Fallout: New Vegas – The Lost Courier

I changed my character's name from Kai to Arthur Ernest.

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Arthur deactivated his Stealth Boy, the shimmering distortion around him fading as he stepped into the dimly lit room. The air was thick with the scent of dust and old metal, the walls cracked and stained. A bald man in a scientist's uniform turned to face him, sneering in immediate disgust.

"God, but are you ugly! Get upstairs and talk to Jason before I throw up just from looking at you."

Arthur narrowed his eyes, unimpressed. "Shut the fuck up, you ugly bald head. Just tell me where I can find Jason."

The man's sneer faltered, his mouth opening slightly in shock. Clearly, he hadn't expected that response. After a brief moment, he recovered with an annoyed grunt.

"The Great One can be found upstairs," he muttered. "Don't waste his time—he's very important. You should feel lucky to be granted some of his time."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Just get lost."

The man scowled but turned away, muttering under his breath as Arthur strode past him.

Ascending the creaky staircase, Arthur entered a large room where a group of ghouls had gathered. The glow of their irradiated skin cast eerie shadows against the walls. At the center stood a robed ghoul, his posture calm yet commanding. As Arthur approached, the ghoul turned to him, his glowing eyes filled with an almost serene certainty.

"Hello, wanderer," the ghoul greeted, his voice smooth despite the rasp of decay. "Please forgive our humble surroundings. Our true home awaits us in the Far Beyond. Have you come to help us complete the Great Journey?"

Arthur crossed his arms. "Who are you?"

"I am Jason Bright, the prophet of the Great Journey. All the ghouls you see here are my flock."

Arthur smirked. "Your last name is 'Bright'? That's funny."

Jason remained unfazed. "An auspicious name, don't you think? It was mine before I became as I am now—before the Great War, even."

Arthur raised a brow but let it slide. "What's the deal with the human who let me in?"

Jason's expression softened slightly. "You're referring to Chris. I imagine he was… less than welcoming."

Arthur snorted. "You could say that."

Jason nodded, unsurprised. "We had the same discussions when he first arrived, and they were just as fruitless. He truly believes he is one of us." He sighed. "In time, we came to see Chris as a gift from the Creator. He has proven himself indispensable to the success of the Great Journey."

Arthur frowned but let that go too. "Right. So, about these 'demons' you mentioned…"

Jason's glowing eyes darkened, his tone growing serious. "The demons appeared from nowhere… though, perhaps it is more accurate to say they never 'appeared' at all. They are invisible. The most one sees is the air shimmering, like sunlight on water."

Arthur's fingers instinctively twitched toward his weapon. "Stealth Boys," he muttered.

Jason nodded. "They attacked us as we were heading to worship, just as we entered the basement. My flock fought bravely, and we managed to kill a few… but at a terrible cost. Nearly half of us were slaughtered. The rest retreated here." His voice wavered with old grief before steadying.

"One of the demons raved at us over the intercom for hours. Threats of death if we left, promises of safety if we stayed locked away. Much of it made no sense. And then, silence. They haven't attacked since, but their presence alone has halted all progress toward the Great Journey."

Jason's glowing gaze locked onto Arthur, filled with conviction. "But now, you have come. Once again, the Creator has sent a human to help us overcome an insurmountable obstacle."

Arthur tilted his head. "So this demon talked to you?"

Jason nodded. "Yes, over the intercom. It spoke of death, of darkness, of our supposed sins against this place. It was erratic, at times almost… delirious. But that was only on the first day. Since then—nothing."

Arthur considered this for a moment before nodding. "Alright. I'll take care of the 'demons' for you."

Jason's face lit up with joy. "Praise the Creator! Bless you, wanderer! Bless us all! As soon as the underground is rid of demons, preparations for the Great Journey can resume!"

He reached into his robes and pulled out a key, pressing it into Arthur's hand. Without another word, Arthur pocketed it and turned toward the basement.

As Arthur stepped out of the room, a familiar chime echoed in his ears. A notification window materialized in front of him, its bold text flashing:

WELCOME TO LEVEL 6!

A holographic display appeared, listing his current stats and available skill points for allocation:

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Barter – 7

Energy Weapons – 25

Explosives – 25

Guns – 50 (+5)

Lockpick – 30

Medicine – 30

Melee Weapons – 35

Repair – 25

Science – 27

Speech – 25 (+5)

Sneak – 50 (+5)

Survival – 30

Unarmed – 25

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Satisfied with his distribution, Arthur moved on to selecting his new perks.

🔹 Bloody Mess – (+5% overall damage; enemies die in spectacularly violent fashion.)

🔹 Gunslinger – (+25% accuracy in V.A.T.S. when using one-handed weapons.)

With his skills sharpened and perks chosen, the window flickered and disappeared. Arthur took a deep breath and tightened his grip on his weapon.

It was time to clear out the basement of the REPCONN test site.

Arthur moved cautiously through the dimly lit basement corridors, his footsteps barely making a sound. The air was thick with dust and tension, the kind that came from knowing something—or someone—was watching. As he neared a door, he took a steady breath and pushed it open.

A hulking Nightkin stood on the other side, muttering to himself. At the sound of the creaking door, he turned sharply, glowing eyes locking onto Arthur.

"What's that, Antler? We have a visitor?" His deep voice rumbled, his fingers twitching. "An assassin, more like! I say kill it, Antler. For safety's sake—huh? ...Okay, Antler. I'll ask."

The Nightkin fixed Arthur with an intense stare. "Hi, human. Why you come here?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow at the bizarre exchange. "Are you... talking to someone?" He glanced around but saw no one else.

The mutant straightened, puffing out his chest. "I am in command of my faculties! In command of my troops! Antler guides me in all things! As I, in turn, guide my kin!"

Arthur exhaled slowly. "Right. Well, I came on behalf of the ghouls upstairs."

The Nightkin's expression darkened. "A human who helps ghouls? Suspicious. Antler used intercom, told them stay put. But they still want basement. Not allowed. My kin are… not right in head like I am. They attack on sight. Ghouls too. No control. Your friends must wait."

Arthur folded his arms. "Maybe I can help."

The Nightkin tilted his head, listening to something unseen. After a moment, he nodded. "Good. Antler brought us here for a reason… What was it again, Antler?" He paused, then his eyes widened. "Right! A piece of paper. Shipment invoice. Stealth Boys. Hundreds of them, sent here long ago. We search everywhere—except one room."

"And why haven't you searched that room?" Arthur asked.

The Nightkin's lips curled into a sneer. "A ghoul. But not soft and squishy like others. This one is different. Tough. My kin went in—three never came out. Ghoul is a crack shot. Traps too." He clenched his fists. "Antler said send kin. I thought. But then three died. Then I realize… I heard Antler wrong. So I locked the door. Wait for Antler to tell me what to do."

His gaze bore into Arthur's. "Now you come along. Antler says you are the solution."

Arthur let out a tired sigh. "Fine. I'll get the Stealth Boys for you—on one condition. When I do, you and your kin leave this place. No more fighting."

The Nightkin nodded slowly. "Yes. Antler agrees. We leave once we have them. Here." He reached into a pouch and pulled out a key, pressing it into Arthur's hand. "The ghoul inside not expecting human. Maybe he won't shoot you. Maybe he will."

Arthur took the key, feeling its cold weight in his palm. "Guess I'll find out."

The Nightkin handed Arthur the key. Without another word, Arthur turned and headed deeper into the basement.

The air was thick with dust and decay, the dim lighting casting long, shifting shadows against the cracked concrete walls. Moving silently, he kept his weapon at the ready, every step measured and careful.

Then—

BAM!

Something massive slammed into him from nowhere. A fist like a sledgehammer crashed into his ribs, launching him off his feet. He hit the cold concrete wall with bone-rattling force, his vision exploding with white-hot pain.

Gritting his teeth, Arthur forced himself to breathe through it, already assessing the damage. His left shoulder—dislocated.

Exhaling sharply, he gripped his arm. With a quick, practiced motion, he snapped the joint back into place. A sickening pop echoed through the basement, but he barely acknowledged it. The pain was secondary.

The Nightkin loomed before him, muscles tensed, gripping an actual sledgehammer.

Arthur sighed, rolling his shoulder. Yeah, that tracks.

"Guess we're doing this the hard way."

The mutant roared, swinging the hammer in a brutal arc. Arthur dodged at the last second, rolling to the side as the weapon slammed into the floor, cracking concrete.

Wasting no time, Arthur lunged, grabbing the Nightkin's thick wrist. Using the creature's own momentum, he twisted his body, leveraging his strength to drive a vicious kick into the mutant's jaw. The impact sent the Nightkin stumbling, his grip on the hammer faltering.

Arthur didn't let up.

The moment the weapon hit the ground, he slashed low, his chance knife tearing through the tendons behind the Nightkin's knee. The hulking mutant collapsed with a pained growl, one leg useless beneath him.

The Nightkin opened his mouth, his voice rising in a guttural roar—

Arthur exhaled, stepping back. "Shut the fuck up."

He shoved his that gun into the mutant's open maw and pulled the trigger.

BANG!

The gunshot boomed through the basement, a violent echo of finality. Blood and brain matter splattered the walls as the Nightkin's head snapped back. His body slumped to the ground, twitching once before going still.

Arthur holstered his pistol, breathing steadily despite the adrenaline burning through his veins. He reached into his pack, pulling out a Stimpak. The needle punched into his shoulder as he injected the serum, feeling a wave of relief wash over him as the pain dulled.

With a practiced motion, he wiped the blood from his knife, then knelt, rifling through the corpse's belongings.

Nothing useful.

Straightening, Arthur took a slow breath before pressing forward, deeper into the basement