New Vegas: Sheason's Story

Hey, hey, welcome back to the program, I'm your host Mr. New Vegas. If you like news, then you're gonna love our next segment. It seems The Courier has come back to Vegas, and he's got himself a fresh set of wheels. I've gotten several reports of a car that passed through Freeside about an hour ago, that matches the description of the Indestructible Courier's ride, but with a few changes: clean finish, white racing stripes on that dark blue exterior, and a large number 6 on the side. I hope you're not trying to be subtle, Courier, because that's really not going to work. Ladies and gentlemen, this next song goes out from me to you."

Ding.

On the top floor, a set of elevator doors opened. When no one appeared to get out, one of the Omerta thugs looked inside.

"Hey, Mickey," the thug looking inside turned to the other one, who was standing guard at the other set of elevator doors. "You call for this thing?"

"Hey, don't look at me, I didn't touch nothin'." The other thug held up his hands, and shrugged his shoulders.

"Ehh," the first thug waved it off. "Fuckin' thing must be onna fritz again. Call one've those eggheads the boss' got on payroll, take a look at this thing..."

I didn't hear much more from those two guys after that, as I was making my way down the hallway - completely concealed by the stealth field generated by the device on my wrist. As soon as I was sure I was completely out of sight, I deactivated the stealth boy, and appeared in a shimmer of electricity and ozone. Something told me it was going to be a long night ahead, and I'd need to conserve energy for that thing. I hadn't brought an infinite supply of stealth boys with me, as useful as that would be.

It took a few palms greased the right way, but I was eventually able to get some information from a couple of girls downstairs about where I could find Cachino's room. The top floor of Gomorrah was where all the important members of the Omertas lived. I expected more guards up here, but as soon as I cleared the elevators and the two thugs guarding them... there was no one.

Eventually, I found my way to Cachino's room, following the directions I'd been given: Room 1517. I checked over my shoulder - yep, still empty - and broke out my lockpicking kit. In less than a minute, I had the door open and slipped into the room as quietly as I could.

Cachino's room was clean, but it still looked somewhat lived-in - and that meant there definitely had to be something here. I passed by a fully stocked bar - ignoring the temptation to steal any bottles of booze - and focused on trying to find something useful I could steal. Cachino was running something off the Omertas "official" books, which meant he must have his own books somewhere around here. He really didn't seem the type to commit everything to memory.

I checked some of the usual spots people would normally hide things, and came up empty... but then I started looking closer. It wasn't until I went back to the desk that I found what I was looking for: one of the drawers had a false bottom, and inside was a journal.

I started flipping through it, just to be sure this was what I was looking for. Even the most cursory glance indicated that this journal documented the last few months of Cachino's activities: all of his activities. There were several ledger pages in the book, detailing over two dozen business ventures: drug deals, weapons sales, that sort of thing, and it was painfully obvious (even to someone like me) that these were all done under the table, without the other bosses' knowledge.

Aside from the shady business deals, the journal entries went into - almost uncomfortably graphic - details about all of Cachino's sexual "conquests" of what must have been fully half the prostitutes at Gomorrah.

The one thing I noticed about the book was that after every single off-the-books sale and sexual tryst, he always wrote: "That's it. No more. This is the last one, I'm done with this."

When I found Cachino again, it was back downstairs, in one of the lower levels. According to the sign out front, this was "The Gambino Steakhouse." There weren't any cages down here, but there were a lot of deep, dark mahogany colors, and the seats at all the tables were lined with rich, red leather. There were dozens of tables in the smoky restaurant, but I found Cachino in a secluded, darkened booth near the back wall. He was too busy digging into a steak, with a bottle of whiskey on the table next to him, to notice me until I slid into the seat opposite him.

"Hi," I said, smiling. With a look of shock and surprise on his face, he practically spit out the piece of steak he was trying to eat. He grabbed a nearby napkin, and wiped his mouth before going back to scowling at me.

"You again?" He tried to keep his voice down; this restaurant wasn't as noisy as the bar with the stripper poles upstairs. I can imagine that too much yelling would attract too much attention. "What the fuck do you want? Can't you see I'm eatin'?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry to barge in on you like this..." No I wasn't. "But it's like I said before. I want to talk some business. In fact..." I leaned forward with my elbows on the table, maintaining the same smile. "I think I have something that you would be very interested in retrieving..."

"Oh yeah?" He just seemed to scowl even more. "Like what, dickhead?" I leaned back, reached under my Riot Gear's chestpiece, and pulled out the small leather-bound book, holding it in the air. At the sight of his journal, he didn't quite stop scowling, but his eyes went as wide as the plate his steak was sitting on.

"You recognize this, don't you?" I said. "Of course you do."

"Where the fuck did you get that?" He no longer looked completely angry; worry was starting to win out, especially when I shoved the ledger back underneath my armor. "Okay, look... listen, buddy... that... that's some dangerous shit you've got there. That book could get me killed, or worse. If the wrong people see it... look, let's talk, what do you want? Money? Women? I got a lotta pull around here, so whatever you want for that, I can get it, you know what I'm sayin'?"

I shook my head slowly, still smiling, and "tsk, tsk, tsk" -ing him. Wonderful thing, leverage. It can get even the most uncooperative individuals talking - and usually, getting leverage isn't this easy.

"You misunderstand me, Cachino. I'm not looking for money. And I've heard enough stories about the whores here. I'm not going to risk my dick dropping off."

"So... what then?" If I thought he looked worried before... Now, he just looked confused. I took off my hat, set it on the table between us, and leaned back in the booth.

"Your bosses, the guys who run the Omertas? They've been awful quiet lately. So quiet, in fact, that it's got certain people suspicious as to what's really going on behind these walls. Wondering exactly what it is your bosses are planning. If you want this back," I patted my chest. "Then I'm gonna need your help figuring out what your bosses have planned... and, if need be, putting an end to it." He just sort of stared at me for a minute or two, trying to figure me out.

"Who are you?" He asked - this time, with no malice in his voice, just curiosity. "Who're you workin' for?"

"Me? I'm nobody..." I leaned forward and ran my hand through my hair - and made sure the bullet scar on my forehead was front and center. "I'm just a... courier." All of the color drained from Cachino's face instantly, and he had the look of a man who'd just emptied his bowels.

"Oh FUCK!" He managed to cough out. He put up his hands, and tried to push himself away from me, despite the seat in his way. "L-l-listen, man, I don't want any trouble! I'll help you out with whatever you got planned, just... just don't hurt me! This doesn't need to get bloody!"

"Oh, so you have heard of me?" I smirked, putting my hat back on. Cachino just nodded, a look of utter and unrelenting terror on his face.

"Are you kidding? Fuck, man, everyone on The Strip knows about the courier Benny tried to ice outside Goodsprings... And everyone knows how that ended. The Tops is a graveyard because of you. Ever since you showed up, things have started to explode, like the Silver Rush, and people just end up dead. More than usual."

"So, you'll help me then?" I asked. He started nodding like crazy.

"Of course I'll help... fuck... I'm not stupid enough to get on The Couriers bad side. I'd much rather be your friend than your enemy any day." I tried my damndest to hold back a laugh. Hell, if I'd known scaring him like this was going to work this well, I would've led with that.

"Alright," I pulled the journal back out of my armor and slid it across the table to him. "Here's the journal. Now... what do you know?" He grabbed the journal, flipping through it quickly once, before sliding it behind him. He ran a hand over his skull, and tried to calm himself down.

"Right... there we go. Now... about the Family's business... The two Bosses, Big Sal and Nero? They've been working for a while on some kind of plan. I don't know much, just that it involves a lot of guns and outside muscle... and it's big. Very big. Only Nero and Big Sal know everything, and they ain't telling. They've been arming themselves like an army, using this new guy, Troike. They also brought in a specialist from out of town... er, some guy named Clanden. At least... that's how they introduced him." After he finished, Cachino reached for the bottle of whiskey, and poured himself a fresh glass - downing it immediately.

"What kind of specialist is Clanden?" I asked. If I had to take a guess, I'd say that 'specialist' meant 'assassin,' but it could be any number of things... all of them, probably bad. Cachino shrugged.

"I got no fuckin' idea. They let him have the run of the place, though. On the outside, he seems like a nice enough guy, but... I dunno, man. There's somethin' about him that makes me nervous. Little arrogant, but he's too nice. Too open. I've never seen him fuckin' or gambling. Everyone has a vice, but this guy seems like the Pope."

"What about Troike?" I asked, trying to work everything he was telling me over in my head. "What do you know about him?"

"He's a skittish little fucker, that's what I know. Spends half the day pumping his body full of chems, and the other half pumping hookers with his pecker. Other than that, he's got some kind of connections, because he's able to smuggle huge shipments of weapons into the Strip past NCR customs like it was nothing. But the Bosses got him by the short hairs - they covered up a hooker he killed while flying on some psycho, so he gets them guns in exchange for not ratting."

The first thing I thought, of course, was: rat to whom?

"Where can I find Clanden?" I asked. Whatever kind of specialist he was, he was definitely bound to be bad news. Better to take out the hard target first, and get it over with.

"I don't know... This time of night, he could be anywhere. But I think he has a room somewhere on the 13th floor. More than that, I couldn't say."

"Alright," I said, getting up out of the booth. "Thanks for the info. I may have more questions later." Cachino took another shot of whiskey, and nodded up at me.

"Okay... Look, if you need me, you can find me here, or upstairs in the Club Vito, the one with all the dancing girls and the two-story stripper pole. I'll let the muscle know you're a friend of mine... that should let you get around a little easier, capisch?"

"Thanks," I said, giving him a small nod. "I'll be back soon."

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open, and I started looking around. I'm the first to admit, 'a room on the 13th floor' isn't much information to go on. More than anything else though, I needed to narrow down the search somehow... Was I just going to have to knock on doors, and hope whoever was behind it wasn't going to shoot me?

Wait a minute. You moron, there's an easier way to do this.

I blinked, and everything was suddenly covered in a wash of blues. The thermal vision seemed to be working perfectly, and... wait, hang on. I started looking around and couldn't help but shake the feeling that something was wrong. There didn't appear to be any significant heat signatures anywhere on this floor. Was something wrong with my cybernetic eyes?

I looked down, and saw several indistinct splotches of faint red and orange that almost looked like people... and the same went for the floor above. But I couldn't see anything that looked even remotely like human shapes where I was. Was the 13th floor completely empty?

I got my answer after wandering around for a few minutes, trying to use my thermal vision to look through every surface: no, I wasn't alone. There was only one other person - or, at least, there was an indistinct mass of heat that resembled a humanoid shape, at least. I tried to get closer, figure out exactly which room it was coming from... I switched my eyes back to normal, to try and reacquaint myself. I looked around, and realized that I'd followed the trail of heat to one of the corner suites in the hotel.

Of course, as I was staring at the door at the end of the hall, I heard several series of clicks - even from this distance, I could tell it was the sound of locks being unbolted. I looked around, trying to find a place to hide - there! A small alcove with a broken ice machine, and a flickering Nuka Cola vending machine. I ducked in just as I saw the door start to open out of the corner of my eye. As quietly as I could, I fumbled with the stealth boy on my arm, and it felt like an agonizingly long time before that familiar 'bucket of ice water splashed against my face' sensation washed over me, mixed with the tiniest belch of ozone.

And just in the nick of time, too. As soon as I disappeared (or, became transparent enough, at least...) I heard the door open and a pair of footsteps coming down the hall, getting closer. I reached under my armor, and grabbed hold of the switchblade, just to be on the safe side. I held my breath, and tried not to move as the steps got closer and closer. That's about when he stepped into view.

Part of me wanted to say that he didn't look all that impressive. The man was of about average height, wearing a surprisingly clean brown three-piece suit complete with a... was that a bow tie? No... no, it was more like a string tie, just tied in a bow. Who did that? He was wearing a brown hat on his head that matched his suit, and perched on the bridge of his nose was a pair of small, circle-shaped glasses that somehow managed to obscure his eyes no matter which direction he looked.

He didn't look dangerous at all - he sort of looked like a businessman, or a bureaucrat back in the NCR - and yet, for some reason... I don't know, there was something about him that rubbed me the wrong way. I couldn't put my finger on it, but looking at him just sent a shiver up my spine.

At first, I thought he was going to walk right by my hiding spot.. but he didn't. He just... stood there, slowly and methodically scanning the area, no more than 3 feet from where I was crouched in the shadows. His gaze passed over me... but then kept going. I tried not to move, breathe, or even think... especially when he stuck his nose in the air and started sniffing. Could he smell the ozone from the stealth boy? That was bad news. If he could, then I was definitely made.

But no. Just as suddenly as he stopped in front of my hiding spot, he moved off again, walking away down the hall. I listened intently as his steps got softer and softer... until they were cut off completely, and I heard the unmistakable "Ding!" of the elevator. I let out an enormous sigh of relief, and practically collapsed.

Right. That was definitely Clanden, I'm sure of it. But other than that, I didn't know anything about him, or what he was up to. Time to change that...

The door to Clanden's room opened with a satisfying click. I shoved the lockpick kit back into my pocket and gently pushed against the door, sliding it open as carefully as I could. I don't know why, but for some reason I was getting increasingly paranoid, and I was half expecting the door to be booby trapped. Just as soon as I was convinced that there wasn't a shotgun mounted next to the door, or a tripwire attached to some explosives, and shut the door behind me.

I started searching the room, trying to find something of use. This room was slightly smaller than Cachino's room... for one thing, it didn't have a bar. But as this was a corner room, there were plenty of floor to ceiling windows - with all the curtains drawn. Seemed a bit of a waste, getting a corner room like this and keeping the windows obscured. The view of Vegas this time of night was bound to be impressive.

Right, focus. Forget about the windows, you've got to start looking around for... hold up, what's that?

I was just about to head deeper into the room, and start my search at the desk, when I passed by a wardrobe standing up against a wall. Normally, I wouldn't have given it a second glance, but out of the corner of my eye I noticed that the carpet underneath the wardrobe's feet had been disturbed. Which probably meant...

I pulled the wardrobe away from the wall, and sure enough, there was a safe behind it. I pressed my ear against the safe, and started to slowly turn the dial, listening for the tumbler pins against the wheels. Three clicks later, and the safe popped open. With any luck, this would be what I was looking for, and I could get back down to Cachino and plan the next move.

There wasn't all that much inside, but there was enough. The first thing that caught my eye was a holotape, with a label on the side that said "Troike." Apart from that, there were a few papers, so I started shuffling through them, scanning their contents. At first glance, it looked like schematics for some kind of machine... maybe a delivery system for some kind of gas. There was also a sheet that read like a shopping list, and right at the top (underlined and circled several times for good measure) was the word "CHLORINE."

I didn't get a chance to see much more than that, unfortunately. At that precise moment, I heard some faint movement right behind me - and then, before I had a chance to really react, a pair of arms came down over my head, knocking my hat off, sending the papers in my hands flying, and something thin and sharp started pressing hard against my throat.

I struggled, trying to tighten my neck muscles, and could feel my eyes bulge from the pain. I reached up, trying to claw the wire away from my throat, but the hands behind my neck held firm on the piano wire, even when I tried twisting myself around in his grip, trying to get free.

"I bet you thought I'd left, didn't you?" A soft voice whispered in my ear. "I knew you were there from the moment I smelled the ozone..." This must be Clanden. Oh joy.

I slammed the back of my head into his face; there was a satisfying crack against my skull, I heard him yell something incomprehensible, and his grip began to loosen. I managed to snake my leg around his, and I pushed back against him with all my might. We both stumbled and fell to the ground - and he let go of one side. With a gasp and a shudder I tried to push up and away from him - but he was keeping me pinned with the leg I'd used to trip him up in the first place.

I elbowed him while I tried to twist around - I turned so far the bones in my spine popped several times - and tried to come at him with a left cross. I don't know how, but he managed to deflect the blow, and all I ended up hitting was floor. Clanden tried to kick me several times close to the midsection; I'm sure he hit me, but with all the armor I was wearing, I barely even felt it. But that wasn't important: he'd let go of my leg, and wasn't pinning me anymore.

I pushed off against the ground, and practically leapt away from him, rolling against the ground and trying to get back up. From behind me, I heard a series of rapid clicks of metal against metal. Whatever it was, it wasn't good, so I reached under my chestplate and pulled out the switchblade. I managed to flick it open with a click just in time to see Clanden coming at me with a butterfly knife.

I was on my feet, but he was coming so fast I barely had any time to react. I brought up my arm, and the blade bounced off my Pip Boy with a flash and a few sparks. It seemed enough to distract him, because I managed to cut his cheek when I countered with a swipe of my own.

He came at me again, completely ignoring the open wound on his face. For a split second, I thought he was coming at me with the knife hand, so I brought up my Pip Boy again, and readied the switchblade; but instead, he grabbed me with his free hand, and yanked my arm down, flicking the butterfly knife around in his hands; he was holding it high above his head, ready to bring it down on me blade-first.

I pushed off against the ground and slammed my shoulder into his chest. He was knocked off balance, and I tried to stab him in the gut... but he must have used the momentum of the hit or something because he jumped out of the way. I reared up, planting my back feet, and readying the knife again. He was in a similar stance, several feet away from me, a trail of blood leaking out of his cheek.

"You don't know who you're messing with, do you?" I asked, in the most dangerous voice I could muster. He merely brought a hand up to his cheek, and wiped some of the blood away calmly, staring at me and never breaking eye contact.

"Of course I do, Courier," Clanden said in a voice barely above a whisper. He was on me again in a flash. I was able to dodge the first swipe, but he was a lot quicker than I was expecting. I tried slashing at him again, but he ducked out of the way, and caught my knife hand on the way past. He grabbed my thumb and yanked it sideways; I couldn't help but yell in pain, and drop the blade. Doesn't matter how tough you are, a thumb hold is probably the simplest, most effective way of disabling someone.

"End of the line, Courier," Clanden said, twirling the butterfly knife around his thumb again until he was holding it like an ice pick. He brought it down into the center of my chest with all his might and -

Thunk. My chestplate stopped the blade cold. Clanden must have been surprised, because his expression was one of shock, and his grip on my thumb loosened.

"Maybe for you," I growled, grabbing him by the suit lapels, and smashing my forehead against his face with all the strength I could muster. The butterfly knife dropped to the ground with a clatter, and he recoiled, a spurt of blood flying out his nose. I came at him with a left swing, and despite the blood flowing out of his nose, he managed to deflect the blow. He returned the favor, and I wasn't fast enough to block it this time or get out of the way. I momentarily saw stars as he busted me across the chops with a strong left hit.

I countered with a right hook - which he deflected again. I swung around, trying to smash my right elbow against his face, but he managed to block the blow mid-swing. Then he did the same thing to me that I'd done to him earlier: he slammed his shoulder into my chest and bum-rushed me across the floor.

He was amazingly strong for his size - I know I was surprised when he managed to push me all the way across the room and slam me into the wardrobe. He started punching me in the midsection over and over, each hit steadily changing from a hard metal thud to a dull wet one. He wasn't really doing any damage: all he was hitting was more armor.

His shoulder was buried in the center of my chest, and he was still trying to punch through the Riot Gear chestplate when I brought my elbow down hard on his back. That seemed enough to get him to withdraw away from me. I tried to follow up with a knee to his chest, but he'd managed to slip away, getting back into a defensive posture several feet away. When he brought his hands up, I could see that the fist he used to try and hit me through my armor was now bleeding profusely.

"Someone should've told you," I spat out some blood; he must have hit me harder than I thought. "I'm not so easy to kill."

Clanden came at me again, swinging at me with a right hook so telegraphed he might has well have been shouting at me through a loudspeaker. I ducked out of the way, and hit him with an uppercut to the kidneys, followed by a left jab across the face. Before he could react, I grabbed his clothes, and threw him against the wardrobe; the wardrobe door split in half with a crack as his head went straight through.

As he tried to pull himself out of the door, I reached under my armor and pulled out my brass knuckles, slipping them on. As soon as his head was visible, I hit him as hard as I could, right in the middle of his face. He reeled backward away from me, clutching his bleeding face.

I hit him with the brass knuckles again, smashing him across the jaw. He stumbled backward, practically crashing into one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. He clutched at the drapes; I couldn't tell if he was trying to use them as a weapon, or just looking for something to hold on to, but either way, all he ended up doing was tearing them free.

I hit him again; his head smashed into the glass, blood flying out of his mouth and small spider-web cracks appearing at the impact point. He seemed so stunned, that he didn't even appear to notice when I uppercut him in the gut twice. I hit him once more in the face for good measure, then grabbed him by his hair, twisting him around, and smashing him face-first into the window. More spider-web cracks appeared in the glass.

"Alright," I said, shoving my Pip Boy against his neck to pin him against the glass; he grimaced, and let out a gurgling sort of yell, blood splattering out of his nose and mouth onto the glass. "Here's what's going to happen. You're gonna tell me exactly who you really are. You're going to tell me what the Omerta bosses are up to, and how you're involved. And if you don't tell me now, well... I'm sure I can think of... other ways to get the information out of you."

"You - you're a terrible negotiator, Courier," Clanden coughed again, a half-snarl, half-smile working its way onto his features. "D-do you know wh-why? You're got no leverage!" I punched him in the back several times. He yelled, thrashing under my grip.

"Don't I?" I pressed harder against the back of his neck with my Pip Boy. "Why don't you just tell me what I want to know, hmm? Before I decide to make your death really painful." Clanden choked and coughed again, spitting up more blood.

"Torture me all you want, profligate. I will never talk!"

And just like that, the nature of the game changed irrevocably.

"Hmph..." I held firm against him, processing this new information. "You've already told me everything I need to know. Only members of Caesar's Legion call other people profligate." His expression switched from pain to fury, and he thrashed against my grip again - harder this time. "Let me guess - you're one of Vulpes' men? He should know better by now." He just growled and snarled.

"I've got nothing more to say to you," He tried to spit at me, but he couldn't seem to angle his head that far back under my grip.

I gripped hold of his hair as tight as I could, and grabbed the back of his jacket, pulling him away from the window... and then shoving him forward again with all my might. The already weakened glass gave way, seemingly exploding outward and shattering into millions of tiny shards. I let go of Clanden, and let him fall out of my grip through the now open window. He tumbled down in a shower of glass and let out a scream... and the sound ended with a distant wet thud. I stepped onto the edge, looking down at him in the darkness as the wind rushed past my face.

"How about goodbye?"