If I'm sick, it'll know what I have (not that I ever get sick, but still). If I'm irradiated, it knows exactly how many rads. If I'm injured anywhere on my body, it can identify where I'm hurt. It's got everything! It has radio, a Geiger counter, a flashlight, a map of the Mojave region which I can edit to tag locations as I come across them, it interfaces with terminals, it has massive memory storage, a holotape slot, audio and video recording, a notes and calendar function for planning, an assisted targeting system, and it even gives me medical scans in real time. It's a little computer that you wear on your wrist, and I can't express just how much I love this thing. Well, technically "PIP-Boy," because PIP is an acronym for "personal information processor," but that's not the point. Not crazy about the blue, but it's nice and comfortable.Įven better, he gave me something else of his from the vault. He came from Vault 21 up near Vegas, and moved down here with his wife before she died, so he gave me his old vault jumpsuit, which is about my size. Lucky for me, Mitchell had some clothes to spare. Not just my package, but my gun, my old journal, and even the clothes off my back, which means I lost everything in my pockets too (which was a lot, because my pockets were huge). The Khans took everything else I had on me. Of everything that I was carrying on me when I was shot, I was given back four stimpaks, eighteen caps, twelve bobby pins, some dynamite, and my delivery order from the Mojave Express. Not that I left right away I stayed a while to get my bearings and go over my equipment. I just had to fill in some medical history stuff, which I lied about to avoid answering the awkward questions, and he let me go. I also passed Mitchell's psychological evaluation. Pffft!Īs near as I can tell, my motor skills seem fine, and I haven't lost any important memories, so that's good. And to think the Clairvoyant said that I needed that extra cycle. Hell, there's not even much of a scar there! Mitchell is a miracle worker. My nose is looking a little different, but as far as coming back from the grave goes, it's a much milder change than I'm used to. He treated me while I was out, even doing surgery to remove the bullets and fix up my face again, and I think he did a damn good job. I woke up this morning in some dingy-looking room with boarded-up windows, and found that I had been dug out of my own grave by a friendly robot and delivered to the local doctor of a town called Goodsprings. I survived, of course, because I'm goddamn hardcore and THAT'S HOW I ROLL, but it was only by the skin of my teeth this time, and only with outside assistance. It turns out I was right to expect trouble, as I was captured and robbed along the way by some asshole in a suit and his entourage of Great Khans. You'll recall that about a week ago I accepted a high-paying job to deliver a package to Vegas. It's just news right now, but shut up, I can write you however I want. ← Previous Work Part 5 of The Diaryverse Next Work → Stats: Published: Updated: Words: 34076 Chapters: 13/? Comments: 10 Kudos: 100 Bookmarks: 10 Hits: 1948 The Courier Will Fuck Anything That Moves.Local Man Accidentally Becomes Regional Warlord.Basically every character in Fallout: New Vegas.Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings.
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