Lonesome Road: Traveling the Mojave Wasteland

For most people, a bad day is running out of cigarettes. Being late. Having a fight with a friend. Dropping your last cap on one of Gomorrah’s tables and seeing that double-ought under the ball.

I’m here to tell you, that ain’t nothin’, kid. Try rolling out of bed, picking up the box you’re supposed to haul across ten miles of open desert filled with radscorpions and raiders, making sure you’ve got water and positively clink with ammo (and caps for when you get where you’re going), getting to the halfway point… And ending up in a shallow grave after some smarmy snake in a checkered suit put a slug in your skull and took your payday.

Yeah, puts it in perspective, doesn’t it? Of course, that particular smarmy snake – oh, he’s got a name, and I’ll get to it in my own time, but for right now that’s the most printable thing I can call him – probably should have made sure he finished the job. Because if he’d been doing his homework, he’d know that I don’t quit until the package is delivered… Since that can’t happen until I wring his scrawny little neck and get my package back, it’s gonna be a bad day for him.

The postman’s creed is something I take very seriously, you see. Because things are screwed up enough as it is; we need concepts like law, order, responsibility and reliability. If you can’t count on those things, you sure as hell can’t count on much, let alone on things getting any better.

Good thing Courier Six is on the job. When I’m through with him, that guy ain’t never gonna stop the mail again. Or take some dope’s last cap when all he wants is a bit of clean water and a bed, and leave him in an alley to get roughed up by Van Graff goons and told to stay the hell off the Strip.

Not that I’ve got anything personal with Benny – see, told you I’d get to it – or anything. Nope. Not a bit of external motivation. Aside from that hole in the head aspect of our relationship.

Just as soon as the Doc gets these bandages off and I pay my respects to that creepy ‘bot with the bad Gene Autry impression – that responsibility thing, you know; have to thank those who give you a hand – I’m coming for him. Him and his Great Khan pals.

When Courier Six is on the job, that job gets done.



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