After a week recovering in the small town of Goodsprings, the Courier had decided to set out once more to find the people who had attacked and left him for dead. Despite managing a full recovery, the man found the most silent moments in his days the ones where his memory screamed the loudest.
He was, at best, a broken man. He was merely shell of the man he was, long before the ambush and being shot in the head. But the memories he managed to bury deep in his head began to surface once more.
Not a lot of people know his name, only knowing him by Courier Six or just Courier. He stood around six foot, no taller nor shorter. He had a sun-kissed complexion with shaggy dark red hair that encompassed a portion of his face, specifically the scar from where the bullet had left. He wasn't what most people expected from a Courier, but then again what's to expect?
Before finally leaving the usually small, quiet town he spent his remaining time in the Prospector Saloon drinking down any surfacing sorrows. He sat alone in the corner of the old dusty bar, not wanting anymore attention that he had earned already. He only looked up to the evening sky, his thoughts running wild.
"You really think drinking yourself gone is a good idea? Especially when you're about to take off at night?" he heard a familiar feminine tone reprimand him as the screeching sound of a stool being dragged against the wooden floor spliced his ears.
"Miss Smiles," he addressed his acquaintance in a thick country accent, not bothering to meet the young flower's eyes. He took another small shot of whiskey, shuttering, "With all due respect, I'm not exactly looking for company. I'll be leaving here shortly."
He felt her hand brush his shoulder, he sudden touch made him instinctively shoot her a stern look. It didn't seem to phase Sunny Smiles, who looked incredibly concerned for him. The stern soon melted, did everything but pierce his iron heart.
"I'm just worried for you," she admitted, her hand slowly slinking back to her side, "Just... Wait until tomorrow? You know, when you're not drinking?"
He grimaced as he took his last shot, slamming the small glass back on the table. He stood up, Cheyenne immediately moving out of his way. "Sorry Miss Smiles," he let out a cough, trying his hardest to fake sincerity, "But either way I'll be drinking and either way I'm leaving tonight."
He picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulders, stepping out of the Prospector's Saloon and into the cool evening of the open Mojave. He noticed a strange look in the sky; through the colors of blue and indigo laid small rays of red, connected like a spider web.
In the distance he thought he saw something or someone fall out of the sky, but shook his head. Objects don't just fall out of the sky, and people certainly don't either. It was probably the whiskey playing tricks on his eyes.
He simply shrugged this strange feeling off, in just a few seconds the small red rays that connected through the sky had disappeared completely. Admittedly, he felt silly for thinking that the illusion was real. He knew of the insanity the Wastes causes on the simple human mind and that everything could be easily explained.
Still, the strange feeling didn't cease as he continued to head east of Goodsprings. His curiosity, in the end, got the better of him and he felt the need to make sure that nothing seemed out of place. He didn't see the point of protesting, as no one was around to see him go off on a ridiculous adventure to find the strange object that fell out of the sky. He was certain that it was just his imagination running wild... That is, until he actually found what he was looking for.
Laying there in the dirt and gravel, completely unconscious, was a girl. He turned back to see Goodsprings quiet and solemn like usual, then back to the girl. He scratched the back of his head, wondering what to do with someone like her. Her whole appearance was clearly out of place for their current setting, from the black and purple color of her hair to her combat boots.
A part of him felt like leaving her for the coyotes or perverted prospectors that went about the Wasteland, but then again what kind of gentleman would that make him? He certainly that no terrible plot for her.
"Goddamn it," the Courier sighed, setting down his bag on the ground. He decided to set up camp for the night, watching over the strange girl until she woke up. Just in case she happened to be a rabid nutjob, he did make sure to keep his trusted hunting rifle by his side.
He sat on the opposite side of the campfire for the next few hours, watching her carefully as he roasted some iguana bits he picked up before leaving Goodsprings. He did keep an eye out for any dangers, as well for he was acquainted with the radscorpions and coyotes that made up this area.
She did manage to awaken shortly, however. The girl's eyes fluttered open, revealing a purple iris that matched her hair and pieces of her outfit. She sat up and looked around her, clutching on to her consciousness in fear of falling back asleep and never waking up. When her gaze finally landed on the Courier, he only gave a simple wave.
"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," he took a small bite of his iguana bits, "You were out for a while there, darlin'. I was scared you might've hit your head and bled out. How do you feel? Want some iguana bits?"
She stared at him blankly, loose strands of her strangely colored hair began to fall out of her ponytail. He wondered if she had any idea where she was. Her eyes slowly widened after a moment, blindly grabbing something from his bag and leaping on top of him, knocking him back. "Where am I? Who are you?"
He grunted as his head hit the gravel and dirt, shooting the girl a glare. He looked unimpressed with this action, glancing at what she held in her hand. "Let me get this straight," his words suddenly turned cold as ice, "You're in the middle of the Mojave Wasteland- not knowing where you are- Holding banana yucca fruit as a weapon to a man with a loaded rifle. Now, let me ask you this again: Do you want some fucking iguana bits?"
She huffed, throwing the yucca fruit over her shoulder and climbed off of him. She sat back where she previously laid, keeping her distance from him. "No, I don't want your fucking- Are you eating a lizard?" She began to look horrified at the meaty kebab he was holding.
He glanced at it nonchalantly, taking another bite to freak her out even more. "Lizard, iguana, I guess it's all the same," he shrugged this off.
She kept the grimace clear on her face, not bothering in hiding it from the stranger. "Great, lost in the middle of nowhere with a guy who likes the tastes of lizards," she sighed, "It'd be great if you could at least tell me where I am."
"Where do you think? You're in the Mojave Wasteland, darlin'," he slowly watched as the grimace and any other expression begin to fade from her face.
"No, no..." She shook her head, scrambling to her feet. She began to wonder around the small campsite, waving her arms and calling out to the sky, "Kinzie! Kinzie? Can you hear me? Zinyak threw me out of Steelport, Kinzie! Please, Kinzie, I need your help! I'm with this lunatic..."
"Says the girl who's yelling at the moon and literally fell out of the sky," he rolled his eyes, sitting back, "What are you even trying to do? Contact Jesus or something?"
Her hands fell down to her side and her shoulders slumped with an irritated sigh. She gave him a backwards glance, giving him a piercing glare, "Yes, that's exactly what I'm trying to do. But only if Jesus was a chick named Kinzie Kensington. Also, only if she has one fine ass."
"I heard that," a voice from above spoke with an annoyed tone.
The Courier's face lit up somewhat since before he thought of this stranger as some crazy nut who took a little too much Jet. "I'll be damned," he said in awe, "I think you just made Jesus talk."
"Not exactly Jesus, but I'm pretty close to it," the voice laughed.
"You're my girl, Kinz," the other girl laughed and looked up, "Now feel free to zap me back into Steelport any second now. I'd like to teach Zinyak a lesson with messing with us Saints."
The voice, Kinzie, groaned loudly, "First off, don't call me you're girl anymore. Really, we've talked about this Boss. Second, it, uh... It may be a while before I can get you out of there."
"Oh don't act like you didn't like it when I took you on the des- Wait what," the girl stopped in her tracks, furrowing her brows, "What do you mean it may be a while? The fucking Earth is hanging on a thread and you're telling me I need to wait?
"It's not like I want to watch and see what Zinyak does with the world," Kinzie retorted, "But he put you in a special little program. If I need to make you a little door to Steelport I can't just type it up in a minute and poof. There has to be some kind of hotspot or something where I can easily hack into the program and reroute-"
"Ladies, ladies," the Courier managed to break up the conversation to get a word in, standing up, "With all due respect girls, I don't know what the hell you two are going on about. Personally I don't like to snoop, but because I helped out goth girl over here I believe I deserve some insight."
"'Goth girl'?" The girl said to herself, making a face.
"Ah, how to put it simply... We are from Earth. As in, the real Earth. As in, not your world. As in... Shit, how do I say this? What I'm trying to say is that you're a program. The world you're living in is just one large program made by Zinyak, who took over our own world- The real world. What you're looking at, the girl with all the piercings and tattoos? That's our president and we can't go on without her like she can't without us."
The Courier stayed silent for a long moment, taking in all that been dumped on him. He looked to the supposed President, who seemed to be awaiting for some kind of reaction from him. He took in her face: The bright purple eyes that matched her thick hair and makeup, the four studs that were pierced between one eyebrow and one on her nose.
He looked below to the long trench coat and purple turtle neck that cut off right above here naval, sighing and accepting this. He didn't believe a second of it, but he needed to see if it was all true. And he was only going to find out by sticking to this... Girl.
"Alright Kinzie," she turned her back to him, leaning her head back to look straight up to the sky, "Any idea on how to get out of the Macaroni Wasteland once I ditch the creep over here?"
Silence only waited in return to her question, the sound of coyotes are howling in the distance filling the quiet night. The President dropped to the ground, tapping her foot irritably and groaning. "See, this is why we didn't work out..." She sighed.
It was safe to say that Kinzie was either gone or booted out, maybe even taking a bathroom break. Either way it went down, the night was growing short and soon it'd be dawn. The Courier sat back in his seat, reaching into his bag for his makeshift bed, "Well princess, I suggest get some sleep before we head out-"
"Woah, woah, woah," she interjected, turning her head to the side, "First off, don't call me princess. Second, I am not taking orders from a guy with a purse. Third, what is with this we business? There is no we, just me. And you be damned sure I'm not going to go around with some guy who was just watching me sleep. Now if you excuse me..." She picked herself back up, poking her nose in the air, "I will be resting elsewhere."
He smirked at her cocky disposition, watching as she attempted to gracefully carry herself away. The second she strutted out of sight, he heard a frantic yell and saw her coming right back with a couple coyotes chasing after her. He didn't feel entirely surprised at this, instinctively picking up his rifle and landing two bullets in each dog's skull.
She took a moment to catch her breath, looking absolutely humiliated by being chased off. She still rounded up what was left of her dignity and sneered, "Don't mind that. But as I was saying, I will be resting elsewhere!"
Instead of leaving the small set-up camp she took a few feet away and laid back down on the cold gravel. He restrained himself from chuckling out loud at this, instead craned his neck to get a look at her face, "If that's what you want, I suppose I'll put out is nice warm fire..."
She turned toward him immediately, rolling from her side to her stomach. "Don't do that," she demanded, scooting ever so closer to the fire, "Y'know, I was thinking..."
"Oh, please, do go on," the Courier kept a sarcastic tone.
"I think I should stick with you, since you obviously need my help-"
"Of course, mistress. Whatever you say."
"Seeing as you're all alone and you probably need someone of my high intellect and leadership."
"Yes, exactly. I am a lost soul in the 'Macaroni' Wasteland. Please, guide me."
"I'm glad you offered. Because I'm weaponless and you seem to have a good hold on that little rifle. I'll be the beautiful brains and you'll be the dim-witted brawn! A perfect combo."
"I agree whole-heartedly," he rolled his eyes, "Now that's out of the way, mind tellin' me your name? I rather not call you Miss President the whole time."
She sat up and scooted closer to the fire, rubbing her stomach for warmth. "I am President Harleen Rayne Nelson, for your information. But my friends just call me Harley." She struck out a hand for him to shake, a small black fingerless glove encompassing a great portion of her hand, "And you are...?"
His mouth opened for a split second before he quickly shut it once more, as if to think it over. He took in a deep breath, only answering: "Six. I'm Courier Six. Nobody special."
She furrowed her brow, Harley's mouth hanging, "You're telling me my fucking hero is a mailman? Bull shit."
"I wouldn't call myself a hero, but you're about there," she shrugged this off, laying back on his makeshift bed, "Now as I was saying, let's try to get some sleep alright? Morning's coming and unlike you, I didn't take a nap."
She stomped out the fire, spreading some dirt around it to help put it out some. She laid on her back, one leg folded another as she looked up to the sky. Six sat up to grab one last glance of Harley, before turning his back to her.
Something about her face structure and her careless disposition tugged his heart but he did what he was best and pushed it to the back of his head, leaving it to gather dust. It's what was best to ease his mind.