New Vegas: Sheason's Story

The women of New Vegas ask me a lot if there's a Mrs. New Vegas. Well, of course there is. You're her. And you're still just as perfect as the day we met. Got some more classic tunes lined up, but first, some news. NCR officials at Camp McCarran were relieved when technical difficulties with its monorail line to the New Vegas Strip proved easy to fix. One anonymous official told us a serious mechanical failure would have been a disaster because of the age of the train and the scarcity of the replacement parts. These headlines were brought to you by Vault 21. Everything is better... when you experience it in a Vault. Ladies and gentlemen, this next song goes out from me to you.

"Is this it?" I asked. Cachino nodded. We were up on a balcony, overlooking the main casino floor of Gomorrah, and to my right was a wall with a single door. There wasn't anyone else up here - even the dancing girls in cages were lower than the balcony. The only guards I'd seen were the ones standing guard just outside the stairs leading up here, and they'd let us pass when they saw me being escorted by Cachino.

"Yeah. Here." Cachino reached into his jacket, and pulled out a sawed-off double barrel shotgun, handing it to me grip first. I shook my head and waved it off, reaching behind me and pulling out Roscoe. Cachnio's eyes went wide, pointing at a spot inside my duster. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes it is," I said calmly, checking my pistol.

"How'd you even get it in here? Actually, no, I don't wanna know. But why don't you use that instead?" He seemed confused.

"No ammo for it," I said with a shrug. Cachino shook his head, but rallied rather quickly. I pulled back the slide, pointing Roscoe at the door. "Now - you ready to do this?"

"Hang on," Cachino grabbed me by the shoulder. "We can't just go in there, guns blazing."

"And why not?" Part of me wanted to point Roscoe at his face as I said that. If this was a trap... Eventually, I decided against it, and just kept talking. "This is going to end tonight, one way or another. Might as well end it quick."

"Look, you do what you seem to be best at, kickin' in the door and shooting up the place, and every Omerta in the building is gonna come down on us like a pack of Cazadores. Neither one of us would be coming out alive from that." I might, I thought to myself. "But the Bosses' office is soundproofed. If you wait until the door is shut before we kill them, I can get you out of the casino and start consolidating my position as the new boss before anyone knows what happened."

"Alright, fine." I hid Roscoe in the sleeves of my duster, and put my hands behind my back again. "Lets do this." Cachino nodded, and pounded against the door several times. I heard a click, and then a voice came from a speaker next to the door.

"Who is it?" A gruff voice said through the voicebox. It was the same voice I'd heard on Clanden's blackmail tape earlier.

"Got a present for ya, boss," Cachino said into the speaker. "All tied up, and wrapped in a bow for the two've you." There was a series of clicks, and the door swung inward. As soon as I walked forward, gripping Roscoe hidden in my dusters sleeve, I saw the barrel of a sawn-off lever action shotgun pointing at my chest.

"Let's have some words," the man holding the shotgun said to me. He was a rather portly man in a dark grey suit, matching hat, and sunglasses perched atop a huge nose; I almost didn't move, because I was just so transfixed by that massive, bulbous nose filled with so many pits it looked like a golf ball. He cocked the lever on the shotgun and motioned to the couch in the corner. "Take a seat so we can get talkin'."

Carefully, I stepped past him and tried to assess the situation. There was another man in the room, wearing a much lighter grey suit with dark blue pinstripes. He had a thin face with a crooked nose, greasy black hair slicked down against his head, and an M16 in his hands pointed right at me. Behind him, I saw a pair of desks, and a giant plate-glass window, looking out over the Club Vito. I knew it was the Club Vito, because I could see the two-story tall stripper pole.

"So, this is the Infamous Courier, huh?" The man with the M16 said. "I thought he'd be taller."

"Yeah, I've been getting that a lot," I said.

"Shut up!" The greasy haired man said, making a motion with his rifle; it was almost like he was trying to point his gun at me more. "Cachino, shut the door." Cachino nodded.

"Sure thing, Nero." I sat down on the couch, hands still behind my back (but gripping Roscoe tightly) when the door shut with a click. The man toting the shotgun - Big Sal, I'm guessing - loomed over me, and pointed the barrel at my chest. Maybe he didn't realize I was wearing armor that had stood up to a plasma bolt with no ill effects. Or maybe he just didn't care.

"So, I assume you know why we called you here?" Big Sal growled. I just smiled, flipping the safety off.

"I heard you lost some guns," I never stopped looking at the two of them, but in my peripheral vision, I saw Cachnio off to the side. He was slowly making his way away from the door, like he was getting in position to get around them.

"Yeah, we lost some guns, you little weasel!" Big Sal snarled. "But it don't matter - we can always get more guns. You may've slowed us down, but you can't stop us. And you certainly can't stop Caesar. You're gonna die a failure, you know that? Any last requests?"

A plan formed in my head almost instantly. It was risky, but... hell, if it worked, I could finish this without firing a shot. And if it didn't, well... I could still just shoot them, and I had VATS on my side. Might as well just fuck it, and roll the dice...

"Just one..." I looked over to Nero, who raised an eyebrow, then back to Big Sal. "Would you mind telling me what your plan was?" Both Nero and Big Sal looked taken aback.

"Are you shitting me?" Big Sal started laughing. "You didn't even know what the plan was? Hah! I guess all those rumors about The Courier were just bullshit, then?" I shrugged, still smiling.

"Well, you know how it goes. Nero didn't really give me the details when he hired me to take you down."

A heavy silence hung in the room. Very slowly, Big Sal lowered his shotgun... and spun around, pointing it at Nero.

"I always knew this day would come," Big Sal said, barely above a whisper.

"Hey, what the fuck, man!" Nero hurriedly pointed his rifle at Big Sal, who just shook his head.

"Nero, you backstabbing, two-timing motherfucker!" Big Sal's gun arm was shaking as he spoke, and Nero looked about ready to shit his pants.

"What - what are you doing?! You're gonna believe this asshole?"

"But it makes sense, though, doesn't it?" Big Sal growled. "I knew there had to be someone higher up helping him... and you. You've always been jealous. Always wanted the Omertas all to yourself, didn't you? It was NEVER ENOUGH! WAS IT?!"

"You thick fuck!" Nero shouted. "He's playing you, man!"

I'm not really sure who fired first. After a few seconds of violent gunfire, I suppose it didn't really matter. I didn't even need to do anything expect watch. When the smoke cleared and the shooting stopped, I got up from the couch, put the safety back on Roscoe, and slid the gun back on my thigh holster.

"Well. That went better than I expected." I walked over to the two ex-Omerta bosses, just to make sure they were dead. Nero was lying in a pool of his own blood, slumped against one of the desks; half his face had been pulped by the buckshot. Big Sal was in a similar sorry state, riddled with about half a dozen bloody holes - including the spot where his right eye used to be.

"You can get up now, Cachino," I said to the man seemingly paralyzed against the back wall. He was staring at the carnage, one of his eyes twitching. Honestly, I couldn't blame him; he'd been close enough that I could see a few flecks of Big Sal's blood splattered against his face. I helped him up, and he seemed to recover slightly.

"You... fuck me, man. You just... you talked them to death!" I shrugged, trying to wipe some of the blood off his jacket.

"Well, what can I say... I'm the Courier. Pulling off the impossible is what I do." I looked at the two bodies one more time, and sighed. Part of my brain wanted to say that this was too easy... or was I just actually getting used to this crap? "Y'alright?"

"Uh... yeah... Yeah, I'm fine. Either way... thanks, man. I'm gonna run a tight ship here, now that Big Sal and Nero are out of the picture." Cachino held out a hand, offering it for me to shake. I didn't take it. Not yet.

"Does this talk of 'running a tight ship' mean the Omertas are gonna go legit?" I asked. Cachino opened his mouth, but no words came out at first. Just a half-hearted, uncertain squawk from the back of his throat.

"Nnnn... I wouldn't say 'legit,' honestly. The drugs, the hookers, the gambling... that's way too profitable to just up and quit. It's part of what we are. Part of what we do. That ain't going away. But I know where my loyalties are. The Omertas are loyal to each other and loyal to Vegas, not just the highest bidder. Big Sal and Nero forgot that, but I won't. And if Caesar comes knocking again, he won't forget it, either." I started nodding slowly.

"Good... you had me worried there, for a minute. I'm glad to hear it, and I'm sure House will be, too." Realization dawned on Cachino's face, and his eyes went wide... again.

"Wait, hang on... you're tellin' me... you've been working for Not-At-Home this whole time?" I'm pretty sure I saw one of his eyes twitch. "Huh... damn. Yeah... lot of things make sense, now I know you're working for Not-At-Home."

"You know, it's funny," I opened the door, and stepped out onto the balcony. Cachnio followed me. "Benny had a different name for House, too. Kept calling him the Overboss." Did he ever really call him that, or was that just the Benny in my dreams? I can't really remember...

"You are just full of surprises, ain't ya Courier?" I shrugged, and smiled at him.

"I'm just surprised you didn't figure out I was working for House earlier."

No, I wasn't.

I tossed the metal tag onto the counter.

"That's claim ticket #42, if I remember correctly. I'm here to pick up my guns." I said, leaning against the counter. Just a few more feet, and I'd be out of Gomorrah...

"It'll be just a minute. Did you enjoy your-" The voice paused. "YOU!"

"Uh..." That's not good. I spun my head around to get a look at him, and saw an Omerta behind the counter with a massive bandage on his face, covering his nose.

"You're that asshole from the basement!" He shouted, reaching into his jacket. "You melted the bosses' guns, and broke my fuckin' nose!" He pulled out a .357 Magnum and - rather unlike Big Sal and Nero who pointed their big guns at my chest - pointed it square at my clearly unarmored face.

"Hey now," I said, my hand instinctively settling near Roscoe without making it too obvious. "I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot earlier..." What were my options? Easiest and fastest exit was the doors. I'd have to sacrifice the guns I'd brought in, but I could always get more... the real problem was how far away they were - and he'd probably shoot me in the back of the head before I got more than a foot away from where I was standing. I could always try and shoot him first, but there was the small issue that he was already aiming at my head from point blank range. Even VATS would probably have trouble with that. Not to mention the noise would undoubtedly bring every Omerta in the building down on my head even if I did somehow manage to shoot him without getting killed myself.

"Easy there, Malone," Cachino's voice cut through my thoughts, and his hand came out of nowhere to lower the Omerta thug's gun. The mook with a broken nose looked confused and utterly bewildered. "He's with me. Had to clean up a bit of a... mess earlier, but it's all straightened out now."

"But he-" Cachino cut him off.

"Trust me, Malone. I'm sorry about your nose, but the less people knew about it beforehand, the better for everyone involved. Now, go and get his guns. I'll pay you for the rest of yer shift, and I'll buy you a drink and a lap dance to make it up to you, what do you say?" Malone seemed completely dumbfounded. Eventually, he just started nodding slowly, and disappeared into a nearby door.

"Thanks for that," I said, nodding. Cachino shrugged, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

"Hey, I said I'd get you out've the building. Least I could do after everything else you've done tonight," He lit the cigarette, and snapped the Zippo shut. "Malone's a good kid. None too bright, but..."

"I don't know about that," I said. "He's the only one tonight with sense enough to aim for my face." Cachnio started chuckling, exhaling smoke out his nose.

"Well, I'm glad you didn't have to kill him then."

Ding.

"Welcome back, sugar," Jane's metallic voice rang out almost as soon as the elevator doors opened. "Mr. House is waiting for you."

"Of course he is," I said, passing the Securitron hulking over me with the cartoonishly feminine face. "Where else is he gonna go?" Jane started laughing; it was an unnerving girlish giggle, passed through entirely too many synthetic filters.

"That's why I like you, sugar! You've got a great sense of humor!" Jane rolled away, and I couldn't help but shake my head.

"You obviously don't know me all that well..." I muttered under my breath as I made my way down the stairs, and approached the massive screen. As soon as I set one foot off the stairs, the massive screen was filled with House's equally massive face.

"Welcome back, Mr. Fisher. I'll be honest, I did not expect your return so expeditiously." House voice boomed and echoed off the walls. I don't know why - maybe it was because it was so late and I was so tired? - but he seemed altogether more loud and imposing than normal.

"Hey, you hired me to get a job done, so I got it done. There were actually fewer people shooting at me than normal this time." I sighed and smiled weakly to myself, shaking my head; this wasn't normal, was it? Was this normal? No, it couldn't be. This wasn't normal.

"So, you actually have something to report on the Omertas?" House asked, the giant green face flickering slightly as he spoke. I nodded, tipping my hat back so I wouldn't have to crane my neck up so far to see House.

"The Omerta bosses, Big Sal and Nero, were conspiring against you. They cut a deal with Casear, and were prepared to kill everyone on the Strip. Chlorine bombs, well armed mercenaries, the whole nine yards." House's face flickered again.

"I take it they have been dealt with?" I sighed.

"Thought that was obvious," I muttered. I nodded, and looked back up at the screen. "Yeah, they're dead, House. The Omertas shouldn't cause any more trouble for a while."

"Well done." House, for the first time since I met him, sounded genuinely pleased. "And you managed to pull it off without butchering another of my casinos." I cringed at that. I was getting reminded an awful lot recently of what I did to the Tops... "Your next assignment is -"

"NO," I said, holding up a hand to House, who stopped mid-sentence. "Stop. Just... no, House."

"Excuse me?" House boomed. "Unless you have forgotten the particulars of our arrangement, you do not give the orders around here. I do."

"No, I haven't forgotten, House. But it's almost two in the morning. I've been up and on my feet for almost 20 hours straight. Last time I did that was in the Sierra Madre, and I didn't want to do that again so soon. I know you're anxious to get all your plans in motion after 200 years, but whatever you have in mind, I'm sure it can wait until after I've gotten some sleep. Hell, I can almost guarantee if you tell me now, I'm not going to remember after I wake up. I'll be right back up here anyway, asking you what I need to do again. So - and please, tell me honestly - can it wait a few fucking hours?"

The only noise in the room after I finished speaking was a low frequency electronic hum that seemed to saturate every piece of furniture and equipment in the room. It was the only noise available to focus on, and it just seemed to get louder, and louder, and louder. And then...

"Alright," House said, his voice uncharacteristically resigned. "I suppose my lack of a need to sleep has... desensitized me to the needs of those that do. And, if what you say about the Omerta's deal with Ceasar is true, then this will have slowed down his plans somewhat. I suppose you have earned a few hours rest. But I expect to see you in front of me so we can discuss your next assignment no more than an hour after you're woken. Be sure to set your alarm, Mr. Fisher."

And with that, House's face winked out of view, and the screen filled with the words "CONNECTION TERMINATED AT SOURCE."

Ding.

"Ugh..." As soon as the doors opened onto the suite, I just sort of... slumped. Can't really think of any other word to describe it. I didn't quite collapse, but I certainly wasn't on form, that's for sure.

"Why do I keep doing this to myself? I really don't know..." I said aloud; there didn't seem to be anyone around to hear me, but, if I'm honest? I didn't really care.

Okay, what do I want to do first? Do I want to get rid of the mountain of weapons and armor weighing me down, or should I go to the kitchen, grab a beer, and then disarm? Decisions, decisions... Right, beer first.

A wave of relief washed over me as I pulled a bottle out of the fridge, and poured the cool, refreshing amber liquid down my gullet. Whisky's good when I'm looking to feel that wonderful burn, but beer is better when I just want to relax. It may not have looked it from afar, the way I was chugging that beer, but it was doing wonders to help loosen me up.

"Have fun tonight?" I heard a voice from behind me. I finished off the last of the beer, and turned to see Cass leaning against the doorframe. She was still wearing her hat, but her leather jacket was nowhere to be seen.

"Not really," I said, setting down the emptied beer bottle on the counter. "What are you still doing up?" Cass shrugged.

"Dunno. Can't really get t'sleep t'night, I guess." Cass started chuckling. "Y'should see Veronica, though. She's out like a light, completely dead to th' world."

"And here I thought it'd be the other way around..." I reached into the fridge for some more drink. "Want a beer?" Cass nodded, so I tossed her one of the bottles; she caught it midair, and the two of us made our way over to the common room.

"So, what'd y'end up doin'?" Cass asked, flopping down in one of the easy chairs. Rather than just sit in it like a normal person, she was slouched practically sideways, with her left leg draped over one of the armrests. "Cuz I can already tell y'didn't jus' go fer a walk." She grinned at me before taking a swig of beer. I shrugged.

"This and that. You know how it goes. Got you a present," Cass tipped her hat back, a confused expression on her face as I reached into my coat and pulled out the Pancor Jackhammer. "Figured you might want another assault shotgun to go in you ever increasing collection." She just stared at it as I leaned against her easy chair. I walked over to the pool table with the intent of disarming, pulling my duster off as I walked.

"Yeah... seriously. What've you been doin'? No bullshit, now, I'm actually really curious."

"Well, let's see..." I set the G36 down on the pool table next to my discarded duster, and kept pulling guns, ammo, and knives out of everywhere. "I started the night by blackmailing one of the Omertas after breaking into his room, I fought with a Legion Frumentarius and ended up tossing him out of Gomorrah's 13th floor, stole some guns from the Omerta bosses, melted the rest with what felt like 20 pounds of Thermite, and then I talked a pair of mob bosses to death by getting them to shoot each other." The last thing I got rid of before pulling off my armor was the butterfly knife I'd stolen off Clanden; I tossed it onto the pile with the rest of the weapons, before collapsing on the nearby couch. "So, yeah. That's how my night's gone. What've you been up to?"

"Shit, man," Cass started laughing.. "I'm s'prised yer jus' havin' beer." I shrugged, taking another swig.

"Too tired for anything else." I leaned back, sinking into the ancient sofa, and started staring up at the ceiling in silence for a few minutes. At least, it felt like a few minutes. I dunno, I wasn't really keeping track of time. I just knew that dozens upon dozens of thoughts were buzzing around through my head, now that I had nothing to do. Things that had been gnawing at the back of my brain for the last few hours, and only now got a chance to come to the front of my mind...

Eventually, I decided to break the silence with a question.

"Hey, Cass?"

"Hmm?" She said, taking another drink.

"Do you think I'm a hypocrite?" I asked. It sounded like I'd made her choke on her beer.

"Wh-what-" I looked up in time to see Cass try and wipe away the spilled beer from her chin. "Where th' fuck did that come from, man?"

"I dunno, I just..." I shook my head, and drank the last of my beer, trying to condense my thoughts into coherent sentences. "Just been thinking about stuff, lately. Like what went down at the Tops..."

"Th' Tops?" Cass sounded confused. "What about th' Tops?"

"Just... the way it went down. We went in there, guns blazing, shot up the place... killed a whole bunch of people, not just Benny. All of that, and for what? Just to kill one man who'd shot me?" I sighed, and tried to take another drink - only to remember that it was empty. I sighed. "I just... the more I think about it, and the more people remind me about how it all ended... I just wonder if maybe I could've done things differently..."

"Maybe," Cass shrugged. "But you can't change what's past. No sense worryin' about what y'can't change."

"I guess... Still feel guilty about it. The only one I really wanted to kill was Benny. How many of the Chairmen were just doing their jobs when we rolled in and turned it into a graveyard? If I'd just stopped to think... if I hadn't been so dead-set on revenge, maybe I could've..." I trailed off, not really knowing what I was trying to say. "I want to try and do the right thing, but my hands aren't exactly clean..."

"That why you feel like a hypocrite?" Cass got up off the easy chair and made her way over to the couch, flopping down next to me. I rubbed my eyes, stalling for time; I was having a real hard time thinking... and forming coherent sentences.

"That's not the only reason," I sighed, leaning back in the sofa and looking at her. "I keep thinking about all the times I've talked to Veronica, Arcade... hell, you, and all the times I've said that secrets are gonna come out anyway, so don't bother trying to hide them... but I've got plenty of secrets I'm keeping myself." Cass grimaced, and leaned back, like she was trying to sink into the couch. Her hat tipped up awkwardly when the back of her head hit the couch; she grabbed it by the brim, and tossed it aside.

"Eehhh... yeah. That's..." Cass took another swig of her beer - or, she tried, but it was pretty obvious when she upended the bottle that it was empty. "Fuck. Yeah, I can see how that's buggin' ya."

"I keep making promises..." I said, staring at the ceiling. "... and I keep breaking them." Images flashed in my head of all the people I've let down in the past. It ended with Melody, the slave girl at Caesar's Fort. She was just... just a scared kid. I promised to help her, and I just... I couldn't. I didn't even know if she was alive or dead. "I keep wanting to do the right thing, but... I just... I keep fuckin' things up. Breaking my promises. Telling people to do one thing, and then doing the exact opposite. Maybe this is just the best I can do..."

Maybe this is the real reason I don't want to be Sheason Fisher. Sheason's a man, a fuck-up, who has to accept responsibility for his mistakes. Courier Six, on the other hand, is a story. A ghost, wandering the Mojave that people speak of in hushed whispers. Less a person... more a force of nature.

"You know what I think?" Cass asked, draping her arm across the back of the sofa and turning to look at me.

"No," I said simply, turning to look at her. "No, I never know what you're thinking."

"I think it's really late, an' yer loopy from bein' so fuckin' exhausted."

"Don't rightly know why," I said, musing. "Hasn't been all that tough. Hardly anyone has shot at me today. Fewer than normal, at least." Again, my brain was kicking me in the metaphorical back of the skull: people shooting at you should not be normal, and yet somehow, it is. Damn it.

"Shea," Cass grabbed the top of my head, forcing me to look her in the eyes. "Lissen t'me. Yer human. Y'make mistakes. That's jus' what people do. But you've been learnin' from 'em, otherwise, y'wouldn't be havin' this dilemma righ' now. If y'hadn't, then y'would've jus' stood by while bloodlust got th' better've me when I found out th' truth 'bout m'caravan."

"We still... you know, kind of... blew up the Silver Rush." I said.

"Yeah, but the Van Graffs hire mercs an' hitmen. If y'hadn't reigned me in, I'd have turned the Crimson Caravan camp int'a heap've bloody bodies, an' th' only one responsible there was McLafferty."

"A heap of bloody bodies..." I repeated. "What, like the Tops?" Cass slapped me without warning and pointed a finger in my face.

"I'll be havin' no more've that talk now. Y'can't change what is. Like I said, all y'gotta do is learn from yer fuck-ups, an' move on." Cass leaned into me, draping her arm over my shoulder, and ruffled my hair. "Yeah, you've fucked up in th' past. So've I. So's every'ne. But yer a good guy. Got good karma goin' fer ya. Cuz yer tryin', an' that's really all any'ne can ever ask."

I sighed, and decided not to argue the point any further. I leaned against her, grateful for the support... both the emotional kind, and the fact that I was physically leaning against her.

"Thanks," I said. "You're a good friend." Cass shrugged.

"Hey, you've done th' same fer me in th' past. Figured I'm past due." I let out a single, tired laugh.

"I wasn't keeping score. You know that, right?" Cass shrugged. The two of us sat there in silence for a few minutes, leaning against each other on the couch, her arm draped over me... Everything about her just felt so... warm. I looked over to her, and suddenly realized how close her face was to mine. She looked at me through the mass of red hair falling down around her face. I could feel her breathing... getting closer...

"You know..." I said softly; that seemed enough to stop her, at least for the moment. "We're gonna have to tell her eventually." Cass was still and silent... and then I saw her start to slowly nod.

"Yeah... yeah, I know." She sighed, resting her forehead against mine. "I'm jus'... not lookin' forward to that conversation, that's all..."

"What, and you think I am?" I couldn't help but let out a few grim chuckles. "Call it a hunch, but I think you're gonna get off easier than I am."

"Maybe... maybe." Cass looked up at me, and ran her fingers through my hair... and then, slowly, got up off the couch. "It's late. We should... I think we should both get some sleep."

"Yeah," I said, nodding... and trying not to stare as she walked away. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea. G'night, Cass."

"... Goodnight, Sheason," And with that, she walked out the door.