Just wrote a little New Vegas fic… Had an itch to write something and this is what I thought of. Enjoy, and review!
Mojave Wasteland, outside New Vegas
A medium-sized caravan was making its way through the night. The air was chill, and there were hints of an impending dawn on the horizon. This small caravan belonged to the Crimson Caravan Company; A rather large trading company from the west that was establishing a foothold in the Mojave. This particular group had three men, and two Brahmin.
Two of the men were brothers, guarding the caravan. Their names were Rob and James Kendall. They were both kitted with some reinforced leather armor and 9mm submachine guns, which they almost never holstered. The man running the caravan was known as Trader Dave, in leather with the trademark stormchaser hat. Trader Dave, like the caravaneers over in the Capital Wasteland, had developed an eccentric personality over the years. Most say that the mild insanity is caused by the long hot treks through the desert. Rob and James were two average Joes, trying to earn enough money to gain access to the Stip.
Dave was leading a pack Brahmin. This Brahmin was young and eagerly carried the massive weight in its many pockets. Attached to the pack Brahmin by rope was a water Brahmin, stocked with water and other provisions to see the three men through on their journey. The caravan was running a route between the Novac area and Crimson Caravan H.Q. with stops at the few trading posts between them. At Novac they had picked up a mysterious package to be delivered to the strip, so that's where they were headed presently.
"Are we almost there yet?" asked James, who was young and did not yet know the area.
"We're almost there, young one… Just northeast stands Camp McCarran. Forbidding, foreboding… But good repeat business." Replied Trader Dave.
Rob was looking from side to side, sweeping the area. "Look out for any signs of fiends… We want this special package to make it."
The trio and their cattle continued on for a few minutes, passing McCarran, and approaching Gun Runners, thinking the whole time of the package. They had received it from a strange, small man in Novac while restocking medicine and water. He had asked for Trader Dave by name. The man had given Dave the package, told him to get it to the Strip's entrance and give it to a securitron there, as quick as possible. The man said that there was a handsome reward for delivering the package quickly. It just so happened that Dave and his two guards were turning around and heading back to Vegas that day, so they accepted. James, being somewhat naïve in nature, thought that the package was some kind of Pre-War superweapon. Rob thought it was some junk or parts to repair the securitron, and Dave was just interested in the promised pay. The package was not to be opened, so the brothers were stuck with their curiosity.
The caravan continue until Dave decided that they should take a rest break before heading into Freeside, in case they ran into trouble. A small campfire was made, and the three tied the Brahmin and sat around it.
"So, what's inside the package?" James piped up.
"You know that we're not supposed to look inside…" Rob began, "… What is inside the package Dave?" Dave shook his head.
"The contents are forbidden to us… Meh, whatever; You only live once." Dave opened a pocket on his pack Brahmin, and pulled out the mysterious package. It was a rare cardboard box, with the words 'Do not open!' written on it. Trader Dave looked both ways, and then carefully opened the package.
"It's a… card. An Ace of Spades no less. It appears to have been forged of platinum, if I'm right."
Dave sat down again and handed the card to Rob. It was indeed a platinum card, and ace of spades. Like most cards used in the game Caravan, (Which Rob was a master of) it was from a casino. Engraved on the back was a Lucky 38 sign. Rob examined it for a moment, and then passed it on to James. When he was done, he looked up at Dave.
"Uhh, boss… your leg is bleeding."
Sure enough, blood was coming out of a small hole in his leather pants. Dave was shocked, and tried to stand up, but found that he couldn't.
"Both of my legs…. Must be a .22. What kind of fiend hits both legs and nothing else? Quickly Robert, grab a stimpak from the Brahmin, James, prepare for combat."
Whatever was assailing the group at this moment saw its chance. Just as James was standing up, the card in his hand was blasted through. James yelped at dove behind the water Brahmin. James opened fire with his 9mm in the general direction of where he thought the shots had been fired from. The assailant had already changed positions, and no bullets hit their target.
"Help me Robert! I'm vulnerable!" At this moment Dave realized the gravity of this situation. Whoever their attacker was, they were winning. James had gotten over his momentary cowardice and poked his head out from behind the water Brahmin.
"Did you hit him Ro-" The young guard never got to finish his sentence, as at that moment, his head was cleanly blown off by a very powerful rifle. The headless James fell to the ground, certainly dead.
This was all that Rob could handle. The older guard cursed out loud and took off running towards the Strip, completely having forgotten about Trader Dave or the Platinum Card. Running out into the open like that? Easy pickings for the mysterious murderer. Five seconds later Rob was down, several holes in his torso. That left Trader Dave.
"One man, alone. His most precious cargo spoiled. The men he thought he knew the best, revealed and unmasked as cowards. Two mutated cattle, the only witnesses to his passing. A short and confusing life, filled with chaos, heartbreak, and radiation. God knows I tried." The killer let Dave finish his speech before tearing into him with two dozen precise .22 SMG shots, to the chest.
It was finished. The caravan was annihilated, its members having plenty of gun wounds between them. A hundred meters from the newly sacked caravan, a shadow's reflection briefly flickered, before disappearing again into the night.