New Vegas: Sheason's Story

It's the Mr. New Vegas show, ladies and gentlemen. I'm your host, Mr. New Vegas, and I've got a good feeling about every one of you listening tonight. Here are the headlines. Tensions between the Freeside locals and NCR squatters have been escalating in recent days. There have been several incidents of violence and injuries, but no deaths reported thus far. In other news, an anonymous source in the NCR reports that travelers should steer clear of Searchlight, due to large pockets of radiation. Travelers on the Nipton highway and highway 95 are advised to steer clear. More classics coming right up for you, so stay tuned.

Right below the button for the penthouse in the Lucky 38's elevator, there is a button labeled "cocktail lounge." Push it, and you will find yourself in a circular observation deck that, presumably, doubled as a restaurant before the war. The space has a bar surrounding the center, and empty tables fill all the available space. The floor slowly rotates, like a massive turntable. Giant floor to ceiling windows provide sweeping panoramic vistas of Vegas and the Mojave wasteland beyond the wall.

More important than anything else - at least to me - was the fact that the bar was stocked even better than the bar on the casino floor.

I was sitting at one of the tables, watching the landscape slowly move by the windows. Behind me, I could hear my friends talking and laughing and drinking and ED-E buzzing about the ceiling. I wasn't really paying attention. They needed time to decompress: every one of them, even Arcade, had stayed by me while I was recovering in Usanagi's clinic.

None of them had to stay, but they had. I should've been feeling a hell of a lot more grateful. I should've been happy that it seemed like they were all getting along, too. But my mind kept going back to Melody, and the promise I'd been unable to keep. So there I sat, nursing a rapidly diminishing bottle of whiskey.

It's not like this is the first time I've broken a promise to someone. Hell, it hadn't even been the first time I'd left someone to save my own skin - and unlike those times, I actually had the excuse that I was unconscious and dying at the time. That's a pretty good excuse to leave someone behind, don't you think? I kept trying to tell myself that if I hadn't been on the brink of death, I would've kept my promise to a scared, traumatized, and abused little ten year old girl. It should've been good enough for my own head, but...

By all accounts, I'm not a good man. I haven't lived a good life. I've tried. I feel like I've made an honest effort to be a decent human being. But the simple facts? I've killed people. I've broken promises, despite my insistence that I always keep my promises. I've left people behind to save my own skin. And worst of all, most of the people I've wronged in one way or another... I can't remember who they are anymore. Names, faces, places... they all run together, until they're nothing but indistinct shapes in my mind. Eventually, Melody's name and face would disappear as well, vanishing from my memory like a fading echo.

I tipped the bottle back, and emptied the last of the whiskey down the back of my throat. It didn't even burn anymore. By now, everything was numb. I had to stop thinking about this. I'd fucked up. But even drunk as I was, I realized that sitting around regretting the past wasn't going to change anything. I didn't want to forget, but I knew that I was never going to move forward if I kept clinging to the past.

Moving forward. At the end of the day, that was really the only thing that mattered in this blasted hell of a world. If you wanted to survive, you had to find a balance between learning from the past and not clinging to it.

And yet, despite that proclamation of moving forward, I still had plenty of drinking left to do tonight.

What can I say? I'm not made of stone.

On the way back from retrieving another bottle of whiskey from the bar, I'd forgotten that the outer edge of the restaurant floor moved. So when I went back to what I thought was the table where I'd been sitting, I found Boone. He was standing, his arms folded across his chest, in between a pair of tables and looking out one of the floor to ceiling windows.

"Boss," I heard him say as I approached. He didn't even turn his head.

"Hey Boone," I replied, walking to a space next to him. I caught a glimpse of his eyes behind his sunglasses, and they didn't look focused on anything. It was like he wasn't really seeing anything. "What are you doing?"

"Thinking," was all he said. I offered the bottle of whiskey, but he didn't pay it any attention. So I shrugged, and took a drink.

"About what?"

"What do you think?" he said softly. I was about to say 'Carla,' but before I got a chance to say anything, he cut me off with "Bitter Springs." Honestly, that felt kind of surprising. Or maybe I was surprised because I was slightly drunk.

"Do you think about Bitter Springs a lot?" I asked.

"Yeah. Always. Even when I sleep."

"You know," I took another drink of whiskey. "I'm still not entirely clear on what happened there."

"There was a..." Boone paused, and made a noise that wasn't quite a sigh. It almost sounded like he was exhaling gravel. "miscommunication."

"That's all? A miscommunication?"

"Yeah. Well. That's how they wrote it up in the report," Boone slowly shook his head, and leaned against one of the chairs; I leaned against the chair opposite, and he looked me in the face when he spoke next. At least, I think he looked me in the face - it was hard to tell with those damn glasses of his. "We did what we were there to do. Lot of people got killed. That's war. Maybe looking back you'd do things differently, but that's not how it works. In the field, you hesitate, you or someone you care about will die. They teach that from day one."

"Sounds like you have as many regrets as I do," I muttered into the whiskey bottle as I took another drink. Boone just nodded, and continued.

"What happened at Bitter Springs... Life has a way of punishing you for the mistakes you make. Big enough mistake, punishment can take a while," He looked back out the window, away from me. "Mine's not over."

"Maybe you can make up for your mistakes?" I tried to offer with a shrug. "I've... fucked up in the past. Some, more recently than others. But I can't stop moving forward because of it, and you shouldn't either." The part of my brain that wasn't completely drunk was insisting that I was just talking out of my ass. It didn't help that Boone was being as infuriatingly cryptic as ever, and I still didn't really know what happened at Bitter Springs.

"A murderer who does good deeds is still a murderer," Boone said coldly. "And he'll still get his judgment. I left the NCR when my tour was up. Had enough of war. Decided I was going to let go. Begin again. None of it made a difference in the end."

"Maybe..." I tried to think of something to say, which is surprisingly hard when your stomach is drowning in whiskey. "Maybe it's just bad luck?" Boone snorted at that.

"That's what they tell you in the casinos, too. Because it's the only way to get you to buy back in. If people knew the truth, that someone's watching you, waiting to take it all away from you, and it never loses... That's all it's doing now. Waiting for me to buy back in."

The two of us sat in silence for a minute, watching the landscape roll past the windows. I took another swig of whiskey, and decided to break the silence.

"Maybe... you know, maybe it would... I don't know, maybe it would help to go back there?" I asked. Boone shook his head.

"I don't think so. It won't change anything. And that's a memory I don't want refreshed."

I didn't get a chance to say anything else to Boone. At that precise moment - although more specifically, the precise moment I was about to take another drink - a hand grasped me by the shoulder and yanked me violently away from my spot leaning against the chair. The entire room became a blur, and I tried to convince myself that only so much of it was from the whiskey.

"Sheason, c'mon! I got somethin' t'show ya!"

"Cass?" I asked as she dragged me along. The first thing I tried to focus on was the whiskey bottle, but that... didn't really... work. "What's goin' on? Where're you takin' me?"

"So, earlier I found a bottle'a tequila, right? So I challenged Arcade t'a drinkin' contest!" She said happily as she sat me down in a chair. When things finally came into focus, I was looking at an Arcade who was passed out face-down on the table with... three empty shot glasses next to his head. Sitting next to him was Veronica, looking at a piece of paper.

"So, three shots, and he's out?" I looked questioningly at Cass as she sat down next to me at the table. She nodded happily, pulling out her own bottle of whiskey and clinking the glass against mine. "Ok, that's interesting, I guess... is that all you wanted to show me?"

"Oh! No, not at all - see, after Arcade passed out, V and I got to talkin', and I showed her that map th' two of us found at th' caravan site!"

"I thought that piece of paper looked familiar," I said, taking a drink. "So, found anything interesting?"

"Well," Veronica put the paper down on the table, and pointed to the numbers at the bottom of the page. "I'm pretty sure these are GPS coordinates."

"GP what now?" You might think that was the booze talking, but I'll be honest - I had no idea what GPS was.

"Global Positioning System. Look, it's... technical stuff. The long and short of it, I was wondering if I could borrow your arm for a minute?"

"... what."

"I just want to take a look at your Pip Boy. Is that alright?" She smiled widely.

"Alright, I guess," I hesitantly offered my arm to Veronica, who grabbed hold of it, and nearly pulled me across the table as she started fiddling with the buttons and dials. "What do you need it for?"

"GPS is an old world mapping system, and since the maps on your Pip Boy are a mixture of archival data, information from old world satellites still in orbit, and real-time radar, if I put the number into the computer, it should... give us... a... location."

My Pip Boy beeped, and Veronica let go of my arm. So, I took another drink of whiskey, and looked at the map. Or, tried to, to be honest. Everything was all a bit fuzzy around the edges.

"Huh. Neat. So, I guess we have the location of the third caravan site. Cass, I promise we'll check it out... sometime soon, alright?"

"Sounds good!" She said with a smile and flushed cheeks. I'm not really sure she was paying attention. I looked over to the unconscious form of Arcade, slumped over the table. I gave him a couple of pokes. He didn't even stir.

"Man, he's really out've it, isn't he?" Cass chuckled, and took another swig of whiskey. "Pfft. Lightweight." I think I must have scrunched my face up or looked worried, because Veronica spoke up.

"Hey Shea, what's up?" She asked with her ever present faux-innocent curiosity.

"I'm just wondering..." I stopped looking at the immobile and unconscious form of Arcade, and looked right at Veronica before continuing. "Have you told him yet?"

"Told 'im what?" Cass asked. Veronica just shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

"Nnnnno? Not really," She scratched the back of her head. "I mean, not yet." Cass leaned across the table and looked between the two of us.

"Told 'im what?"

"I haven't exactly told Arcade that I'm a member of the Brotherhood yet, you know?"

"Th' longer you wait," I said, "th' worse it's going to be. Y'know that, right?" The liquor must have been really starting to affect me. I was starting to slur like Cass.

"Yeah, I know, I know... But in my defense, I don't really know anything about him either. Think about it - has he told any of us anything about himself?" I thought about that for a minute. Yeah, she did have a point, but I could tell she was just trying to shift the blame.

"That's just an excuse, and you know it. You being a member of the Brotherhood - and more important than that, keeping it a secret - that kind of thing could be potentially dangerous."

Cass and Veronica looked at each other with eyebrows raised, and then back at me.

"You're going to have to explain that, because I don't quite know what you're getting at."

"Yeah," Cass asked, taking another drink from her swiftly draining whiskey bottle. "I'm not sure'a yer meanin' either."

"Alright, let me give you a little anecdote to show you what I mean. So... about, I dunno, 16 years ago, maybe? I think. Anyway, I was making my way back to California from a few months that I'd spent in Montana, and I got a little... sidetracked. I ended up near The Core."

"Th' Core?" Cass asked.

"Isn't that what they call Seattle now?" Veronica asked. I nodded, and she just chuckled. "That's a hell of a detour."

"Yeah, it was a weird couple of months, you know? Anyways, I was completely flat-ass broke, so while I was there I ended up doing a couple of jobs with another wastelander, a Vault dweller, a super mutant, a robot, and a medic from the NCR." Both Veronica and Cass looked at each other, and started to smirk. "What?"

"Is this just something you do, then?" Veronica tried to hold back a laugh.

"Find people in th' wasteland, an' convince 'em t'do random crap with ya?" Cass finished her sentence.

"Hey, I needed some money fast, you know? Look, the point is, I pulled a few jobs with the Vault dweller and the mutant first, and we ended up getting a bounty put on our heads."

"Should we bother askin' what ya did?" Cass crossed her fingers under her head and rested her chin on top of them. She smiled like a gecko that'd just caught a radroach.

"It wasn't what I did - honest! The Vault dweller, Tom? He downloaded this one file onto his Pip Boy that set off alerts everywhere... and the mutant, he kind of... well, he tore the head off a slaver captain. It pissed them off somethin' fierce, y'know? Those two things, they kind of painted targets on our backs, and we had a lot of people after our heads."

"What does this have to do with me being in the Brotherhood?"

"When we met up with the wastelander, the robot, and the doc, we didn't tell them about the bounty. And then, when the slavers and the bounty hunters came after us, those three got caught up in it. It caused a lot of problems, and eventually we were forced to tell them what was going on. The point is, every secret comes out eventually. It's better to get it out in the open, before it gets it becomes a real problem."

For the first time since I came to Vegas, I woke up without having to deal with nightmares from the night before. On the downside, my head throbbed like mad, every light source in the room felt like daggers trying to stab through my eyes, and the slightest rustling sound felt like a jackhammer in my ears.

I do not enjoy being hungover.

It took me quite a while to get going. Thankfully, Veronica was already up by the time I wandered into the kitchen, and she had a batch of her hangover cure all ready for me. Then again, I had a bit of a late morning, so I guess it made sense that she'd be up.

By the time I decided to go see Mr. House, it was close to noon.

"Well, howdy there pardner!" Victor said to me as the elevator door to House's office opened. "You're looking healthy as a blue-ribbon stallion on race day."

"No, Victor. I look like what I am - someone who has a massive hangover," I drank a little water to finish washing the taste of Veronica's cure out of my mouth. "Is House available, or is he too busy micromanaging Vegas to see me?"

"Actually, Mr. House has been waitin' for you, pardner. Go right on in."

So I walked down the stairs, and before I even reached the final step, the big monitor flickered into life and House's face came into view.

"Hello, Mr. Fisher. I must admit, I expected you to arrive much sooner. When I spoke to you under the Fort, it was Monday. It is now Friday." He sounded rather annoyed with me. Good, I thought, let him be annoyed for a while.

"Yeah," I grumbled, taking another drink of water. "I ran into a little trouble with the locals. I spent the last few days laid up in the hospital. By the way - thanks for warning me about the radiation in the vault. I really appreciated the heads up."

"Radiation... hmm..." Amazingly, House was silent for a few seconds. "Yes... a reactor leak would account for the bunker's lack of power." House's reaction was annoying, but I'll be honest... not unexpected. He continued before I had a chance to complain. "Either way, the foundation is now laid, Mr. Fisher. My Securitrons on the Strip are upgraded, and those at the Fort, ready for action. Now it's just a matter of adjusting the attitudes of some lesser groups while we wait for Caesar's Legion to attack Hoover Dam."

I held up my hand to try and stop him talking. "Hang on, House. I have a question." Something from my hallucination about Benny from a day or so ago was niggling the back of my head, and it wouldn't be satisfied until I got an answer.

"Go ahead and ask, then."

"Say you keep control of New Vegas. What'll happen then?" I heard House chuckle softly.

"You think Vegas is merely a city, don't you, Mr. Fisher?"

"Well... yeah," What was he getting at?

"New Vegas is more than a city. Vegas will be the remedy to mankind's derailment. The city's economy is a blast furnace in which can be forged the steel of a new rail line, running straight to a new horizon." Impressive imagery, if you were into that sort of thing.

"And I suppose the NCR doesn't fit in with your grand vision, does it?" I asked.

"Oh, to the contrary. The NCR is vitally important. Because, what is the NCR? A society of people desperate to experience comfort, ease, luxury... The NCR is a society of customers. With all that money pouring in? Give me twenty years, and I'll reignite the high technology development sectors. Fifty years, and I'll have people in orbit. One hundred years, and my colony ships will be heading for the stars, to search for planets unpolluted by the wrath and folly of a bygone generation." Again, impressive imagery. And it was a noble idea, but there was still something bugging me.

"In the meantime, I suppose you'd rule Vegas as some kind of dictator then?"

"I prefer the tern 'Autocrat.' I would rule Vegas as a chief executive. But unlike a CEO of the old world, I would not answer to a board of directors or any other entity. Nothing to impede the progress of Humanity - or my own," He paused, apparently to let that sink in, then finished his thought with : "If you wish to see the fate of democracies, merely take a look out the windows."

"What's to keep you from abusing your power then?"

"My judgment," he said quite forcefully. "I have no interest in abusing others, just as I have no interest in legislating or otherwise dictating what people do in their private time. Nor have I any interest in being worshipped as some kind of machine God messiah. I am impervious to such ambitions," said the man who has spent the last two hundred years playing God for Vegas. "But autocracy? Firm control in the hands of a technological and economic visionary? Oh yes... that is the Vegas I see. And that is what Vegas shall have. Now," House cleared his throat. "Are you quite finished asking puerile questions, or shall we discuss business?"

"Alright, fine," I took another drink of water. "So, what's the next step?"

"Outside New Vegas, at what was once called Nellis Air Force Base, resides an unusual tribe known as the Boomers. They are, shall we say, aggressively reclusive? They occupied Nellis a little over fifty years ago. One of my roving Securitrons recorded some video of their arrival - and then... exploded."

"Is that why they're called the Boomers then?" I asked. House continued, ignoring me.

"Odds are, they were Vault dwellers. Other than that, all I know is that they have several howitzers they fire at anyone who dares approach the base. Artillery of this sort has a range of several miles. If it's going to fire on Hoover Dam, I want it firing at my targets. If not, then I want to make sure that the Boomers don't sign similar treaties to fire their guns in support of the NCR or Caesar's Legion."

Frankly, I didn't want any part of this. I had just recovered from getting my ass kicked trying to complete one of House's jobs, and wasn't in the mood to get my ass blown apart by artillery. I was quite partial to my ass, thank you.

"Ok, House," I said, giving him a thumbs up. "Whatever you say. I'll get right on that."

"So, what did House want?" Veronica asked when I came back down from the Penthouse. I just shrugged.

"Oh, you know. Normal stuff. Nothing to get worried about" I shoved my hands in my pockets. "I'm feeling a bit peckish. Who wants to get lunch?"

"So, Arcade," I turned around in my seat as I creeped the Corvega out of the Lucky 38's garage and onto Las Vegas Boulevard. Cass was sitting shotgun, and Veronica was sitting next to Arcade. Boone had turned down the offer of lunch with the rest of us. "Where is this place again?"

"It's... it's just down the road. I think it's called Bill's, or Biff's, or something." Arcade clutched his forehead.

"Where'r we goin' again?" Cass asked.

"It's an all day buffet. More expensive than most locals in Freeside can afford, but they make great gecko meat omelets. Good for...uh... good for..." he trailed off.

"Curing hangovers?" Veronica offered playfully, poking him in the side of the head.

"Exactly," he grumbled and rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses.

"I still can't b'lieve three shots'a tequila knocked y'on yer ass," Cass laughed.

"I can't believe I agreed to a drinking contest with you," Arcaded chuckled grimly. "What on earth was I thinking, going up against a girl with whiskey flowing through her veins instead of blood?"

"Damn right," Cass smiled proudly, blinked a few times, and her smile evaporated. "Hey, wait a minute..."

"I think we're here," I said, pulling the car to a stop in front of one of the buildings on the west side of the street. As it turned out, Arcade was wrong about the name completely - the sign above the door looked like it had been there since the bombs fell, and said "Buck's Steak House." Beneath it was a smaller sign made out of corrugated metal and riveted to the brick wall, with "All Day Buffet" scrawled on it in white paint.

"Yeah..." Arcade grunted, getting out of the car. "Yeah, this is the place." As we all exited the Corvega, ED-E zoomed down to eye level and beeped at me a few times.

"Hey buddy. D'you mind watching the car while we get some grub?" ED-E responded with a few happy beeps, and started circling above the car. I gave him a satisfied nod, and turned around to face three men making their way through the crowd towards me. They were all young men, with black hair that looked styled somehow. The one in the front wore a black leather jacket and a white shirt with jeans, while the other two didn't have a jacket. I rested my hand close to Roscoe... just in case.

"Hey man," the one in front gave me a smile, but I didn't ease up. "You the Courier?" I raised an eyebrow at him, and I felt rather than saw my friends move to defensive positions behind me.

"Maybe. Who's asking?"

"We're part of The Kings," He said, motioning to his buddies beside him. "Our boss, The King? Yeah, he wants to see you, man."

"And why does The King want to see me?" I asked.

"Hey man, I don't ask questions when the big man gives me an order, you know? All I know is, The King says 'Vince' - that's me - 'take Jimmy and Clint' - that's these jokers - 'and find me The Courier.' Word on the street is, The Courier drives a blue Corvega. And you just happen to be drivin' a blue Corvega." I nodded and crossed my hands over my chest.

"Alright, so. The King wants to see me. Mind if my friends and I get some food first?"

"Sure, man, sure. Go get some grub," He motioned for Jimmy and Clint to move out of the way, and group of us started walking towards Buck's. Before we had gone too far, Vince spoke up again. "Don't keep The King waitin'. He's a nice guy, but he ain't too patient."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said. Just as the lot of us were about to head inside, I heard one of the King's behind us give a wolf whistle as Cass passed him. She just chuckled.

"Ain't nothin' but a hound dog," was all I heard her say.