You awaken, head throbbing, vision blurry. A ringing voice floats around your ears but you can't quite make out what it says. Everything is bright. Too bright. It hurts. You screw your eyes shut trying to block out the light but it only makes the ringing louder. The pain intensifies. Everything hurts... especially your forehead. Feels like there's a knife embedded in it. What happened last night?

“Look who’s awake.” A voice says. Soft. Tender. Feminine. Vaguely familiar though you can't place it anywhere. You run through the list of people you know trying to figure out where you know that voice from but you can't remember anyone in particular. A hangover? Are you drunk? You don't feel drunk. What happened last night?

Something bad.

You lurch forward, and pain floods your ears. Suddenly you're underwater. Breathing is now impossible. You're dying. Everything hurts. It's too bright. Head aches. Hands grab your shoulders. The floor is close. You're on your knees. Bare wooden floors. Cold. Familiar. You were in this position last night. What happened last night?

“Easy, easy!” The voice coos again. You feel yourself lifted to your hooves. Clop clop. “It ain't a race now, darlin’. Here, I'm gonna give you something for the pain, okay?”

Something stabs your arm. Tiny. Needle? Fluid enters your veins. This should set off warning bells in your head, but it doesn't. Everything seems fine. Your headache is slowly abating. You can see again. It still hurts like a motherfucker. God damn it, why can't you remember what happened last night?

Images slowly come into focus. You see a mare in front of you. Her coat is white, her mane a pale pink. She’s wearing a brown leather duster and black pants. There's a huge chunky black device attached to her wrist. There's a paper hat on her head with a red plus sign on it. Ah. She must be a medical professional. She sits you back down gently. Your headache is almost gone now. Wow, what was in that needle?

“There,” the mare whispers. “Probably brought you from a nine to a four, huh?” Your mouth is dry and you have nothing to say. “Well in any case I think you'd much rather be a four than dead I take it?”

Dead? What the fuck?

The mare’s eyebrows raise. “Huh,” she murmured. “That seems a surprise to you. Do you remember anything?”

Mouth still dry. Can't speak. You nod your head no.

She purses her lips. “What's the last thing you remember?”

You glance to the side, out the window. It's filthy. You can barely see anything through it. You can't even tell what time it is. Okay, was it day or night last you remember? It should be easy. When was your last memory? Flashes of empty nothings go by. It's a blank slate. Amnesia?

“I-” cough cough. You look down. Dirt. Huh, so that's why your mouth felt try. Cough cough. So dry. “Wa...er?”

She nods. “Yep, there's some right here,” she says as she reaches to the floor. You follow her arm down. Scarred heavily. She grabs a bottle of what looks to be water. She offers it to you and you gratefully grab it. You tear the cap off and guzzle it, as if you'd never drank water before. It tastes off. But good. Clean. Pure. Delicious.

You drain the bottle before breathing again. That feels better. You cough a few more times. Your tongue is wet. You feel better; revitalized, even. She takes the bottle from your hand and you examine your body.

Pale blue fur covers sweaty palms. Your arms are wiry. You clench your fists. No, not wiry. Definite muscle mass. Nothing huge but you comfortably feel you could bench press the doctor. She didn't look too skinny anyway. Further down you see your torso. More blue fur. You see you're bare chested but for some reason that doesn't bother you. This is a hospital of sorts after all, and the doctor is a lady just like you seem to be. You're wearing a charcoal grey pair of shorts.

“Doc?” You ask, your mouth finally able to deliver words. You ask the burning question. “What happened last night?”

She leaned back and sighed, lacing her fingers together. “It wasn't last night for you. But as for the last day you were conscious, I don't rightly know myself. The metal feller brought your body to me a few nights ago, saying’ you got shot. Lo n’ behold, there was a fresh bleedin’ bullet wound right in your noggin. Somehow you weren't straight dead from the shot. I reckon that makes you the luckiest son of a gun in Vegas. Or, eh, daughter of a gun, as the case may be.”

Shot in the head? Your hand reaches for your forehead. Yeah, there’s a giant scab there. What the hell? At least that explains why your head hurts. But, Faust alive, shot in the head? Seriously?

“Who...?”

She shrugs. “Sorry, but I ain't got an answer. With my leg bein’ what it is,” she says, motioning to it. “I don't do much walkin’ so I spend all my time here at home. The people around town might be able to help you figure stuff once you leave here, but right now I gotta make sure that everything’s in place up there. It’s my job to make sure you're healthy before you leave.”

You sigh. Well this is a pickle and a half. So someone unknown tried to kill you for an unknown reason, you don't know where you are, you're stuck in this “hospital”, there's a huge ugly head wound right smack in the middle of your forehead, and you don't remember anything. Well, it’s not like things can get any worse though.

“Now usually it's customary to ask all my patients what I should call them. You've been here three, no, make that four days and I've just been callin’ you The Patient. Surely you got a name?”

Oh yeah, absolutely. Everyone’s got a name.

...

Oh.

“Uuuhhh...”

Well this is awkward.

“I... don't remember.”

She looks at you with a deadpan expression on her face. “Well. That complicates things.”

You sigh and put your head in your hands. You jerk back and readjust so you don't press on your scab. This is probably the worst day of your entire life, even if it's the only day you remember. The silver lining, however, is that things can only get better from here on out.

“Maybe your memories will come back to you over time,” she says, standing up. “In any case, my name is Redheart.” She reaches a hand out, and you grab it, letting her pull you up. “Let's take care of the cosmetics, a physical, a psych profile, and then get you dressed n’ ready to take on the wasteland.”

Oh joy.

“Now, can you walk?”

Probably. You take a step. Yep, you can walk all right. You take another step. Nope, you cannot walk all right.

“Whoa nelly, take it slow now. Ya ain't used your legs in days, let ‘em take a second to settle. Lean on me if ya have to. Slow, now. Slow.”

Slow... bleugh. Slow is for losers.

...fast. Fast is good. You like fast.

But maybe not right now.

“Alright,” you begrudgingly mutter as you put an arm around her shoulders. She supports your other arm, and you get a feel for walking. Easy does it. Feeling comes back to your legs in a rush of pins and needles. You feel better already. Before you sits a strange machine with a mirror attached. Curiosity drives you to look inside.

Your eyes are first drawn to your hair. Red, orange, and yellow in the front, and the rest of the rainbow in the back. Bold. Hmm. You must have a bold personality. No way is that color natural, after all. You wonder what color your roots must be. Your eyes wander to the big red crunchy circle in the middle of your forehead. Crunchy? Whatever it looks like, it ain't pretty. But it gives you character, you feel.

You then lock eyes with yourself. Magenta irises. Sharp pupils. You look like you've seen some real shit in your life, however long it may or may not have been. At least twenty, not quite thirty. You have a strong jaw, but your cheekbones aren't that striking.

“Face look okay?” Redheart asks. “I had to root around n’ get all the lead out. I tried to get it back to what it looked like before, but all I had was guess work. Gettin’ shot in the head usually rearranges your skull slightly, so it ain't gonna be exact, but you look equine.”

You nod gently. “Looks fine,” you answer. For all you know, that's what you look like. And if that's what you look like, well, look out stallions of the waste. Hm? Hmmm.

You only know one face, that of Redheart. Now you know two faces.

“Well lookit that,” she murmurs, stepping back. “You're standing by yourself now.”

The words hardly register. You remember a third face. A face with narrowed eyebrows, cold topaz eyes, and a lit cigarette in her mouth. And the gun pointed right at you.

“Know anyone with topaz eyes?”

Redheart hesitates for a moment. “My husband.”

“He isn't a mare, is he?”

“Well, I'm pretty sure he wasn't. Why?”

You sigh. “I remember the mare who killed me. I remember her face. And her gun. Nine millimeter. Gold plating. She was smoking a cigarette.”

Redheart nods. “That's good, means memory is coming back.”

“Oh yeah, real good. Just means the someone who wants to kill me is a lady, fan freakin’ tastic.”

Redheart pats your back. “At least she thinks you're dead. You can pack up and leave Pegas, make a new life. Go on and test your strength on this here machine.”

Yeah... or get revenge.

“Yeah. Leaving... sounds like a plan.” You grab the handle on the machine before you: the Veritably Vigorous Vit-O Matic Vigor Tester 3000. Strength, Perception, Endurance, Charisma, Intelligence, Agility, Luck. After a moment, the values read all 6 except for Agility, which read 9. “I'll get right on that.”

Redheart nods. “Spry. Limber. Any faster, maybe you coulda just dodged that bullet. Well, in any case your vitals seem fine. But considering I just did brain surgery, let's make sure the hamster in your head is spinning the wheel like it should.”

“Sounds good...”

Wait.

“...what the fuck is a hamster?”

Redheart burst out laughing.

You simply blink and stare at her, wondering what was so funny.

Abruptly she stops. “Oh, you were serious. It's a rodent from before the war. I know about it from some biology textbooks that survived.”

Well you know what rodents are, at least. But... “What war?”

Redheart blinks. “The atomic war. Between Equestria, the Reds, and the Chineighse. The, uh. The reason why the world got blown to hell by nukes. Tell me you forgot that little detail.”

It's your turn to blink, and you feel a tidal wave of dread and nihilistic despair crash over you. “So you're telling me that the entire outside world is destroyed?”

Redheart seems indecisive for a moment. “Well, not the entire world. California survived the brunt of the explosions. Nevada got hit a few times but New Pegas proper is mostly intact. Luckily that's right up the road from us. But there's still dozens of radiation pockets out there, and mutated animals up the wazoo. It ain't a pretty world but it's what we got.”

“Hmm.”

Destroyed world, huh? Well, it doesn't sound that bad. Not good, but not bad either.

“Alright, take a seat on the couch. Oh, and now that you're out of the operating room, I bet you're feelin’ a bit immodest. Here,” Redheart says, handing you a piece of fabric. “Wear this undershirt. It belonged to my husband. He, uh, won't be needing it anymore.”

You shrug and accept the article, pulling it over your head. “Thanks Doc.” You pull it down and straighten it out. It's a little big on you, but you do feel a bit warmer. You sit down on the couch prepared for you “Where is your husband?”

She freezes in the middle of shifting around some papers. “Buried up by the water tower in the graveyard.”

...shit.

“Sorry-” you try to apologize but find yourself cut off.

“No need. You didn't know. He got leukemia. It's a sickness you can get from radiation exposure. He just loved eating those hundred year old Salisbury steaks, bless his heart. He lived a decently long life. Died peaceful.” Redheart brought the stack of paper into the big red chair across from you. “I ain't fixin’ to hold onto sentiment if I can help someone in need.”

You nod, somber. “Right.”

Redheart smiles. “In any case,” she says, right back to business. “I'm gonna do some word association; I’ll say a word and then you say the first word that comes to mind. Dog.”

As you perform the exercise, the back of your mind reflects on the events of the past few minutes. Here's what you know for sure.

One. The mare with the topaz eyes and the golden gun shot you in the head. Two. You didn't die, and the only people who know that you're still alive are this doctor and “the metal feller” who dug you up. Three. The world outside is almost completely destroyed. Four. You're a mare with a cyan coat and a rainbow mane. Five. You don't remember anything. Not even your own name. Six...

...wait.

Six.

Courier Six.

“COURIER!”

Redheart is taken aback by your outburst.

“I'm a courier for the Mojave express!” You find yourself standing up, pulse pounding, pure joy and elation coursing through your veins. “Whatever the hell that means, I remember!”

Redheart nods. “Very good. And, uh, one more ink blot test. Tell me what you see here.”

“Uh.” You study the Rorschach, and say exactly what it looks like to you. “Two bears high fiving.”

Redheart doesn't react; she simply takes down the canvas. “Alrighty then. Everything sure seems to be in order. You don't seem nutty, or like some kind of violent psychopath. I'd ask for your medical history but considering you don't even remember your name that seems fruitless.” She stands up. “Well, no sense keepin’ you cooped up in here. Let me get you an outfit, seeing as you're still in your underwear.”

You follow her out of the living room down a hall and into a bedroom. She opens a wardrobe and pulls out a pair of black slacks and a maroon button-up shirt. “Here,” she says, handing you the clothing. “These were my husband’s. I'd offer you some of my clothes but they’d be a bit big on you. You seem his size anyway.”

“Thanks Doc.” You slip them on over your undies. True to her word, they seem to fit pretty well. Just a tad bit tight around the chest but that's to be expected. As you button up you come to a bit of an unfortunate realization. “I don't have much in the way of payment.”

“No payment necessary. First, do no harm.” She cocks her head to the side. “I'd be a disgrace to my profession if I demanded exorbitant payment for life saving surgery. I'm a doctor because I want to help people, not because I wanna turn a profit. Although once you head out in the world and make some caps, if you wanna buy some extra medical supplies, maybe some chems, I’ll always be here.”

You nod. “I appreciate that. Thanks for saving my life.”

“Don't mention it. Besides, it's Kevin who saved you. He’s the metal feller who brought you to me. Thank him.”

You nod. “Kevin. Where can I find him?”

“Just down the path to the main road, then hang right. His shack’s all the way down at the end. He can be a bit... intimidating, what with all the laser guns and rocket launchers... but he's real friendly.”

“Got it. So uh. Where do you recommend I start off?”

“How so?”

You shrug. “All I know is in this house. You said earlier there were radiation pockets and mutated animals. That sounds pretty deadly, n’ dangerous. Not fun. It'd be a shame if I survived getting shot in the head just to get eaten by a bear or something.”

Redheart puts her fingers to her chin. “Well, you could talk to Applejack. You can find her down at the Prospector Saloon this time of day, down the street, straight, and on the left past the general store. She's our town’s resident gecko hunter, along with her hunting dog Wynona. She's got an impressive selection of guns. Help her hunt and she’ll be sure to let you have one.”

You nod. “Kevin the robot, shack to the right. Applejack, Saloon past the store. Got it.”

“Oh, one more thing.” Redheart removes the device from her wrist and hands it to you. “Take this Pipboy. I grew up in a vault and we all had one. I don't use this much anymore. Mostly just keeping it around as a souvenir of my past. Like I said earlier, I ain't given to sentiment if I can help someone. This thing monitors your vitals, enhances your senses. It's got a geiger counter, compass, radio, map, notepad, and if you ever get bored it's got a few games on it. It'll help you start a new life... after you get your revenge.”

You cock an eyebrow.

“That's right, Courier. I saw that glint in your eyes earlier. You wanna take the fight to the mare who done you wrong. That ain't my business. All the choices you make from here on out, those are yours and yours alone. My job here was to make sure you live long enough to get to make those decisions. Maybe I just formed an attachment to you these last few days I spent pullin metal outta your brain, maybe in just getting soft in my old age. Either way, I wish you all the best.”

You nod. “I appreciate that, Doc. Thanks.”

“No problem.” She opens the door, letting light pour in. “Oh, and uh... try not to get killed anymore.”

You smile, despite yourself, and she does too. “I'll try.”

You step out into the sun...

/x/x/x/

And so begins the journey of Courier Six.

She steps out of the doctor’s house, a dead mare alive again. She doesn't know it yet, but on the path to her revenge, she will alter the course of a war she doesn't even know exists yet.

Because war makes itself known to all who live in its vicinity. It doesn't discriminate between the sinners or the saints. It takes and it takes and it takes and it takes, and we keep fighting anyway.

Because war...

War never changes.

/x/x/x/

Author's Note

In the comments, vote for whom you go to see first: Applejack or Kevin.

This is a little pet project I have to practice writing in a different perspective and tense. I mostly do past tense third person omniscient, which is what my original works tend to use, so this is mostly an exercise in my writing skills.

I'd like to receive criticism on the nuance of the work more so than grammar. Is the pacing good, is the text clear about what's happening, do the descriptors do their job, are you engaged, are the occasional references too much, does the dialogue flow well, etc.

Also I am indeed writing again, and updates for ALL of my WIPs are incoming. For example, Milkshake is nearly done now, after two years of inactivity.

My main focus is of course my own original work (it's a high fantasy series of 3 sequential trilogies), and updates will not be very frequent if there is no heat. If you want more be sure to C O M M E N T so I know that there is interest otherwise this will be on the back burner.

Anyway I love new vegas, beat it twice vanilla, and now I've been playing it heavily modded. This exists mostly as a love letter to everything I like about the game, while getting rid of all the things I don't like about the game. I hope you enjoy this fic in some capacity just as I enjoy the game.