I have traveled this far for you.
I awoke in a dusty doctor's office, spinning and blind, slowly regaining the vision you tried to steal from me. There it is, though, lodged in my head like a bullet: the image of my bound hands and your checked coat, men in horned helmets like demons surround you, a slick-backed, smooth-talking Satan. Looked me in the eye, told me straight. My time was up, my number had been called and the game was over. No overtime, no redemption shot, no last chance. It was rigged from the start, you said. You should always look your victims in the eye, you said. The gun was shining like a national guitar, the melody ringing in my ears like a funereal sitcom theme song. Halfway to death and I remembered that song: I'm going to Graceland. Except not the one in Tennessee, no, this time, the real thing. There was a flash of fire, and then I died. But I'm stuck in that song. I've reason to believe that I too will be received in Graceland. I'm dead, floating, I'm looking at ghosts and empties.
The song doesn't end there. I am buried alive, still dying one appendage, one organ at a time. Left lung, right lung. Heartstrings discordant, reverberating from my grave. But it isn't mine for long. There is metal, the sound of digging, and I am being lifted from the ground and there is light. Not the bright lights of Memphis, but the lone glow of the moon over the Mojave. Everybody sees you're blown apart. Everybody's gonna feel the wind blow.
That electric drawl hums a tune as we move across the Wastes, and then I'm in a bed in a house in a town that creaks it's welcome to me through bedsprings and Goodsprings. When I wake up, all I have to my name is a pistol and a note about the delivery I was meant to make. The package that you pocketed before the flash of gunfire calls out to me from across the desert, wanting to be reclaimed.
And so I wander the Wastes, hunting coyotes and seeking shade by day, bunkering down in abandoned trailers by night. There is no lull in the noise of danger, no real barrier between me and the Wasteland. I have brought down soldiers, legions, super mutants, Elvis impersonators, deathclaws and cannibals on my way to you. There is nothing that will stand in my way for long. Not the makeshift walls of Freeside or the barbed wire wall of McCarran or the neon Securitron-patrolled walls of New Vegas. You hide in the biggest, boldest of buildings, a middle finger to your enemies, but the chip continues to call to me.
With me, you can rule the Strip. With me, you will never have to cower behind cacti while caravans of Khans and Vipers pass by. With me, you will be as free as the Wastes. Safe. So, Benny-my-boy, be prepared. The dead walk, yes man, they do. And I'll be the one to take you out, ya lucky bastard. Cause the chips are down and the chip is calling. Cause my bets have been placed and you've got the dice. Cause if I'm the bottom, baby, you're the top.