... How did I end up here?
It was supposed to be a simple job: take that package, deliver it to New Vegas, get paid. but it looks like fate has decided otherwise. I can't recall how it happened exactly, but here I am, waking up at night in the middle of nowhere, kneeling with my feet and my hands tied, next to what will become my own grave.
???: "Guess who's waking up over here?"
I look up to see those who brought me here; Two men wearing leather jackets and bandanas, probably raiders, led by a third man in a checkered suit.
???: "Time to cash out." he says, as he takes a hit from his cigarette, then drops it and puts it out with his foot. He steps towards me.
???: "Would you get it over with?" Asks the raider on his right, with a bored and impatient look on his face.
The man in the suit stops and raises a finger.
???: "Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain't a fink, dig?"
He then reaches for a pocket inside his coat and takes out... The platinum chip. The very item I was supposed to deliver.
???: "You've made your last delivery, kid."
At this point, I cannot tell if his expression of sadness is genuine or not. The look of fascination on the other raider's face who can't wait to see me die, however, is.
???: "Sorry you got twisted up in this scene." He says, as he puts the platinum chip back in his coat and takes out something else.
It is a finely decorated pistol, its silver engravings glinting with the faint light of a nearby campfire. I've already known for a little while what is going to happen, but I still refuse to admit it.
???: "From where you're kneeling, it must seem like an eighteen-carat run of bad luck."
He punctuates that sentence by pointing his gun at me.
That's it, he's going to do it.
???: "But, Truth is... The game was rigged from the start."
A second that feels like an lifetime passes, as if I was desperately trying to cling on to these last instants of my life. And then, the last thing I see is a flash coming from the gun's barrel.
It was supposed to be a simple job: take that package, deliver it to New Vegas, get paid. but it looks like fate has decided otherwise. I can't recall how it happened exactly, but here I am, waking up at night in the middle of nowhere, kneeling with my feet and my hands tied, next to what will become my own grave.
???: "Guess who's waking up over here?"
I look up to see those who brought me here; Two men wearing leather jackets and bandanas, probably raiders, led by a third man in a checkered suit.
???: "Time to cash out." he says, as he takes a hit from his cigarette, then drops it and puts it out with his foot. He steps towards me.
???: "Would you get it over with?" Asks the raider on his right, with a bored and impatient look on his face.
The man in the suit stops and raises a finger.
???: "Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain't a fink, dig?"
He then reaches for a pocket inside his coat and takes out... The platinum chip. The very item I was supposed to deliver.
???: "You've made your last delivery, kid."
At this point, I cannot tell if his expression of sadness is genuine or not. The look of fascination on the other raider's face who can't wait to see me die, however, is.
???: "Sorry you got twisted up in this scene." He says, as he puts the platinum chip back in his coat and takes out something else.
It is a finely decorated pistol, its silver engravings glinting with the faint light of a nearby campfire. I've already known for a little while what is going to happen, but I still refuse to admit it.
???: "From where you're kneeling, it must seem like an eighteen-carat run of bad luck."
He punctuates that sentence by pointing his gun at me.
That's it, he's going to do it.
???: "But, Truth is... The game was rigged from the start."
A second that feels like an lifetime passes, as if I was desperately trying to cling on to these last instants of my life. And then, the last thing I see is a flash coming from the gun's barrel.