» Sat Jun 23, 2012 1:01 am Hello all,
This is my first attempt at Fallout fanfiction. The idea behind the story is not yet fully formed, so consider this an interest check; I may rewrite it more thoroughly if it gets attention. Also, I'm not a native English speaker and I haven't written for many years, so please forgive possible spelling, grammar and vocabulary deficiencies.
And now that I'm done with warnings, please enjoy reading. Or suffer, your choice. Constructive criticism is welcome/
Chapter 1
If you value your life, sanity and peace of mind, do not under any circumstances schedule business meetings in a sleazy watering hole like the Atomic Wrangler.
It might seem like a fine idea at first. The Wrangler's got all you need for such a meeting- cheap rooms one can rent by the hour rather than for the night, enough background noise from the casino to render eavesdropping ineffective, staff who asks no questions once a few caps exchange hands. Sure, the place is saturated with cheap whiskey, but you're not an alcoholic. You're in control. You're perfectly capable of spending an evening without scorching your throat with that godawful moonshine that Francine Garrett blasphemously refers to as "Jacob's absinthe".
But moonshine has a way of working itself into your plans whether you intended for it or not.
"Are you the one they call Red?" asked the woman.
Vlad shook his head in a way that could mean anything- "yes", "no", or "my head is about to explode and you're asking stupid questions".
"Need some Fixer?" the woman suddenly offered.
He finally looked straight at her, his interest awakening.
At first glance, she seemed ordinary. Mid-thirties, skinny, wearing a hooded brahmin leather outfit- if he had to choose one word to describe her, it would've been "nondescript". Her insistence on keeping the hood on indoors bothered him, however. It meant that she didn't want to be seen hiring him. Never a good sign.
The blue Fixer pill kicked in quickly, displacing the headache with an odd woozy feeling. The woman seemed to know exactly how long the side effect lasts; she waited half a minute before continuing.
"My name is Julie," she said. "Julie Farkas, of the Followers of the Apocalypse.
"I've heard of you," he nodded. He now understood why she kept the hood on: Julie Farkas' famous mohawk hairdo would've been hard to hide otherwise.
"And you're Red."
"Suppose."
"It's not your real name."
"What do you care?" he shrugged.
The Follower woman paused for a moment, her eyes studying him.
"I know many people in the Mojave, and I've asked around," she eventually said. "Nobody seems to know who you are or where you come from. Some say you're called Red because it's the color of the 1st Recon berets, but my friend is an NCR colonel and she says there are no records of you being in the 1st Recon, or in the Rangers for that matter. Some Crimson Caravan merchants say you're a mercenary from New Reno, but you're too picky about the jobs you take. That delivery for the Omertas that you turned down last week could've earned you five thousand caps."
"I don't carry chems," Vlad interrupted. "Or escort young girls sold by their drug addicted parents into sixual slavery."
"I know," Julie confirmed, "You don't carry chems, you don't do assassinations, you don't deal with slavers. Which only further proves my point: mercs don't turn away lucrative jobs for ethical reasons."
"If you say so."
"I've heard people speculate that you're an exiled Brotherhood Paladin," Julie continued, "Or a former Enclave trooper. Some say you're from the Boneyard, others say Carson City, or Arizona, or even Alberta. It's hard to trust someone when you don't know anything about them. I'm sure you understand".
She had a point. But Vlad did not owe her an explanation.
"If you can't trust me," he said, "why offer me the job?"
"I've got no one else to trust. And you were recommended."
Julie handed him a note written on what seemed to be a page of sheet music. Vlad cursed under his breath at the sight of familiar handwriting- and again after he finished reading.
The note was from The King, and that was bad. As gang leaders go, The King was kindness personified, but he was still the kingpin of the toughest crew in town. For anyone who wanted to work in Freeside- or, for that matter, in the New Vegas itself, as Freeside controlled its main entrance- saying no to The King's polite requests was not an option. On the bright side, the reward he offered was more than adequate- in fact, it was difficult to believe.
"Ten thousand caps plus expenses," Julie confirmed before he could voice his disbelief. " Half up front, half upon completion."
"What's the job?"
Julie hesitated. Somewhere underneath her cool exterior there lurked a strange unease, as if she was being forced to reveal something profoundly embarrassing.
"There's a young woman living in the fort right now," she said. "I need you to escort her to New Canaan."
"And that's worth ten thousand caps?"
"Look," Julie bit her lip nervously. "She's a na?ve eighteen years old. Stupid age… She loves music and she has a good voice, so she wanted to be the new Vera Keyes. Thought she would come to Vegas, make it as a singer, become rich and famous, live a glamorous life…"
"… And ended up strip dancing in Gomorrah for food and Med-X," Vlad finished. He heard enough such stories to correctly guess the ending. "Now she escaped, but the Omertas are after her and you want her out of the Mojave before they find her."
"Exactly," Julie confirmed quickly…. Too quickly. She appeared relieved, as if having successfully avoided sharing the most troublesome part of the story, and Vlad didn't like it one bit.
"Doesn't explain ten thousand caps," he said. "Or why The King is involved. If you've done your homework as well as you said you have, you should know that I don't take jobs blindly. Full disclosure or no deal".
She fell silent for a full minute. Vlad waited patiently. When Julie spoke again, her voice was still calm, but eyes were begging.
"The King is involved because Judith is his daughter. His and mine. It's not safe for her here anymore. Not in Freeside, not in the whole of the Mojave. The Omertas have people everywhere. Will you help us?"
As if he had a choice…
"I need a day to prepare," Vlad said. "I'll pass by the fort tomorrow around noon. Have the girl ready to go."
