This is my first attempt at a Fallout fanfic, so comments and criticism are very welcome. I haven't written fanfiction in years, but after getting so wrapped up in the awesome story of New Vegas, I figured I'd give it a try. These characters have been rattling around in my head for some time now and I have a few stories I'd like to tell with them. This series itself is set during the events of Fallout: New Vegas, before the upcoming battle at Hoover Dam. The focus, however, will not be on 'The Courier'. Needless to say, things in the Mojave are getting tense...

Prologue
A Quick Lesson In Advertising

I'm a lot of things to a lot of people. Saviour. Nightmare. Friend. I'm the first person they turn to when things go wrong and the last thing they ever see in thier brief but miserable lives. I'm good at finding people, hunting them down, forcibly removing them from existence. I'm also good at retrieving lost or stolen property. It's all the same to me. Pick up a trail, follow it through. You pay me, I do the job.

My name is Francis Weil and we are Avalon, a Private Investigation firm based out of New Vegas
I'm a Bounty Hunter
I'm a Mercenary
I am the Hand of Justice --

Francis looked up from the computer terminal, it's greenish glow illuminating her brown skin and the highly annoyed look on her face. "The Hand of Justice?" she asked, eyebrow raised, dark eyes flashing. "Switch, this sounds ridiculous. People give us caps to hunt Caravan thieves, not to smite evil doers."

"You smite," the ghoul known as Switchback said dejectedly, looking over from his terminal. "There is all kinds of smiting here. You are the Queen of Smite! We are the smite center of the Mojave!"

Francis rolled her eyes, "I should not have let you write this. And I definitely should have never let you talk me in to this advertisemant idea in the first place! What the hell is the point of this, anyway? Seems a bit stupid to be letting people know we exist and, oh hey, we like to shoot people for caps."

Switchback glared from across the room. "If people don't know we exist then we won't get caps for you to do all that shooting you love so very much. It's been weeks since we picked up that Novac contract. You may recall the alleged Doctor Ada Strauss paid us in used stimpacks."

Francis whirled around in her chair.

"Used," Switchback continued.

"I get your point"

"This ad will help, trust me. We just need to get it circulating around a bit. You may not have noticed this but we're running awfully low on caps. We're going to end up eating each other," the ghoul sighed.

"What do you want me to do," she asked, "Order a giant neon arrow and a sign that says Bounty Hunters For Hire, and put it up out front?"

Switchback let out a tiny, raspy laugh, "We couldn't afford it. Look, you and I both know this tech isn't going to repair itself my dear, and there is only so much I can do with conductors, bent tin cans, and whatever shoddy gear you manage to scavenge off of dead Fiends. We need work. Real work. We've built a decent rep out there in the smaller towns and on the Caravan routes. I think we need to aim a bit higher. "

"What do you propose we do," Francis asked. "I thought we agreed we were going to hit up the Crimson Caravan for contracts once we were settled?"

"I'm talking about the strip," Switchback said, motioning above their heads. "We should poke around the casinos and see if they have any work. I'm sure there are all kinds of sad, unfortunates who owe plenty of caps, that need to be tracked down and shaken up a little. We could do the leg work and be the muscle, that way the Casinos wouldn't have to spare the manpower themselves. They'd probably pay out a fortune too, and right now we could use one."

He wasn't wrong. Francis glanced around their tiny makeshift war room and began running a mental list of repairs and equipment they still desperately needed. Switchback had started calling the bunker Avalon, not long after they moved in. Said he saw the name in some pre war book. It was supposed to be some kind of magical paradise but this definitely didn't look like paradise to her.Their entire operation would be laughable if they weren't so damn good at what they did, and she knew it.

The sound of an alarm broke Francis' train of thought.

"Oh, speaking of everyone's favorite junkies, we have movement topside. Looks like yet another friendly neighborhood fiend has wandered a bit too close for comfort," Switchback called. "The turret is armed, shall I put him down or wait until Andrea can get a hold of him?"

Francis walked over to Switchback's terminal. "Don't you dare. It's bad enough you insist on keeping that feral chained up out there, but i'm not interested in having to drag yet another corpse away from the entrance. They smell. And their eyes are always open, staring at me. It's kind of creepy."

Switchback huffed, "Creepy, huh? Some battle hardened merc you are. I'm going to have to take that part out of the ad--"

"Just put him down before he reaches the alley," Francis snapped.

"Fine, fine, turret it is."

A faint rumble passed through the room for a moment and then silence.

"That Fiend is now extremely dead, ma'am," the ghoul said with a smirk. "Please, tell me again why you thought it would be a good idea to set up shop this close to Fiend territory, I keep forgetting."

The small, underground bunker they called home was brought to their attention a couple weeks ago, by her good friend Juarez. Juarez was in the business of knowing the location of such places, among other things. It was surprisingly furnished when they got there, filled with broken and leftover technology. Switchback managed to get a lot of it up and running with very little effort. He was handy that way.

There was the matter of the dead Brotherhood of Steel Paladin they had found in there. According to his holotags his name was Richard Dawes. He looked young, maybe late twenties. Laser pistol shot through the skull. Suicide, best either of them could tell. There was no note. No signs of a struggle or a fight. It was a mystery, but one they couldn't be bothered to solve at the moment. There was no indication as to whether or not the bunker had belonged to the Brotherhood, either. Francis had her doubts though. While she knew there was talk of a small Brotherhood presence in the Mojave, she didn't think it reached this close to the Strip. Besides, it's not like anybody in power armor had shown up knocking on their manhole cover.

"I love the view. That giant Sunset Sarsaparilla bottle in the distance really makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside," Francis shot back, making her way back to the chair in front of her terminal and reaching for a large, green duffle bag.

"Cute," Switchback muttered as he watched Francis' head disappear into the bag. "That's really cute. You can tell that to the NCR when they force our asses out of here, if they don't just shoot us on sight."

"You're implying the NCR is capable of doing anything productive," came her muffled response.

"All i'm saying is, get that uppity princess Juarez to at least put our name out there with some of the casino bosses. He knows everyone, he has to have some sort of in. That way we can pay him back for hooking us up with this cozy little love nest."

Francis' head emerged from the bag. She opened a package of Fancy Lad Snack Cakes with her teeth and tossed one at Switchback's head. "What would I ever do without you, my cranky, shambling bride?"

"Pray you never have to find out," Switchback growled, shoving the snack cake into his mouth.

Huh, when I left I was sure you would have a couple reviews...Maybe the length daunts people?

Anyway, nice formatting...A change of pace from the normal and the green font makes my eyes happy, great pause from the white cause my eyes hurt sometimes from staring at the screen so much.

I like how this not about the courier, we already got a couple of those and without anything new added to the formula, it's gets stale quickly. The story offers a promising premises,no, prologue. I haven't played NV much so I don't know if the Avalon, is part of it. Doesn't seem likely and I like it, especially if you came up with it. And the two characters that run it, they both have unique and distinct personalities that I quickly was able to picture.

I had slight problem where things starting getting a little boring, but this was just a prologue and I would love to see where this is going.

Thanks for checking it out Yttrium, i'm glad you're digging this so far. I assure you that things will be heating up very quickly with the part one of the first story proper. I wanted to use a prologue in order for people reading to get a feel for the two main characters I would be introducing. While Avalon doesn't exist in NV, the area where its set definitely does. It would be near the Sarsaparilla Bottling Company in Fiend Territory.

I thought the idea of a Detective, or Private Investigation firm, working on or near the strip would endlessly lend itself to the New Vegas setting. I'm hoping to explore a sort of black comedy, noir type of atmosphere as well the upcoming action and gore. I was also really adamant on writing original characters to interact with some of the ones already established in game. I don't see myself spending much time on trying to tell 'The Courier's' story. I'm more interested on those people on the side lines, and how their decisions will come to affect the larger scheme of things in the Mojave.

Honor Gacey
Part One



Hollis Whitfield came to rather suddenly, with a hard slap to the face.

"It's time to wake up, baby. I've got a present for you," hissed the chinese prosttute straddling his waist.

Hollis' head was ringing from the slap. He tried to sit up but quickly realized he was strapped down to the plush, luxurious bed with an assortment of what looked like belts. This was definitely not his room at the Gomorrah. Was this even the Gomorrah?

The woman leaned in quickly and licked the tip of Hollis' noise, before launching herself off the bed, her long black hair a wild nest. She looked young, possibly in her mid twenties. She wore a black mini skirt and black high heels. There were strips of black tape covering her briasts. She grabbed a martini glass from the mini bar and took a long sip of the clear liquid inside. She shot him a broken, demented smile and a chill ran through his body. "I'd love to hear you say my name, again. Come on baby, say it."

He tried to move his mouth but no sound came out. Something was clamped down over his lips, making it impossible to scream or call for help. His memory was a fog. He couldn't make sense of anything. The room spun in circles and then broke into a kaleidoscope of colors. His breathing became difficult.

"You're probably having a hard time, huh? Remembering stuff? That's natural, too much of that med-x is just bad news," she said absentmindedly throwing open the door to the room's small wooden wardrobe closet. "But add a little Buffout to the mix and my my my. You just float and float and can't even remember your own name sometimes."

She slowly made her way over to the bed and climbed back onto Hollis' lap. "It's ok, baby. I'm going to jog your memory," she cooed, leaning close enough to whisper in his ear. She sat straight up and she seemed to grow ten feet tall, raising her hand high up into the air. A low clicking sound rattled through the room, and he could see the glint of a razorblade, growing from her palm.

"...And i'm going to start with my name"

..........................

2 Days Later
10 a.m.

Francis Weil, was not happy. Not in the slightest.

She fired two more shells into the thug's abdomen and watched as he slid limply down the side of the bombed out building. She could feel the warmth of the sawed-off shotgun on her leg as she returned it to it's holster. She hadn't been to Freeside in months and forgot how dangerous, and downright feral, some of the locals could be. They'd just as soon slit your throat for a couple caps in your pocket, as they would look at you.

"Hey Weil, are you ready to go or not? I gotta piss something awful!"

Francis sighed, annoyed. That was the voice of Cachino. Short. Bald. Endlessly irritating. The Gomorrah had sent him personally to Avalon in order to offer her some contract work. It seemed the casino bosses were impressed with her extensive resume and, with some convincing from her good friend Juarez, wished to hire her immediately.

"Oh yea, this one is pretty dead," she shot back, adjusting her tie. "Let's move on before any more of the local wildlife decides to get brave. This is my only suit."

Cachino snorted and spit on the ground "Yea, well some junkie raider trash owes me 200 caps for this," he whined, motioning to the large burn hole in the shoulder of his grey blazer. "Why you gotta have your place all the way out in Fiend Territory, anyway?"

If she had a cap for every time somebody asked her that.

The pair slowly approached the Securitron guarding the gate to the Strip. "These things give me the creeps. Mr. House's little yes men. I always feel like I'm being watched," Cachino said, whipping out his passport and showing it to the robot.

"That's cause you are. Smile," Francis responded through gritted teeth. She threw a sarcastic smile at the robot's monitor and the two were permitted to enter.



The New Vegas Strip. Francis had always hated it. All lights, glass, and excess. It was a sinkhole. It made desperate men and women even more monstrous then they already were, not to mention the NCR was crawling all over the place since the battle at Hoover Dam. She knew the whole, boring, story of how House had swooped in and turned the city into the gem of the mojave. Of course, then he built a wall to keep everyone he deemed unacceptable, out. She remained unimpressed. However, the city did look beautiful lit up at night, she had to admit.

Cachino tossed a few half hearted Hello's to the girls stripping in front of massive Gomorrah casino. "Morning Mr. Cachino," they seemed to respond in unison.

As they passed through the doorway, Cachino made his way over to the casino greeter and whispered something in his ear. The man leered at Francis, his eyes widening when they reached the shotgun holstered at her side.

"You're free to keep your weapon in the casino, ma'am," the greeter said, shaking Francis' hand with a smile. "Just try not to kill anybody on the gaming floor, those rugs are a [censored] to keep cleaned."

"No promises."

"So are we clear on the terms," Cachino interrupted, taking Francis aside.

"Ten thousand caps. Five thousand caps up front, five thousand when I finish the job; Seems perfectly reasonable," Francis said, glancing around the main gaming floor. It was still early but there were several people huddled around a black jack table and a few at the slots.

"Good. Before you do anything, Mr. Whitfield wants to speak to you. He has requested I send you down to his room immediately. They holed the little bastard up in MY suite! Can you believe that? You should have heard Nero making excuses. We gotta do right by the kid, Cachino. We're at fault for what happened to him. His parents are high rollers. Yea, I don't see him or Big Sal giving up their freaking rooms."

"Huh, that's a real tragedy. Where is your room again," Francis asked.

Cachino gave her the directions down to his suite but before she could leave grabbed her arm one more time and spoke very quietly. "Look lady, I don't know what kind of ugly you've seen out there in the Mojave, but you better brace yourself. That prosttute did a number on this Whitfield kid. Tore his face right up with a razorblade or something. I'm amazed he's still ticking. Makes your ghoul friend back at the bunker look like a million bucks."

Francis felt a knot in her stomach, and Cachino disappeared into the Casino.

This is good. Personally, I didn’t like the centered paragraphing, but that just might be my own taste. It was unique though.

Otherwise, I like your voice, and the characters you have created, and blended in with cannon. It’s a cool idea – the story of a Mojave P.I. – even though I don’t happen to like that genera very much.

The characters really shined in your first post. I worry you may be walking a fine line with RoughBear in the second act :shrug: and it‘d be nice if it wasn’t such a “classic” tough-girl detective setup, but I still happily await your next post.

You have a lot of talent.

Good work so far mate. :thumbsup:

One thing I would suggest though is when you mention numbers, take the time to spell them. "Ten thouand caps, five thousand caps up front, five thousand when I finish the job;" just looks better than "10000 caps, etc"

Could just be me being picky here but I hope it helps.

Big thanks to everyone taking the time to check this out.


SentientSurfer: Thank you for the kind words. I haven't written like this in a long time, so i'm still a little rusty. Yea, the centered paragraphing isn't for everyone I guess. I really like the way it looks, and I feel like it gives the story a certain flow, especially with the more dialogue heavy portions. I'm glad you've found things interesting enough so far though. When I started plotting this, I was particularly worried about trying to blend new characters into an established setting. I think if done wrong it can come off as clunky and forced. Thematically, while this will have elements of the noir and detective style stories, i'm going to try to pull from a lot of different influences as well. Forgive me if this is totally ignorant, but I wasn't sure what you meant when you referred to the second act as "walking a fine line with Roughbear"? I understand that the site is 13+ and I'm definitely keeping that in mind as I write this. I can always tone it down. On another note: Lords Of the Pitt is epic!

Thekettleison: Thank you! And no, you're absolutely right. Writing out the numbers like that looks ridiculous, i'm changing it immediately.

I've never been chastised about violence, but I have had what I thought was innocuous sixual content forcibly scrubbed from my stories - so I thought I'd toss you a warning. I don't know what the 13+ standard really is, its subjective to the mod, and depends mainly on what he/she had for lunch.

Glad you like Lords of the Pitt. If you get to chap 11 let me know if Wyoming is a hit or a miss as Hamlet. :chaos:

Near as I can tell sixual content isn't supposed to go much beyond joking/flirting, when it's real think of it as one of those scenes in a movie. They kiss, they hold each other, they do the old spin around and make out thing, possibly fall on a couch and make out for a second, girl walks to the bedroom door, does the "come hither" gesture, guy walks to the door, turns back, winks, closes the door.

Then it's the next morning.