Prologue: Ain't that a kick in the head
The broken asphalt of the mountain roads cracked slightly under The Courier's combat boots, a reminder of the world's past. This path lead to Jacobstown, an old ski-lodge that a group of Super Mutants had turned into a town of sorts, as well as one of the few places that plant life still grew in.
The Courier's gaze diverted from the path he trode upon, a dirt road diverted from the broken one, a road that The Courier swore never to go down again. A scowl etched itself across his face, the hells down that path were some that no one could escape once entered, not even himself.
This one man had stared down the barrel of death's gun many times, and even when it fired, he got back up. But since heading down this one solitary path, nothing was the same. Some could say that was a good thing, after all, that was when he finally began down his path to glory, the path that lead to The Brotherhood of Steel to own the Mojave, the path to a new world.
After this one road, a simple routine mission for the Brotherhood, The Courier became a legend throughout the Mojave. Applying his skills of survival learned there, he was able to overcome the Sierra Madre's cloud, the Old World chaos of Big Empty, the tribes of Zion, and even the irradiated hells of the Divide. All that culminated into his greatest journey, the Courier's Mile, easily the deadliest place in the wasteland; Cannibalistic Ghouls, heavy radiation, and mutated Deathclaws awaited him, and not so much as one of them survived, each being trampled under The Courier's boots and a spray of buckshot.
And yet, what rested down there that forged this great man, also had broken him.
The Courier gave his head a quick shake. He'd come here at Marcus's request, not to dwell upon something he had no control over. The legend continued on his original path, not casting even so much as a slight glance to the road he passed by.
Within minutes, The Courier arrived at the fortified gate to Jacobstown. Two large, hulking green humans stood at the gates. At least, they used to be human.
As imposing as they ever will be, the Super Mutants marched towards The Courier, their faces permanently snarled from the leather straps that kept their skin from falling off. Each step made their scrap-metal armor clank slightly in the night.
The both stopped, unholstering the .308 hunting rifles they had strapped to their backs. One of the Mutants leaned in close to The Courier, its heavy breathing sending a repulsive stench to the man's face. The Courier was thankful that he was wearing the rebreather that the Boomers had given him.
"Marcus wanted to see me." The Courier spoke, his voice carrying the typical southern drawl that was usually associated with cowboys. "He said that there was something urgent."
The Mutant closer to him leaned away, then waved its hand, signalling The Courier to follow.
"Marcush is waiting in the shki-lodge," The Mutant spoke, his words garbled from the vices holding his face together. "I've sheen plenty of shit in my life, but thish one takes the cake."
That didn't set right in The Courier's mind. Super Mutants were, by all biological accounts, immortal. Most of the mutants here are from the army created b a psychopath called The Master, an army that formed at least a century ago.
For one of them to have seen something that they would consider 'some shit', it must be something truly baffling.
They opened the doors to the old Ski-resort, several Super Mutants peeked into a room set to the right if you were coming in. That room was the one that Dr. Henry used as a lab to fabricate the cure for Nightkin schizophrenia. What awaited inside, however, was something that no one, not even the fabled Lone Wanderer, could have expected.
The Courier entered the room, Marcus sat in a disproportionally small chair, overlooking a medical bed that appeared to be occupied. The Super Mutant held his chin, a ponderous look upon his face.
"Marcus," The Courier began as he entered. "What did you want me to..." The Courier trailed off as he saw who lay in the bed. "Holy shit."
A young woman, most likely in her early twenties, lay asleep in the medical bed. Her hair was a deep shade of purple, with a streak of pink and a brighter violet going through it. Her breaths were short and quiet, and she didn't seem to have anything on under the sheets. But the feature that stood out the most, was the horn that protruded from her forehead.
The Courier stepped up next to Marcus, his blue eyes stared at the young woman in the bed.
"Who is she?" He asked in a hushed tone.
Marcus shifted slightly in his seat, lowering his arm and resting it on his knee.
"Don't know," He said. "Lily found her yesterday when she went to feed her Bighorners. She didn't have anything on her, and I mean that literally. She didn't have any form of weapons or even clothes on her, and we can't seem to find any that she can wear."
"Because of her horn?"
"No, because of these." Marcus reached down and pulled off the covers partly, revealing the woman's upper half. The Courier didn't see anything out of the ordinary; the woman's figure was scrawny, her chest was flat, and she seemed to be a little thin, most likely from not eating.
The Courier was about to ask Marcus what was so unusual, then the Super Mutant gently turned the woman on her side, causing The Courier's eyes to widen in amazement. Two violet, almost angelic wings were folded up against the woman's back.
For the first time in a long while, The Courier was at a loss for words.
"We took a blood sample," Marcus began. "She doesn't have any mutations from usual human genetics, but there was a...How do I say it...Some sort of energy."
"Energy?"
"Yes. I can't really say what it is, but its similar to a Glowing One giving off radiation."
"She's not dangerous, is she?"
"No clue."
The Courier was silent a moment, then he walked over to the woman.
"I guess the only way to find out is to wake her up."
The Courier reached down and slightly jostled the young woman's shoulders. She mumbled something, it sounded like she was saying "Need to help my friends," But The Courier wasn't sure. He have her another shake, slowly but surely, the woman's eyes fluttered open.
While she regained consciousness, The Courier turned to Marcus. "I'm gonna need to ask you and the other mutants to leave for a little bit," He said. "I can't say how she'll react, but I'm not sure a Super Mutant is something she'll like to see, much less, a bunch of Mutants."
Marcus nodded, understanding The Courier's reasoning, then left, bringing the other Super Mutants with him.
The Courier kept his vision focused on where Marcus had exited, turning to look at the woman as he heard the main door close. She'd waken up now, mostly.
The woman grumbled, reaching a hand up to her forehead and rubbing it. Then, her eyes shot wide open. She leaned up, staring with panic at her hand. She frantically looked herself over, throwing off the blanket and exposing herself, much to The Courier's discomfort.
"Uh...Excuse me?" The Courier said to her. She stopped immediately and turned to face him. The Courier was marveled by the unique color her eyes were; a vibrant purple. "Are you alright?" The Courier asked.
The woman seemed confused, she kept looking worriedly around the room.
"Where am I?" She asked after a short silence.
"Jacobstown," The Courier responded simply. "You were found passed out yesterday, my friend Lily found you and brought you here."
The woman's eyes widened with a look of fear; her wings flared out, awing The Courier. He understood why the mutant earlier called her "Some Shit".
"My Friends!" She cried frantically. "I was supposed to get food for my friends!" The woman was about to crawl off the bed, but The Courier raised his hand to stop her.
"Hang on," He said. "I need to ask you some questions first." The Courier leaned back in his chair.
