Revisions made on the 10th of September 2017
Five miles south of Primm, Mojave Wasteland
It was an arid, dry day in the Mojave. The blistering sun was beating down on the already barren landscape, cooking anything within its view. Life was sparse but it still found a way to eke out some kind of existence in the wasteland. Cacti and shrubs have long called the desert their home, and the animals were just as hardy and much more dangerous if they were feeling extra ornery that day. And the people… Well, a lot can be said about them.
Many have lived in the Mojave for practically their entire lives, while many others were outsiders. They all had different jobs, different professions: Farmers, bartenders, prospectors, traders, doctors, soldiers, bandits, raiders, and couriers; to name a few. Sometimes cycling in and out of their professions. Today, bounty hunting was the profession.
A gecko was just basking in shade by a couple of rocks, taking in the Mojave heat. The lizard was undisturbed and was relaxing under its shelter for some time before it heard footsteps not too far from where it rested. Opening its eyes, it is immediately alarmed to see a rather large figure draped in black and with metal on its head walking along the stretch of road it was basking by. The figure had a medium-sized backpack, with a large, dark piece of metal strapped to the side. There was also another slightly smaller piece of metal slung over its shoulder, its color was a jumble of green and black stripes. It was holding a thin object, its face focused on it the entire time. Also concerning was the creature that was accompanying the figure by its side. It was walking on all fours and was furry. Its coat was largely black and gray and had a pointed face with pointed ears. Not wanting to be possibly eaten, the gecko scurries away on its hindlegs, kicking up some dust in the air.
The man stops and turns his head to his right, watching the dust fizzle as he sees a gecko run behind some rocks.
He let out an amused huff, before returning his gaze to the piece of tan paper plastered with the word "WANTED".
The wanted poster had an etch of a man with grime all over his face, a somewhat rough beard, and little to no hair on his head. The description on the poster identified him as the leader of a gang of tech raiders, wanted by NCR law enforcement for a multitude of offenses: theft, assault, murder, rape, and Brahmin rustling; and were to be armed and dangerous, as expected of people who end up on wanted posters. It also stated the raider and his crew were last sighted south of the Nipton ruins. The hunter wondered why they were there, of all places.
'Nothing but molerats and Vipers gangs there', he recalls. Something certainly caught their attention.
He was then broken out of his train of thought when he heard his dog sniffing and pawing at the ground, away from the cracked road he was on. The owner moves to his dog's side, kneeling to take a closer look at what the canine was pawing at. It was a large group of tracks. Human. Fresh, as well
'Too many footprints to just be a caravan', he examined, counting around 8-10 individuals.
However, he noticed one of the sets of prints was significantly larger than the others. More than twice the size, in fact, and was heavily indented into the dirt.
'Shit…', upon realizing his situation. 'One of them has Power Armor.'
Wasn't the first time he's dealt with Power Armor. He couldn't tell what type of model armor the raider was wearing. T-45d was tough but had fairly exploitable weaknesses. T-51b would be much more dangerous, requiring either cunning or heavy firepower, or both. And God forbid if the bastard had Enclave Mk. 2…
The hunter then swings the backpack to his chest and starts to rummage through it. He had a couple of grenades of varying types that he always kept handy if the situation called for it, which it soon might. However, he always preferred a long-range option, especially one with some extra kick. So, he grabs the black rifle from the holster on the backpack and starts to insert long .45-70 Gov't rounds through the receiver, chambering a round with the lever, resulting in a satisfying noise of metal grinding and clunking.
"Alright, Cooper," the masked man said, addressing the dog. "Lead the way."
With a bark, his dog then briskly walks ahead of him, periodically sniffing the ground as he does.
They follow the trail for some time, not long before they passed Nipton Ruins until Cooper leads them to the target. Within a few minutes, they reached the site where the Tech Raiders were camped out: Mojave Drive-In Theater. The question of why they were there was then immediately answered.
'So, that's what you're all there for, huh?' the bounty hunter thought perched behind a rock, peering through the scope of his Brush Gun at the group of raiders, standing around the hull of a crashed satellite.
"Couldn't resist Big Mountain tech…" he says, as he pulls back the hammer on his rifle with his thumb, priming it.
Roughly 100 miles NW of Las Vegas, Nevada, Mojave Desert
Two soldiers in black uniforms and tactical gear, wielding rifles in their hands and donning metal helmets with blood red eyes, stood outside of the gate to a rusted fence perimeter. Basically, they were doing nothing, standing guard while the rest of their detachment did whatever the hell they were doing inside the base. They weren't told much and that suited them just fine most of the time, but standing around in the Mojave heat in largely black, bulky clothing wasn't something they were comfortable with.
"This heat is making my balls itch," complained one of the guards, fidgeting in the sun.
"The fuck do you want me to do about it?" replied the other guard.
"I dunno. Scratch 'em for me?" he snarkily bit back. "And what the hell are we doing in bumfuck Nevada, anyway? This place just looks like a shithole."
They were currently guarding the entrance to what seemed to be an old military base, that was either decommissioned or abandoned long ago. Didn't look like it was worth anything, but it was apparently important enough for a detachment to be sent to scope out and scavenge the place.
"If you paid attention in the briefing, they told us to recon and extract anything that looks important. Tech, weapons, documents, and such. This used to be an Overwatch site, after all," the guard clarified, turning his attention to some tumbleweed blowing into the distance. "Just wish we weren't always put on guard duty."
As he focused on the tumbleweed, his attention then drifted to a dark object in the sky, which steadily became larger and larger. His eyes widened as the object then landed between him and the other guard, square in the dirt.
"OH FU-" exclaimed the guard before he was met with a bright flash and ringing ears.
Everything became a blur as he started leaning against the chain-link fence and tossed away his helmet to clutch his ears and trying to soothe the ringing. As his vision slowly came back, he looked to see the other guard being overpowered by some blue-orange blur. Before he could react, he felt something metal grab him by his shoulder, turn him around, and promptly got pistol-whipped in the face by a huge revolver, turning his world black.
"Sorry 'bout that," said a gruff voice with a Western drawl.
The man then flipped his revolver before holstering it, adjusting his brown Stetson hat to keep the Mojave sun out of his eyes. He then looks over to the other guard, currently being held in a chokehold by a woman with spiky hair, orange-tinted goggles, a bomber jacket, and yellow leggings. The guard was grabbing at her face and white gauntlets, but she wouldn't let up.
"Need any help there, Trace?" asked the man with the stetson.
"Nah, I'm good, McCree. Just have to…" replied the woman in a very British accent, increasing the pressure on the man until he finally became weaker and drifted to unconsciousness. "There you go! Off to bed with you!"
She released the man and let him slump to the dirt. Standing up and dusting herself off, she then walks towards the entrance with McCree and gazes at the warehouses, hangars, and buildings within the base. She takes a deep breath and sighs.
"Been an awfully long time since I've last been here. Since the Slipstream..." she solemnly noted.
McCree raises an eyebrow at her, before putting a hand on her shoulder.
"No need to be thinkin' about that right now, especially on a mission. Besides, no point dawdlin' in the past. I'd know," he reassured.
"Yeah, yeah… I know what you mean, love," she replies, shooting McCree a warm smile before holding up a finger to her left ear. "We're at the entrance now, Winston. Copy?"
"Copy that," replied a deep, gruff voice over the radio. "All Overwatch documents Athena was able to pull up over this base indicates that what we really need is in a concrete building situated next to a large hanger. Have a visual on anything similar?"
Tracer then scans the base, looking for any building that fit the description. Her eyes then landed on a rather large hanger, practically twice the size of the others. She then spotted a building to the right of it.
"Yup, I've got eyes on the target," Tracer confirmed.
"Excellent. Make your way there, but try not to go in guns blazing!" Winston suggested. "We can't have the entire base going on full alert before you are even in the building."
"Isn't DVa on standby in case that happens?" asked McCree.
"She is, but I doubt shooting up the base would make your job any easier. Just make sure to retrieve the blueprints and get out safely. Good luck. Winston out."
As the radio went silent, McCree then pulls out a spray can of liquid nitrogen out of his pack and shakes it.
"You ready?" he asks.
Flipping out her dual Pulse Pistols from her gauntlets, the gal then smirks.
"Make sure you catch up, alright, love?"
AN: Hey, everyone! I would just like to thank you for reading the first chapter to my first fanfiction, ever. I've honestly had this idea in my head for quite some time before finally acting upon it halfway through Summer. Finally deciding it to post something now, which is better late than never.
I should mention this Courier, whose name will be revealed soon, is based off a Courier in my modded playthrough of New Vegas. Don't worry, his story should be rather lore friendly and I won't say what mods as that could potentially spoil plot-points I have planned. I'll also make sure to be detailed, so people won't be left scratching their heads at what I'm referencing.
Updates will vary, as I have school and life to deal with, but I promise not to leave this story dead in the water. I wrote a pretty good chunk during the Summer, this is only a taste of that ;)
Please feel free to leave any reviews/criticisms you have and thank you again for reading!