Chapter Text
When Victor Khal woke, the first thing he felt was a throbbing in his head.
He could barely see or hear anything. He rose up and hoped the pain would go away. It did, thankfully, and slowly his sight and hearing returned.
“Whoa easy there, easy.” He heard a voice say. “You’ve been out cold a couple of days now.”
As his vision cleared fully, Victor saw him. An old balding man sitting next to the bed he lay in. From the things he saw around him, he guessed this was a doctor.
He remembered now. He was delivering something, then on the road he got knocked out and his package taken. Some guy in a checkered suit shot him in the head at a graveyard, and that was it. Victor had to be the luckiest man in the Mojave.
“Why don’t you just relax a second? Get your bearings.” The Doc told him. The Doc looked him over for a bit before continuing. “Let’s see what the damage is. How about your name? Can you tell me your name?”
“…Victor Khal.” The words came out raspy. The Doctor grabbed a flask and handed it to Victor. He tilted his head back and drank slowly, letting the water soothe his throat.
“Huh. Can’t it’s what I’d have picked for you. But that’s your name, that's your name. Funny you both have the same name though…” The doctor mused to himself. “I’m Doc Mitchell. Welcome to Goodsprings.” Mitchell said as he grabbed a reflectron underneath his seat. “Now I hope you don’t mind, but I had to go rooting around there in your noggin to pull all the bits of lead out. I take pride in my needlework but you’d better tell me if I left anything out of place.” He handed the reflectron to Victor. “How’d I do?”
Victor switched it on. Once the screen flickered to life, Victor saw his own face.
His own, heavily scarred face.
There were burn scars on just about every inch of his face and body. It was like he was put on a spit and roasted. The burns had healed long, long ago but they left their mark. He didn’t even have hair anymore. People often mistook him for a ghoul, even shot at him in the less tolerable parts of the wasteland.
Besides the scars, his face looked fine. Victor gave the reflectron back and nodded. “Looks good. Not like there’s much to fix anyway.”
Doc Mitchell stood up and helped Victor stand. “Okay. No sense in keeping you in bed anymore. Let’s see if we can get you on your feet.”
Victor felt the blood rushing to his head and making hom light headed for a moment before returning to normal. He stood there for a moment, getting his bearings.
“Good. Why don’t you walk down to the end of the room? Over by that vigor tester machine there.” Mitchell suggested. “Take it slow now. It ain’t a race.”
Victor took small steps, feeling his legs regain their functionality. He walked a little faster once he got a feel for walking again, up to a slow stroll. He eventually reached the vigor tester.
“Looking good so far. Go ahead and give the vigor tester a try. We’ll learn right quick if you got back all your faculties.” Mitchell said. He stood next to the machine, watching as Victor put his hand on the stick.
As he squeezed a series of numbers appeared on the machine.
Strength: 6
Perception: 7
Endurance: 4
Charisma: 7
Intelligence: 8
Agility: 5
Luck: 3
The S.P.E.C.I.A.L. system. A way of determining various aspects of a person. Its accuracy has always been debated, some saying it was an entirely fake system and that you can’t determine such things like charisma and luck through machines like the vigor tester. Either way, it became popular and is generally considered accurate. Though whether that was because it actually was accurate or if that consensus was pushed by the people that made the system, Victor didn’t know.
“Look at that. Maybe them bullets done your brain some good!” Mitchell exclaimed. “Well we know your vitals are good. But that don’t mean them bullets didn’t leave you nuttier than a Bighorner dropping. What do you say you take a seat on my couch and we go through a couple of questions? See if your dogs are still barking.”
Mitchell led Victor to the next room and sat down on a chair. Victor sat down on the couch across from him. “Alright. I’m gonna say a word. I want you to say the first thing that comes to mind.” Mirchell got some paper and a pen before starting. “Dog.”
“Cat.” Victor replied.
“House.”
“Shelter.”
“Night.”
“Dream.”
“Bandit.”
“Swiss cheese.”
“Light.”
“Beam.”
“Mother.”
“…Caretaker.”
Mitchell wrote everything down. “Okay. Now I've got a few statements. I want you to tell me how much they sound like something you'd say. First one. ‘Conflict just ain’t in my nature.’”
“Agree.” Victor answered. Usually if he could resolve a conflict peacefully he would. Though he was willing to fight if he had to.
And there were some people that he had no mercy for.
“‘I ain’t given to relying on others for support.’”
“No opinion.” He said. He wouldn’t say no to help from others, but he wasn't the kind to actively seek help. He also didn't have friends to lean on. Courier work meant he travelled a lot, so it’s hard to make connections on the road.
“‘I’m always fixing to be the center of attention.’”
“Strongly disagree.” The last thing Victor would want is to be recognized and swarmed by people.
“‘I’m slow to embrace new ideas.’”
“Disagree.” Victor believed that change could be a good thing, that it was natural, that keeping the world in stasis would only lead to ruin. He also believed that some old ideas were worth keeping and that not every new idea was a good one.
“‘I charge in to deal with my problems head on.’”
“No opinion.” Victor was a mix. Sometimes he’d take his time, analyse and plan, other times he’d run towards those problems with a gun in hand and screaming like a lunatic.
Mitchell wrote down more in his notes and grabbed some more paper. “Almost done here. What do you say you have a look at this? Tell me what you see.” Mitchell held a piece of paper out with random patterns of ink on it. A Rorschach test.
“A chemical reaction.” Victor responded.
“Okay. How about this one?” The next image was brought out.
It looked like a spaceship, like something out of Captain Cosmos. “Some kind of space-age technology.”
“Last one.” The third image was held out.
“Two bears high-fiving.” Victor said without hesitation. That’s just what it looked like to him, he couldn't imagine anything else.
Mitchell looked surprised but didn’t comment on it as he jotted down the last of his notes. “Well, that’s all she wrote. I guess that about does it. Come with me. I’ll see you out.” Mitchell stood up from his chair and walked down the hallway.
Victor followed to the entrance, but before he opened the door to leave, Mitchell went into another room to grab something. He came out with a pile of clothes, pieces of armor, a helmet, a revolver, and a note. “Here, these are yours. Was all you had on you when you was brought in.”
Victor took his stuff back. Elite Riot Gear. He wore it often. It was like a second skin to him. He didn’t waste any time putting it back on. In a couple of minutes he was wearing it again, with his ranger sequoia holstered and helmet sealed tight.
“I hope you don't mind but I gave the note a look. I thought it might help me find a next of kin. But it was just something about a platinum chip.” Mitchell explained as Victor stuffed the note in his pocket. He didn’t really care whether the Doc looked or not, it wouldn't matter. “Well, If you’re heading back out there, you ought to have this.”
Mitchell took his Pip-Boy (which Victor only noticed now) off of his arm and handed it to Victor. “They call it a Pip-Boy. I grew up in one of them vaults they made before the war. We all got one. Ain't much use to me now, but you might want such a thing, after what you been through. I know what it's like, having something taken from you.”
“Thanks for patching me up Doc.” Victor said.
“Don’t mention it. It’s what I’m here for. Before you leave town you might wanna talk to some of the folk ‘round here. They might be able to help you out. I’d check the saloon if I were you. And I’d check with Vic. He’s a metal fella, he’s the one that pulled you out of the grave and brought you here.” Mitchell recommended. It was funny, Victor being saved by Victor. Who would have thought?
“Thanks again Doc. Have a good day.” Victor told him as he walked out the door.
“If you’re ever hurt, come by and I’ll fix you right up. And try not to get yourself killed again.” Mitchell said as Victor stepped outside.
The light of the sun blinded Victor. It took him a few moments to readjust. Once he did, he saw the town before.
It was small, not that it was a bad thing to be small, but it was small nonetheless. It wasn’t very remarkable, nothing that really stood out except for the saloon, but it only stood out because of its glowing sign.
Victor saw a securitron, with a cowboy on his face screen, rolling down the damaged road that ran through the town. He didn’t realize that securitrons could be found outside of Vegas, but he guessed there were exceptions. This robot was probably the one that saved him.
“Hey, Victor!” He yelled to the robot. The securitron stopped in its path and turned to face Victor. “You’re the one who saved me right?” The securitron rolled up to him.
“Howdy partner!” Vic said. “Might I say you’re looking fit as a fiddle?”
“Thanks for pulling me out of that grave.” Victor said.
“Don’t mention it! I’m always willing to help out a stranger in need.” Vic said. Victor was curious though, how’d this robot find him anyway? Victor didn’t remember seeing or hearing anyone else.
“How’d you even find me in the first place?” Victor asked.
“Well I was out for a stroll that night when I heard a commotion coming from the old bone orchard. I saw some men that looked like bad eggs, so I laid low. Once they were gone, I dug you up to see if you were still kicking. You were, so I hauled you to the Doc right quick.” Vic explained. “They didn’t take anything from you, just left it all near your grave, so I gave it to the Doc once I brought you to him.”
“Thank you again, Vic. Did you know anything about the men who shot me?” Victor asked.
“I didn’t recognize any of ‘em. Some of the folks around here might be able to help you find them though.” Vic answered.
Victor was about to leave but he asked one more thing. “Where’s the graveyard you found me in?” His priority should’ve been the saloon, but he thought it was still worthwhile to check the place out. Maybe there was a hint at where the men who robbed him went.
“You see that water tower just outside of town?” Vic pointed to a hill where the water tower stood tall, likely since before the war. “That’s where the cemetery is.”
Victor doubted that the securitron had much else to tell him, so he said his goodbyes to Vic. “Happy trails!” The robot said as Victor left him.
After about 15 minutes Victor reached the cemetery. Wooden headstones and crosses littered the graveyard, but only one grave had neither. The one he was buried in. The grave itself had been dug, with a lamp near a pile of dirt.
Victor noticed something on the ground near the grave. It looked like a cigarette butt. He crouched down and picked up the cigarette. This had to belong to one of the men. Victor bet this could help him find the men, so he pressed a button on his Pip-Boy, and the cigarette butt dematerialized and became stored in his Pip-Boy.
The Pip-Boys were cutting edge technology. While the earlier models were still useful, the 3000 line included Quantum Storage. This allowed its users to store anything within the Pip-Boy and not feel the weight or worry about having to carry everything by hand or back. It had its limits still, like if you carried more weight than the Pip-Boy could handle, the user would immediately feel the combined weight of everything they were carrying, but other than that it was very useful to have.
As Victor was about to leave, he heard something above him. He looked up and saw what looked to be a wormhole. Victor immediately bolted away from it, not wanting to take any chances of being sucked in or something falling on him.
He distanced himself from the wormhole until he felt he was safe. He looked back at the portal, wondering why the hell it was there in the first place. Aliens, time travellers, even beings from another dimension could be the cause of this. Or maybe just some mad scientist. Victor wouldn’t be surprised at that last one.
From the wormhole fell multiple figures before it closed and suddenly as it appeared. Victor slowly approached them.
A blonde haired man and woman with pointy ears, a tall red haired woman, a bird person, a rock person, a fish person, and an egg shaped robot.
If Victor hadn’t seen the wormhole, he’d assume that the non-human ones were just mutants, and the pointy ears on the humans were radiation
altering genes a bit. The robot was strange, sure, but he would’ve guessed it was custom made. Because of the wormhole though, he wasn’t sure what they really were or where they were from. Another time, another planet, maybe even another dimension? Hell, maybe they could just be from New York. He’d heard some weird mutants came from that place. Wherever they came from, it was far from here.
Victor wasn’t sure whether they were threats or not, but he didn’t want to provoke or kill them. He was more curious than cautious. His hand hovered near his revolver as he approached. They slowly rose, groaning.
“Ugh, damn.” The bird man said as he slowly stood up. “You should pay more attention next time, hero! If you had noticed that bokoblin sooner, we wouldn’t be in this mess!”
The blonde guy stood up, alongside everyone else. “I was protecting Zelda! Maybe next time you should-“
“Stop, both of you!” The blonde lady scolded. “We have far more important things to focus on than your bickering.”
Both of them fell silent. The group looked at the horizon, seeing the vast desert before them.
“What…is this place?” The rock man said, scratching his head. “Never seen a place like this in Hyrule.”
“We must be outside of Hyrule then.”The fish lady proposed.
“This is the Mojave Wasteland. Currently, we’re just outside the town of Goodsprings.” Victor said. The group was startled and turned to see Victor.
They looked at him like they’d never seen anyone like him before. Riot gear wasn’t very common, especially the elite variant, so many people would be surprised to see someone in a suit of this armor, but even so these people looked at him like he was an alien.
“And just who are you?” The bird man demanded.
“Call me Victor. And from what I can tell, you’re all lost. I’m friendly, I promise.” He said, raising his hands. “Now, mind explaining to me what happened here?”