Chương 353: Antipathy by Neurax
Words: 89k+
Link: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12493718/1/Antipathy
(Looking back on it, when I woke up in an irradiated desert in a stranger's body with no recollection of how I got there, at no point did I think this was going to end with me detonating several nuclear warheads on myself to save the Mojave Wasteland and the entire world. A Fallout NV Self-Insert with AU elements present. The SI is not Courier Six.)
Hiya all. I've wanted to do one of these for a long time and I'm doing one now. However, I want this to be unique, to stand out from the rest. How I plan to achieve this? Well I guess you're just going to have to read the story, eh?
Word of warning, features an out of body experience. As in, I get a new body that's way better than my old one. Sure, it's kinda cheap, but this will be balanced out by my atrocious charisma stat and the fact I don't have any convenient pre written dialogue, meaning I'll have to wing it in conversions.
Joy.
Plus I'm not going to be the generic "help everyone in trouble from the goodness of my heart" si guy. This ain't no fix it fic. I'm not looking to make everyone happy, I just want to survive.
And get some sweet epic loot. But mostly survive.
No, I am not the Courier, yes there will be a Courier, and they will likely be female because almost every si makes the token really competent main character avatar person their opposite sex. How unoriginal of me.
Sorry. (I'm not)
Well, I've talked enough, let's get on with it shall we?
Chapter 1 – Well fuck, this is a real bother
The first thing that clues me in to not being in my bed is a crackling noise that sounds like… fire?
As I open my eyes I am met with more supporting evidence. Namely, I don't recall my room's roof being made out of metal. Nor do I have a light like that in it either. My mind still clouded with grogginess, I slowly get up and look at my surroundings.
There's the source of that crackling noise. There's a fire in a metal barrel in the corner of the room. How it isn't smoking up the room is beyond me. Assorted junk is everywhere.
This room is uncannily familiar, but it isn't my room. Which leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
I still haven't fully woken up yet, which is probably why I'm not panicking.
My throat is kinda dry. However, I spot a container of water on a bedside table.
Not really thinking, I unscrew the cap and begin drinking it.
Then I spit it out.
Blech. What kind of shit water is this? I hold the bottle up to the lighting.
Oh. That explains it. The water is murky.
I just drank dirty water. Nasty. Disgusted, I toss said water.
It lands somewhere in the room, making a clink as it hit the ground.
Hmm. I get the feeling there's a voice screaming something in the back of my head but it probably isn't important.
Wait a minute.
I recognize this room. It's the abandoned shack near Goodsprings in Fallout New Vegas.
Fallout… New Vegas.
Fallout.
New Vegas.
Slowly, I rise on my shaky legs and walk slowly to the door. I stand there for a minute, contemplating if I really want to open it.
Against my better judgement, I shall. Taking a deep breath, I push the door open. The slightly rusted door creaks, and I am greeted by the outside world.
It's a desert.
A really familiar desert.
Looking to my right I see a rusted water tower off in the distance.
Oh god.
I'm in New Vegas.
Oh god.
I'm in Fallout New Vegas.
Calmly, I shut the door, sit back down on the bed, more of a mattress really, and proceed to flip my shit.
Placing my hands over my head, I begin shaking, repeating, "I'm in New Vegas, I'm in New Vegas", like a broken record.
As you can see, I'm not taking this very well. Understandable, given I've just been dumped in an irradiated desert full of things that want to kill me probably by some asshole R.O.B.
I sit there for a few minutes, hoping this is all a dream.
Don't get me wrong, I love Fallout New Vegas, I have over a thousand hours on it, but it's still a fallout game. And I'm betting I will feel pain unlike the game avatar, who the player only sees get hurt but the person controlling the avatar doesn't feel it.
Whelp, time for a world of pain. Coming soon to yours truly.
Alright, to keep my sanity grounded, I'm going to need a list of priorities.
Priority one. Don't die. This one's kind of obvious, but I've just been dropped in a murder desert, so I don't care how cliché that line was.
Oh! Do I have a pip boy? Looking at both my wrists reveals that sad revelation that I in fact do not have a glorious technological bag of holding.
Fuck.
Priority two. Get a pip boy ASAP.
Right off the top of my head I'm thinking of the one Doc Mitchell has, but for all I know the Courier's already here and made off with it. The good old doc wouldn't give it to a random stranger anyway.
Which leaves two other options. I could find a vault resident and murder them for their pip boy.
It's for a good cause I swear. Ricky from Honest Hearts would be a good choice. Prick.
Or, the other more humane option is that I hook up with Mick and Ralph and foil Gomorrah's conspiracy plot to turn Vegas into a war zone, receiving the incredibly gaudy Pimp Boy 3 Billion.
I say gaudy because a golden colored pip boy does not match well with most of the armors of this game. It would also stick out like a sore thumb. Probably blind myself whenever I look at it when the sun's overhead. Until then, I'm just going to have to find a backpack or something.
Now that that's sorted, priority three.
Find the Courier. Well, assuming they haven't done the Battle of Hoover Dam yet. If that's happened, I'll just piss off into the wasteland looking to make a life of my own, because I won't be delusional, there's probably no way back to my Earth. If they had trans-dimensional travel, people would have a grand exodus to get off this planet. I'll get sad about the fact I won't see my friends and family ever again later. Right now there's more important stuff to do, like finding out what I have to work with.
Don't worry, this is just a coping mechanism. I promise. Right well, now that I'm not ought right panicking, I see there is some armor on the bed.
Some lightweight metal armor.
Goody. Walking around encased in a metal coffin in a desert. Totally not going to give me a stroke or anything.
Well, beggars can't be choosers. Putting the armor on is like slipping into a suit of medieval armor. It kinda feels like chain mail. And yes, I've worn chain mail. Heavy. Good thing this is less bulky than the other metal armors. Actually, it doesn't really hinder me that much. Strange, I mean, I wasn't a wimp in the strength department or anything, but I doubt I could have worn something like this on with such ease like I am now.
In fact…
I just noticed I have muscles now. Like bodybuilder muscles.
Uh…
Almost instantly I put my hands on my face. Before I was dumped here I was unfortunate enough for my genes to decide, "Hey this guy needs a neckbeard." And thus I had a neckbeard.
Not anymore. Instead of my scruffy neckbeard mutton chop mustache thing my face likes to grow, it is instead a rough kinda-beard.
Admittedly, this is much better but it raises the question is this my body?
Play some twilight zone music people, because I think we have ourselves a new body snatcher. Namely, moi.
I don't hear a voice in the back of my head cursing my existence, so I guess this is my body now. Hopefully this body just popped into existence because whoever's soul that might have been in here was probably kicked out by my entrance.
Am I the Courier? Because on one hand, I wanna be the Courier. On the other hand, said hand is giving that thought the middle finger yelling, "Fuck that."
I don't want to be hounded by all the major Mohave factions. At the same time I feel the need to be a special snowflake.
Well, do I have a bullet scar on my forehead? I don't. Probably not the Courier then. Good. Bad. Whatever.
Body snatching aside, what else is there besides armor?
Well, there's a broad machete. It kinda looks like a kukri, now that I think about it. Picking it up, I give it a few swings. Instead of being clumsy like I expected, there's a certain efficient grace with each swing. Guess I'm a melee weapons build.
In a world filled with guns, lasers, and explosives. Ranged crap.
Something tells me that being sneaky is going to be an important factor to my survival.
Well on the positive side, I'm going to become an absolute tank assuming I make it to level thirty-fiftyish. If levels and perks even exist in the conventional sense here.
Right. What else is there?
Oh look, a grenade launcher. Well it's actually a grenade rifle, but seeing as they both shoot things that go boom they might as well be the same thing. There's even some… grenade shells? I'm not sure if that's the proper term for that, so I'm going to call it that until I have evidence on the contrary.
There's also some doctor bags, stimpacks, and assorted fallout drugs. I find a pouch for the stimpacks on my armor. The drugs and doctor bags are just going to have to sit there until I find something to carry them in. Same with all the other crap lying around in this shack.
Alright, I've dilly dallied enough, time to go outside for reals. Putting the grenade rifle on my back in imitation of the Courier avatar, which the weapon weirdly sticks for some reason, (I think the back of my armor is magnetized or something) the shells in another pouch I found on my armor, I pick up my machete and step out into the Mohave Wasteland.
And thus, the story of the legendary raider killer known throughout the Mohave by the alias of Ricksaw began, from humble beginnings.
This is just a sneak peak, a prologue if you will. Expect more to come soon. I'm aiming for most chapters to break 2000+ word count.
Stats, perks, and more informative nonsense will come next chapter. Hold your horses.
Now how this is going to work is that I've started a new game in fallout nv and stuff I do in the game will be written down and converted to fanfiction.
Since I'm not the Courier expect differences from "canon". Expect this story to be filled with swearing, violence, and lots of time spent monologue-ing, because "I clubbed this guy in the face." isn't very exciting to read and we need glorious context.
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