Chapter Text
The world was fuzzy as she came to, shifting in the cracked dirt of the Mojave. She glanced down at her hands, bound in thick rope with real tight knots. A conversation unfolded above her, and her spine ran cold. Bad things could happen to a girl all alone in the Mojave wastes. Were they Fiends? It couldn't be the Great Khans, she and Papa Khan had an arrangement. Legion? No, if it was them she wouldn't still be alive.
She chanced a glance up at her captors. One, two, five men in front of her, a sixth digging a hole a few feet away. At least they weren't making her dig her own grave, small mercies. The one directly in front of her was obviously in charge, which explained why the others were dressed in typical Great Khan armor. They probably had no idea they were killing their best courier. The leader had white pants, a very bad idea for a place as dusty and dirty as the Mojave, and wore a black-and-white checkered blazer, which was just plain tacky. With his hair slicked back and his suit relatively pristine, it was fairly obvious he was from the New Vegas Strip.
But that didn't make sense either. The delivery was to Mr. House, the man who kept the Vegas Strip running. So why the hell would one of his men jump her? Going rogue?
"Time to cash out," the Vegas man said, and the other men rolled their eyes. The lack of appreciation for his dramatic flair didn't seem to register. When one finally snapped to just kill her, he rolled his eyes. "Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain't a Fink, ya dig?"
Bold words from someone surrounded by Great Khans eager for some bloodshed. Still, he just ignored his henchmen and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a familiar silvery poker chip.
She started and made to stand up, to reclaim the package she had to deliver, but the Khans tensed up. She slowly settled back down, glaring daggers at the man. No matter what she wanted to do, there was no way she could take even one of the men in a fight, let alone all of them at once. She survived the Mojave thanks to a bright smile, a sharp tongue, and Lady Luck on her side when things got desperate. Not muscle.
"You've made your last delivery, kid." He slid the poker chip back into his blazer. Technically this didn't count as a delivery. If he was going to mock her, he could at least get it right. "Sorry you got twisted up in this scene."
He pulled out a silver pistol and flicked off the safety in one smooth motion. Her eyes went wide and her breathing picked up. Her eyes darted around the dark landscape, searching for something, for anything, that could help her out of this.
"From where you're kneeling, must seem like an eighteen carat run of bad luck. Truth is," he leveled the pistol at her forehead, "the game was rigged from the start."
She threw herself to the side, catching the bullet in her shoulder with a stifled scream. She rolled to her feet and scrambled away, only for one of the Khans to grab her around the waist.
"Look," she pleaded, locking eyes with the armed man. "Keep the damn chip, I don't care. I'm only in this for the caps, and it sure as hell ain't enough caps to risk my life."
He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Sorry dollface, but I can't afford any loose ends. Nothing personal."
"It is to me!"
That earned a few chuckles from the Khans. Gallows humor was always a hit.
"You're funny, pussycat. Maybe if things went differently, we coulda worked together. Dimepiece like you'd do great at the Tops." To his credit, he frowned in regret. Unfortunately he lost that credit as he aimed the gun.
"You said this game is rigged, right?" Her mind was scrambling to keep up with her mouth as she searched for something to latch on to. "That ain't how shit works in the Strip."
He lowered the gun, curious. "Pretty face, but pretty naïve too."
"No no no, the game's always rigged in casinos, but that ain't what I'm sayin'," she floundered. "You mentioned the Tops, right? You're gambling like you're at the Tops."
"Just kill her already," one of the Khans snapped, but Vegas held up a hand.
"I wanna see where this is going," he said. "Keep talking, doll."
"It ain't the Tops though," she said. "See, what's the number one rule when you're in a rigged game? Who rigged it?"
He narrowed his eyes. "The house."
She nodded, half crazed with desperation. "Yeah. House always wins."
The gun fired. The Khan holding her fell, dragging her down with him. She struggled free of the dead weight and made a break for it.
"Fuck!" He fired rapidly, emptying the gun into the open air as she disappeared down the hill. "I tried to do this the easy way! You're the one who chose the hard way!"
The dirt underfoot was hard, but not quite as hard-packed as a well-travelled road. The outline of the Lucky 38 loomed in the distance, so she wasn't too far out. Closer to the Strip than the Hub at least.
Something heavy slammed into her, sending her crashing to the ground. The Khan who tackled her hefted her up over his shoulders and made his way back to the gravesite.
"Shoulda killed her while she was out," he grumbled.
She was running on pure adrenaline, so she ran her mouth. "Yeah, now you gotta explain to Papa Khan why one of his men was shot trying to kill me. And here I thought the Great Khans and I worked together. You make the chems, I deliver them. I guess you lot are going rogue, then? Probably smart. I've heard some rumors about what happens to Khan traitors, and let me tell you, those rumors are more gruesome than some Legion stories."
He stiffened just as the guy in the blazer sauntered over. The sleazebag had sauntering down to an art.
"Hey Benny, you sure we have to kill this one?" He was nervous, sweating bullets. Nervous enough for her to get an identifier. Benny, Tops Casino, Vegas Strip.
Benny sighed, hauling her off the Khan's shoulders. "Yeah. This broad's more trouble than she's worth."
"You sure? I'm worth a lot," she countered, stalling for time. "Depends on who you ask though. Caesar's Legion say I'm not worth much at all, but that's typical for those misogynistic bastards playing soldiers. Fiends say I'm worth several hundred caps, which is flattering, but not so much when it's Cook-Cook making the offer. Apparently I'd be great at Gomorrah too-"
A loud bang, a bright flash, and then blackness.