Before I make it to the bar, however, I'm met with a rather odd sight. A man is limping up the ridge as fast as he can, looking like he just got out of a gunfight. Even from this distance, I can see who he is—Ringo. The tutorial mission objective, either to protect or to kill. As I watch him running in my direction, I start to wonder if I should help or just leave…that came out wrong.
I'm simply debating whether to go through the song and dance of the original tutorial mission or just wipe out the little band of Powder Gangers chasing him before it all starts… decisions, decisions… As I stand there, pondering my options while watching Ringo run into town, I finally decide to help him.
"Might as well be a decent human before deciding what to do next," I mutter to myself. Moving toward him, I can finally make out his injuries—a bullet wound to the shoulder—small caliber, likely a revolver of some kind, and an explosive-made wound across the side of his right calf. All of them are flesh wounds. He's lucky; with everything I have on me, I can get him back up in two days, maybe less depending on how cooperative he is about it. I finish my analysis of the visible injuries within a second—he's about thirty feet from me now.
With both of us moving toward each other, we manage to reduce our distance to about ten feet before he finally falls, a combination of pain, blood loss, and adrenaline fatigue catching up to him. Now that I'm close enough, I realize he isn't even looking where he's going, beyond knowing he's on the road. That doesn't stop me, and I make it to his side in a few more strides. He finally notices where he is and looks relieved for a moment.
That expression fades rather quickly after looking up into my masked face. I can tell he's about to start begging for help or mercy any second now. I stop him, kneeling down and putting a hand over his mouth. His eyes widen in horror, probably thinking I'm some kind of psychopath. I decide to interject so he doesn't start yelling or thrashing.
"Calm down, you're not in any state to be moving anymore, let alone screaming," I say, watching as his eyes simmer to a hesitantly accepting expression. "I'm going to remove my hand now and pick you up, ok?" I say, seeing him quickly nod once against my hand. I slowly move my hand away, and since he isn't shouting for help, I move to lift him onto my shoulder. He doesn't seem to like the idea but doesn't really have a choice, seeing as he's about to—
"And there he goes," I state, feeling him go limp as I hoist him up, making it slightly harder to maneuver with him—not enough to make it a pain though. I stand with Ringo firmly on my shoulder and turn to walk back up the hill. Though not toward Doc Mitchell's house. Instead, I move toward the gas station at the very top of the town. That's where he was staying when the game started, so it should be fine if I take him there now and handle all his medical needs there.
Time skip — 10 minutes later
Walking to the exit, I glance back to see Ringo lying peacefully, the note I taped to his forehead still there. Turning back, I open the door and step out. As I do, I see a group of people walking into the bar—'looking for Ringo, I'd bet,' I think, smirking. Finally making my way down to the bar without interruption, I enter—
Woosh! Crash!
—and instantly see a bottle fly past my face. I don't flinch, just looking toward where the bottle came from: the Powder Gangers. A group of escaped NCR convicts that took over the prison they were held in and became a gang. They terrorize everyone in the surrounding area because that's all they know. 'Not that I pity them, they're like the Khans in some ways, doing what they want at the detriment of everyone else,' I muse, watching as the group wrecks the bar and lounge areas. Making a decision, I unclip my service rifle and set it to the side, along with my backpack, stepping further in and pulling out the brass knuckles from my pocket.
As 'Fuck!' and 'You!' gleam in the low light, I come to the first Powder Ganger, nearest to the door. He doesn't notice me—
Kerkrack!
He doesn't notice anything now as he slumps to the floor with a few less teeth and a broken jaw for his trouble. I turn to the other Gangers to see that only two of them had noticed what I did. Charging forward, I duck under the first one's wild haymaker and explode into an uppercut straight to the second one's jaw, hearing his molars audibly clack together before giving under the pressure. I spin on my heel and deliver a haymaker of my own to the first guy. He tries to duck my punch the same way I did…that was the worst choice he could have made.
As he starts to come up for the same kind of uppercut I just did, I twist with the motion of my punch, letting his fist just barely graze my ribs. Using the momentum I built up, I anchor my feet, twist my hips, and lean back just enough to deliver a brutal smash punch straight into his ribs. They barely last a second before shattering. From the feel of it, they punctured his lung. 'Oh well, gotta send an example one way or another, am I right?' I mentally muse, watching the man moving in slow motion. Deciding not to waste any more time, I pivot again, sprinting past the unconscious body of the first Ganger I knocked out and around to the second door to a hallway leading to the bar itself.
'If I remember correctly, the radio that they break is on that side,' I think as I rush down the hallway and round the last corner. I'm immediately proven right as I see the rest of the Powder Gangers—three of them. The two goons are harassing the customers still, thinking the noise was their friends roughing up the place. The third and closest, however, sees me round the corner. I instantly activate my version of VATS and analyze the best course of action. In less than a few heartbeats, I have my answer.
Returning to semi-normal speed, I continue my sprint forward, grabbing the sleeve of the boss of the group. This causes him to stumble and fall to his knees. Continuing past him, I leap onto the bar and jump over the first goon, choke-slamming the second between my arm and one of the booth seats.
KRACK!!!
His neck completely gives way as I do so, ending him then and there. The shock from what just happened makes the last two Powder Gangers freeze in horror. I take advantage, completing my fall and immediately turning a 540 back kick that sends one of them flying into his boss. They both crash to the ground, the first unconscious from the force while the other is moaning in pain. Recovering from the kick, I relax and analyze my body for a moment.
'Joints—a bit sore, muscles—torn in a few places, bones—still supporting everything, hands—manageable,' I check a few other things before bringing my self-analysis to an end, focusing back on the only Powder Ganger left conscious. He shoves his lackey off him and wobbles to his feet. Putting 'Fuck!' and 'You!' away, I walk over to him; he tries to swing at me, but I just stop. His fist flies centimeters from my mask and collides with the bar counter, breaking his hand in the process. He shouts, fumbling back and falling over the unconscious Powder Ganger behind him, landing on his ass.
I don't move, just stand there, staring at him. Just waiting for him to reach for his gun. He doesn't, though, instead looking up into my mask's expressionless gaze and shuddering. He opens his mouth, trying to speak, but only lets out wheezes and spurts of air from his lungs. He hyperventilates for a few seconds before suddenly passing out. I stand there for a few moments, analyzing the noises around me and the vibrations through the floor…nothing. I turn, breaking my statue impersonation, to address the people in the bar.
"You all ok?" I ask, looking around, receiving blank stares from some, horror-filled ones from others, and a few shakes of heads. My own analysis shows that no one was harmed badly enough to need me or Doc Mitchell to patch them up…well, all except the Powder Gangers, of course. Speaking of them, I turn to the leader and yank the gun from his holster, proceeding to do the same with the others and their weapons. They're all either revolvers or break-action shotguns—none of which I need or want. Taking their weapons and placing them on the counter, I move over to the one closest to the door and haul him out and past the Goodsprings sign.
Walking back and doing the same with the next, and so on, until it's just the leader left. For him, I do something different. I grab him by the ankle and drag him out that way. He has a cleanly shaven head and there's asphalt all the way from the bar past to where I put the rest of the Powder Gangers. Pulling him up and past me, I bring my foot back and slam it straight into the side of his stomach. He yelps, gasping for air from the force of the blow. I let him roll for a few seconds so he can catch his breath and listen to what I have to say.
Doing some quick calculations in my mind, I walk over and, making sure he's focused on me, I begin to speak, "You and the ones who survived will be allowed to leave, but should you ever come back—"
Bang! Thump!
Bits of a bird fall between us. He looks at the bird in horror, switching his gaze between both me and it. He does the same as before—tries to speak, but only expels air from his lungs. I holster my gun and turn away, knowing my point got across. By my calculations, the chances of some making it back to the jail they took over are low. The chances of those at the jail doing anything? Exceedingly low. They might look close, but when it comes down to it, they'd sell each other out for a few caps the moment something better comes along.
I walk back into the bar, grab my backpack and Service Rifle, and walk to the bar itself, passing the residents left inside and taking a seat. I set down a few caps. "A shot of whiskey, if you would?" I ask, pulling off my mask and smiling at the bartender. She blinks, clearly getting whiplash because of the contrast between my mask and my face. As she stands there, a notification pops up in my vision.
Ding! Prove you aren't a pushover to the local gang and residents!
1x Silver Ability ticket acquired
Absorbing the information out of the corner of my eye, I put it away for later. Right now, though, I need to get what information I can so I can start moving more freely without looking suspicious. The bartender blinks a few times before shaking her head and smiling.
"Heh, sure kid, a bottle on the house is the least I can do for help like that. The name's Trudy, by the way, I'm the owner of the Prospectors Saloon," she says, grabbing a glass and a bottle of whiskey from the top shelf. Pouring a shot and leaving the bottle.
"Isaac, nice to meet you, Trudy," I respond, taking the glass and pouring it back. The sting of the whiskey and the near-instant numbing of my pain brings a smile to my face. Setting down the glass and looking around, I find that most people have gone back to what they were doing before the Powder Gangers came in. 'I know violence is normal out here, but seeing people who watched me brutalize and terrify a group of Powder Gangers just go back to what they were doing like nothing happened is still a bit crazy,' I think, though some still look at me from time to time.
"Hey Trudy, what's up with that shack on the edge of town? I saw it after leaving the Doc's house, and the door was wide open," I ask, pouring another shot for myself. Grabbing a dustpan to clean up, she answers.
"That old place? Didn't you see the securitron rolling around town?" she asks, and I shake my head.
"No, I saw tracks leading to the graveyard, then out of town, but other than that, there's nothing," I say, making Trudy look up from her work in surprise.
"Huh, that's odd," she mutters, looking thoughtful before moving back to work and explaining. "Well, anyway, that used to be Victor's shack. No one remembers whose it was before that securitron came rolling into town, but after he did, he took it for himself." She finishes, looking happy by the fact that Victor was gone. "He might have been here longer than me, but I'm glad he left. Never trusted that 'cheerful cowboy' act he had going on," she continues, ranting at this point.
"Hey Trudy," I interrupt, hoping to ask my questions before she rants anymore. She snaps out of the annoyance she was building up and looks back at me. "Are there any odd jobs you think I can take on? I want to break in this Pip-Boy Doc Mitchell gave me," I continue, raising my left arm to show off the Pip-Boy 3000. Trudy thinks for a second, moves to a trashcan and dumps the dustpan's contents in before speaking.
"Yeah, actually, there's always work that can be done around here. People always need water, so if you're willing to go and get it for them, they'll probably pay for it," Trudy informs, serving one of the residents who took their seat back at the bar. "Though you will have to clear out the geckos around them first, and for that, I'll pay you to do it." She says, pulling out a bag of caps from under the counter and shaking them a bit. From the look and the sound…about a hundred caps are inside.
"Sure, how many are there?" I ask, finishing the glass before standing. As I put my mask back on she answers.
"Don't know, last I heard there were around twenty of them," she says, making me freeze for a second before continuing. 'What? I knew this world would be different from the game, but twenty? That's more than double!' I think, walking out of the Prospectors Saloon. I start walking down the road toward the wells. As I do, I look at the ticket I got and stop in surprise.
"When did I get a Trait ticket?" I ask, trying to think when I would've done something to deserve it. Not finding anything, I shrug and continue. "Whatever, all that matters is that I got it," I say, rolling the Trait ticket first.
Rolling Silver Trait ticket.
Ding!
[Endless Stomach]
|Uncommon Trait|
Your stomach is 1000x larger on the inside than the outside—don't ask how it works. You can keep eating and will digest the food inside of you on a need-to basis without discomfort, allowing you to eat months' worth of food ahead of time and not worry for a month, same for water. Thankfully, the stomach is very efficient, so you also only produce 1/1000th of the waste.
I stop again, looking at the screen incredulously before shrugging. "It's still good, I guess. Next," I say, rolling the Silver Ability ticket next.
Rolling Silver Ability ticket.
Ding!
[Claws]
|Common Ability|
Allows you to create durable and sharp claws on your fingertips.
I continue walking, feeling the change occur as my fingernails visibly seem to clean themselves. As I look at them, they extend, looking rather sharp. 'Not as sharp as mom's knives though,' I chuckle, thinking about what she'd say. Retracting them back as I come up on someone rather familiar—Sunny Smiles, the tutorial guide. She spots me, motioning for me to hurry over. I do, lifting my Service Rifle to the ready as I get close.
"Hey, you here to help?" she asks, holding her dog back. "Cheyenne, down. Sorry about her, she doesn't bite unless told, promise," she clarifies with a grin.
"It's fine, and yes. I was told to clear out some geckos, you here to do the same?" I ask, looking her over, seeing her only holding a bolt action and nothing else. 'I knew she'd have a bolt action, but I thought she'd have a pistol of some kind too.'
"Yeah, I was just going to pick them off, but since you're here with something with more speed than my little bolt action here," she says, gesturing. "I figure we can change the plan a bit." She finishes, grabbing a stick and drawing a basic plan out into the dirt. "Here it is, you'll fall back a bit and give me cover," she says, putting a dot showing me behind one of the larger rocks I passed on the way here. "While I move up on them and pull their attention down here so you can cover my retreat." She finishes, dragging her fingers along the map to show the group following.
"Alright, I'll make sure they don't make it anywhere near you, as long as you trust me," I say, standing and turning to take my position.
"Hold on," she says, stopping me. I turn back and she continues, "Take Cheyenne with you, she'll watch your back while you cover me." She gestures to her dog. "Go on, keep him safe." Cheyenne whines but complies, moving to my side. I nod and keep moving, gesturing to Cheyenne myself.
"Come on, if I'm taken out, then your master will be in deep trouble. We don't want that, do we?" I ask rhetorically, not expecting an answer but—
Bark!
Cheyenne barks back at me, looking…determined? I brush past that, not wanting to be distracted by the fact she probably understood me perfectly in favor of keeping my promise. Reaching the rock in question, I climb it just enough so that anything that wants to get up would have to climb a bit. Plus, they'd have to get past Cheyenne as well, and from the look in her eyes…never mind.
I just got in position and ready when I heard a shot from the well, and as I raised my rifle to aim I saw Sunny come over the ridge. Waiting for the first gecko to follow, I pull in a breath. 'One…two…'
Bang! Bang! Bang Bang! Bang! Bang!
I begin firing, getting six shots off and killing eight of them—two were from collateral hits. Adjusting myself a bit and waiting for the rest, I see Sunny slide to a prone position at the bottom of the well, using a gecko corpse that rolled past her as support. As more come over, she starts firing as well.
Time skip — 5 minutes
Ding! Kill a large group of mutants for the first time!
1x Random Bronze ticket acquired.
It took us a while of baiting and running, but we got them all. It didn't help that there were twice as many as what Trudy said there were, but that just happens sometimes. Looking down at the magazines laying on the rock I was kneeling on, I wonder why I don't have a dump pouch before pushing that thought away and just picking them up. As I grab the last magazine off the ground, I notice Sunny start walking up to me.
"Thanks for the help, don't know how long this would've taken without you. Sunny Smiles, by the way." She holds her hand out for me to shake. Putting the last magazine away with one hand, I extend the other and shake her hand with a firm grip, feeling her try to squeeze harder than was socially acceptable. She grins a bit wider before letting go.
"Isaac, just a courier passing through," I say, and she looks surprised.
"Really? I guess it's true what they say, don't fuck with the mailman." She laughs, joining me as we walk back to the Prospector's Saloon.
Time skip — 2 hours
I finish my work on the dump pouch I was thinking about. Turns out, I didn't have one because I didn't need it before. I was either out of sight long enough to kill everyone with one magazine, or I was lucky enough to get away. I don't really want to rely on luck for everything from now on, considering the region and everything that's going to happen in the future. Besides the dump pouch, I made sure to grab the essentials: miscellaneous gear, more ammo, a LOT of food, and a bunch of reflective pieces of glass and metal for some reason. I don't know why I got them, but my instincts said I need to. Water wasn't an issue since I can make it whenever I need, so I didn't grab any.
Even though I didn't grab anything unnecessary, it all still set me back about 200 caps, so I'm down to exactly 609 caps. Not as low as I expected, considering the store owner, Chet, is a greedy penny pincher who would sell his own mother if it meant he'd get more money. Moving on, I turn my attention back to the Gacha and roll the bronze ticket before leaving Goodsprings.
Rolling Random Bronze ticket.
Ding!
[Novice Mechanics]
|Common Skill|
You are as skilled as a mechanic's apprentice; you know how to fix basic appliances and maybe even a car with the right tools. You will improve much faster than other people if you choose to train yourself.
I freeze, looking at the skill I just got, then at my other rolls. Specifically, Ace of All Trades—
[Ace of All Trades]
|Epic Ability|
While this ability is in an active slot your comprehension is massively boosted. You only need to read a book once to learn it completely, and you could imitate someone's martial art by watching a video. You could learn someone's martial art while exchanging blows with them. You learn and master skills at supernatural rates.
My face may be covered by a mask, but anyone watching could tell I was grinning like a maniac. Why? Well, I didn't say anything about it, but there are several motorcycles and cars still intact outside the Prospector's Saloon…and I distinctly remember someone being able to fix an old car in one of the earlier games.
"I think I'll be here for a bit longer than I thought," I say, looking at the several motorcycles in front of the bar and starting to get to work.
[Chapter 3 end]
A/N: I'll be honest, I didn't expect that last one, but I guess this gives me a reason to speed up the story. We will be stopping in Primm—not for long, but we are stopping there. I might just make Primm one chapter and then move on, make it a recap after a few things in the beginning maybe? Once that's over we'll move to the Mojave Outpost and then Nipton.
P.S. I think I'll just post these chapters when I finish them, so don't be surprised when they take a bit longer to come out, though I will ensure at least one chapter a week excluding any outside circumstances that stop me from posting or making chapters.
Anyways, to those of you who have made it this far, thank you for reading. I hope you, and even those who don't read this, an incredible rest of your day/night.