propose?"

"When I stole the proof of what the Crimson Caravan and Van Graffs were up to, I also stole some weapon schematics from McLafferty's safe. I'm guessing they're the same weapon schematics that were stolen from here two weeks ago. I'm gonna give them back to you." I reached into my jacket, and pulled out the holotape, placing it on his desk. "I only ask one thing in return."

"And that is?" Raphael said, taking the holotape and plugging it into his terminal. "Well, I'll be damned..."

"Cass wants to kill the people responsible, but we don't exactly have the firepower to take them on. If you supply the weapons and armor, we can deliver a bit of wasteland justice to our mutual pain in the ass. Does that sound fair?"

"Yeah... I think that sounds fair. Come with me," He got up from his desk, and led me out of his office.

"So, where are we goin'?" Cass asked. She'd joined us as Raphael led me downstairs, past the front door, past the machines for making weapons and ammunition, and down another set of stairs in the back of the building. The three of us came to a stop in front of a very large metal door, with a big hatch wheel and some electronic keypads on the wall next to it.

"You said you wanted some weapons to take on Gloria and Alice? Well, this is the armory. You should feel honored - you're the first people who aren't Gun Runners to take a look at this place." He covered the keypad and punched in a series of numbers, pressed his eyes against a small visor above the keypad, which proceeded to scan his eyes. A panel on the wall slid open, and a small microphone extended with a mechanical whine. "Raphael Eugene Stoner," He spoke into the mic - and suddenly, a panel in the roof opened, and a turret lowered, pointing at Cass and me. I didn't have time to be scared, because Raphael spoke into the mic again very quickly: "And two guests." The turret retracted and the panels on the ceiling slid back into place.

"There's no way you installed all this in two weeks. How'd they break in here?" I asked, my heart still racing slightly.

"They didn't," he said, turning the hatch wheel on the door. "They stole the schematics from the machine shop upstairs, not from the armory." There was a loud hiss, and the metal door started to slowly slide inwards. And the sight that greeted my eyes was... there was no other word for it: glorious.

"By the power of Grayskull!" Cass whispered next to me, her eyes wide as pie plates. Honestly, I couldn't blame her.

There were rows and rows of metal shelves that greeted us from inside the room, and each shelf was filled with dozens of guns, of all makes, models, and sizes, all lined up next to one another to make use of the space most efficiently. Alongside the guns, there were shelves and shelves of ammunition, grenades, mines, explosives, even sets of various kinds of combat armor inside metal lockers.

"I'll let you take what you need from our armory to pull off the hit against Gloria and Alice - within reason. Thing is, though, I think you'll need some armor more than anything else - something that will stand up to a Van Graff plasma rifle blast. And I have just the thing." He walked into the armory, and motioned for us to follow him. "It's based on something a team salvaged a few months ago from the Divide."

"Th' Divide?" Cass asked. "Th' fuck're you gonna find in th' Divide, except sandstorms?" Raphael chuckled.

"This," he said, opening a locker. Inside was a helmet and gas mask, sitting atop a set of advanced looking chest armor and what looked like a leather duster over it. "We've been working on developing a new armor based on some old world riot gear used by police SWAT units before the bombs dropped. It's kind of like the Black Armor we make for the NCR Rangers... And I just happen to have two of them that still need to be field tested. You kill Alice and Gloria for me and tell me how these suits stand up to actual combat, and I'll let you keep them."

Cass and I looked at each other; I know I had a massive smile on my face, and so did she. The expression on her face - and especially in her eyes - was like a fat kid in a candy store, just full of glee and excitement at the prospect of some imminent violence.

"This is... I dunno what t'say!" Cass said, looking around, just happy as a clam. "I think I'm gonna cry, it's just so beautiful in 'ere!"

"I think you got yourself a deal..." I said, looking around at all the guns.

If this couldn't stack the odds in our favor, nothing would.