Fallout: New Vegas – The Lost Courier

After wiping out the Legion in Nipton, Kai stood at the edge of town, watching as the surviving women slowly made their way out. The flickering glow of fires illuminated the night, casting eerie shadows on the ruined buildings. The acrid scent of burning flesh still lingered in the air.

As he observed the women—some limping, others clutching torn clothing—he clenched his jaw. In the game, their suffering had been a passing detail, something easily overlooked in the chaos of combat.

But here, in this harsh reality, their pain was real. This world was cruel—far crueler than he had imagined.

With a final glance at the smoldering town, he turned and made his way down the road, his boots crunching against the cracked asphalt. The path led between two small hills, a known ambush spot for Jackals.

Lacking a sniper rifle to pick them off from a distance, he chose patience over firepower.

Waiting until midnight, he moved under the cover of darkness. The desert wind howled softly as he crept along, staying low and alert. He could make out faint figures atop the hills—Jackals waiting for an easy target—but they never saw him. By the time he reached Wolfhorn Ranch, the danger was behind him.

He didn't stop.

The road stretched on, quiet except for the distant howls of coyotes and the occasional rustling of something unseen in the brush. After some time, the faint glow of a campfire caught his attention. A small group of people sat around it, while Brahmin laden with heavy bags rested nearby. Merchants.

Kai adjusted his grip on his rifle and approached, keeping his posture relaxed. As he drew closer, the guards tensed, raising their weapons.

"Stop right there!" one of them barked, a wiry man gripping a hunting rifle. His voice was steady, but there was a hint of nervousness beneath it.

Kai stopped, raising his hands slightly in a non-threatening gesture. "You're guarding the merchant, right? I'm just here for trade." His voice was calm, measured.

The guards exchanged glances before lowering their weapons, though their eyes remained wary. One of them, a broad-shouldered woman with a shotgun, gave a nod. "Alright. No trouble, and you can take a look."

With that, they let him pass.

The merchant, an older man with graying stubble and a patched-up duster, stood as Kai approached. His keen eyes scanned him up and down, lingering on the worn armor stained with Legion colors. "Hmph. You look like you've been through hell, stranger," he said, his voice rough but not unkind. "What can I do for you?"

Kai nodded. "Let me see what you've got."

The merchant pulled open a weathered case, revealing an assortment of goods—ammo, chems, weapons, and supplies. Kai took his time, unstrapping his pack and setting down the loot he'd taken from the dead Legionnaires.

"Legion armor, a couple of their blades, and some rifles," Kai listed as he laid out the items.

The merchant let out a low whistle. "Got yourself a haul. Not many folks take the fight to the Legion and walk away breathing." He examined the armor before shaking his head. "I'll take it off your hands, but I gotta tell ya—some traders won't touch Legion gear. Too risky."

Kai shrugged. "Not my problem, as long as you're buying."

The merchant chuckled. "Fair enough." He counted out caps, and Kai pocketed them before browsing through the merchant's wares.

He sold his silenced 9mm pistol and Varmint Rifle, replacing them with something more suited to survival—a silencer for his Weathered 10mm Pistol, a plasma gun, and a handful of Stimpaks. He also grabbed some Turbo and a few Stealth Boys—things that could mean the difference between life and death in the wasteland.

Once the deal was done, he slung his pack over his shoulder and turned back toward the road.

"Word of advice, stranger," the merchant called after him. "Legion's got eyes everywhere. If you're headin' east, watch yourself."

Kai gave a small nod, adjusting his rifle strap. "I always do."

With his supplies restocked and his next destination clear, he continued onward—toward the Legion raid camp

After restocking his supplies, Kai pressed on toward the Legion raid camp. The desert night was frigid, the wind carrying distant howls of unseen predators. He adjusted his pack and exhaled, watching his breath swirl and fade into the darkness. The Mojave had a strange beauty—if you ignored the ever-present threat of death.

As he neared the camp, he crouched behind a rocky outcrop and raised his binoculars. Scanning the area, he counted the threats.

"Five Legionaries. Three up top, two patrolling the perimeter." His gaze shifted toward the center. Three captives sat bound, barely moving. "Settlers? Traders? Either way, they're running out of time."

His grip tightened. Legion camps never left survivors. If he didn't act soon, those people were dead. But charging in would be suicide. He needed the right tool for the job.

A rifle. Something with range. Something that'll let me pick them off before they even know I'm here.

Then he remembered—Black Rock Cave. Rat Slayer. A suppressed sniper rifle tucked away in that rad-infested hellhole. A risk, but one worth taking.

He slipped back into the night.

Navigating the rough terrain, he reached a murky pond at the base of a small hill. The cave entrance loomed ahead, a gaping wound in the rock. An old sign clung to life, its warning long faded. Not that he needed it. He already knew what lurked inside.

"Alright," he muttered. "Let's get this over with."

As he stepped forward, his Pip-Boy beeped. Radiation detected.

He glanced at the screen. Figures. No turning back now.

The air inside was thick and stagnant, laced with the stench of damp rock and decay. His Weathered 10mm Pistol was at the ready, finger resting on the trigger guard. The glow of his Pip-Boy cast eerie shadows along the walls, warping the jagged rock into grotesque shapes.

Then—movement.

A massive rat, its fur matted and patchy, sniffed the air. Its beady eyes locked onto him.

Kai didn't hesitate. He aimed, exhaled, and squeezed the trigger.

Pfft! The bullet struck true. The rat twitched once, then slumped over.

And then—the sound he dreaded.

A shrill, ear-splitting screech.

"Shit."

The cave erupted with movement. Shadows shifted. The ground rustled. Dozens of rats surged forward, glowing eyes flickering in the dark.

Kai's stomach dropped.

"This is bad."

He holstered his pistol and yanked out his Caravan Shotgun. His Pip-Boy whirred as he activated V.A.T.S., locking onto the first wave.

BLAM!

The shot tore through the swarm, sending chunks flying, but they kept coming. A relentless tide of fur and teeth.

One latched onto his arm. Fangs tore into flesh.

Pain flared, and his Pip-Boy flashed: Limb Crippled.

"Gah—fuck!"

He staggered, barely keeping his footing. No time to reload. No time to think.

His free hand found a Stimpak. He jammed it into his arm, a surge of relief rushing through him. His fingers brushed against a Turbo injector. Without hesitation, he slammed it into his thigh.

The world slowed.

Movements sharpened. Time stretched.

He pulled the pin on a grenade, lobbed it into the horde, and watched as the explosion ripped through flesh and bone. The cave walls trembled. Another shot from his Grenade Launcher sealed their fate.

The last rat twitched on the bloodied floor. Then—finally—silence.

His Pip-Boy chimed.

Lord Death perk - I acquired.

Animal Control - I acquired

Kai huffed a laugh, wiping blood from his face. "At least I got perks out of it."

Pain still throbbed through his arm, but he ignored it. He wasn't done yet.

Deeper inside, he found what he came for.

Rat Slayer.

The rifle was in better condition than he expected, its suppressor intact. He sighted along the barrel with a satisfied nod. "Perfect."

Nearby, a radiation suit lay crumpled against the wall. He grabbed it, stuffing it into his pack before spotting something else—a bedroll.

His body ached, exhaustion clawing at his limbs. He'd rest here. Just for a little while.

Sitting down, he pulled out a can of Cram and a bottle of water. The taste was bland, but it kept his stomach from protesting. He swallowed the last bite, leaned back, and exhaled.

Sleep came fast.

When he woke, the ache in his body had dulled. His arm and leg still throbbed, but the wounds had mended enough to move without too much pain. The Stimpak had done its job.

He stretched, rolling his shoulder before reaching into his pack for a quick breakfast—another can of Cram and the last of his water. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep him going.

Once finished, he slung Rat Slayer over his back and scanned the cave one last time. He wasn't about to leave empty-handed.

Rummaging through the wreckage, he picked up scrap metal, old casing rounds, and whatever salvageable junk he could carry. Even the rat corpses had value—meat, pelts, whatever he could trade. Waste not, want not.

With everything secured, he stepped out of the cave, squinting as the morning sun painted the Mojave in gold and rust.