Chapter Text
The first thing I noticed was light—blinding, piercing through my eyelids even though my eyes were still closed. It gradually faded, as though my eyes were adjusting beneath the lids. I cracked them open slightly, only to be overwhelmed by brightness again and forced to shut them. This went on for a while until my eyes slowly began adjusting.
As awareness returned, the sharp scent of rust and antiseptic filled my nostrils. My vision was blurry but clearing, and my head felt like it was sizzling—like a computer about to short-circuit. I groaned and lifted a hand to my head. It felt heavier than a bag of bricks.
"You're awake, how about that?" said a voice to my left. It sounded vaguely familiar, though I couldn't place it. I pushed myself upright and instantly regretted it—dizziness hit like a wave.
"Whoa, easy there," the voice said. I turned my head and my vision finally sharpened, revealing an older man, clearly in his twilight years, leaning forward with a hand slightly extended. When he saw I was steady enough, he withdrew it and sat back on a sturdy, if slightly dingy, wooden chair.
"You’ve been out cold for a couple of days. Relax, get your bearings," he said, his face marked by a professional concern.
I had the strange feeling I knew him. Before I could ask, he spoke again. “Let’s see what the damage is. How about your name—can you tell me your name?”
As the question settled, something should’ve clicked. Instead, I heard myself reply, “Player.” I knew it wasn’t really my name—it was something I went by now and then, sure, but not my actual name.
The doctor, as my mind supplied, let out a breath—maybe hiding a chuckle. “Well, not the name I’d pick for you, but if that’s your name, that’s your name.” Before I could protest, he introduced himself. “I’m Doc Mitchell. Welcome to Goodsprings.” His soft tone was a welcome contrast to my pounding headache.
He went on, “Now, I hope you don’t mind, but I had to do a bit of work in your noggin to get the lead out. I take pride in my needlework, but you’d best tell me if I left anything outta place.”
That made me worry until he handed me a strange device. “How’d I do?”
I stared at it—was that a... RobCo Reflectron? What the hell? A mirror would’ve done. Still, I held up the device, and my face appeared on the small oval screen. Nothing looked out of place, though I did have a fresh scar on my forehead. Must’ve been from the bullet. After a bit of fiddling, I handed it back, satisfied that all my bits were where they should be.
Doc Mitchell got up from his chair. “Well, I got most of it right anyway—the important stuff.” He turned to me. “Okay, no point keeping you in bed. Let’s see if you can stand.”
He offered me a hand, and I took it, getting up with only mild light-headedness.
“Good. Walk over to the end of the room, near the Vigor Tester. Take it slow—it ain’t a race.”
The machine looked like one of those carnival love testers. I walked over and stood beside it.
“Looking good so far,” he commented. “Go on, give the Vigor Tester a try. We’ll see if everything’s working upstairs.”
I reached out to the upright lever and the machine sprang to life, displaying my stats:
Strength: 7
Perception: 5
Endurance: 7
Charisma: 5
Intelligence: 5
Agility: 7
Luck: 3
Doc Mitchell let out a whistle "Strong, fast and capable of running for a while? I'd hate to get on your hit list.”
“But stats aren’t everything. Let’s make sure your brain isn’t scrambled like bighorn eggs.” He led me into the next room—a small lounge with a brown leather couch and a faded ochre chair. He gestured to the couch, took the chair, and said, “Alright, I’m going to say a word. Say the first thing that comes to mind.”
“Dog.”
“Cat.”
“House.”
“Shelter.”
“Night.”
“Day.”
“Bandit.”
“Dead.”
“Light.”
“Dark.”
“Mother.”
“Caregiver.”
“Now a few statements. Tell me how much they sound like you.”
“Conflict just ain’t in my nature.”
“Disagree.”
“I ain’t given to relying on others for support.”
“No opinion.”
“I’m always fixin’ to be the centre of attention.”
“Strongly disagree.”
“I’m slow to embrace new ideas.”
“No opinion.”
“I charge in head-on to deal with my problems.”
“No opinion.”
Next came the inkblots. I answered each honestly. Then he said, “Tell that’s all she wrote.”
He handed me a clipboard. I reviewed the form—three boxes ticked. One didn’t sit right, so I crossed it out and ticked the correct one. He nodded and handed me another form, joking, “Don’t worry, you don’t need to put down a family history of getting shot in the head.”
I filled it out. That should’ve been the end of it. But then...
“Before I turn you loose, I’ve got one more question,” he said. Something about his tone felt... off.
“You wouldn’t happen to remember travelling with three kids, would you?”
My brow furrowed. “Three kids?”
“Yeah. One with catlike eyes, another with yellow skin and a child with some of the strangest armour I've ever seen, ringing any bells?”
I tilted my head. No memories surfaced. I shook my head.
“Huh. Well, the one with the cat eyes swore up and down he knew you.”
A pang of sadness and familiarity struck me.
“What was his name?” I asked quietly.
“Called himself Niko.”
And just like that, it all came flooding back. Memories surged—the games, the adventures, Oneshot. And now I knew where I was: Fallout: New Vegas. My brain spun from the overload until one final memory clicked into place—I had been booting up Oneshot for the third time when it all went white.
Now, I was here. And Niko was here too.
“Shit,” I muttered, standing up too fast. “Niko! Where is he? Is he hurt?!”
Doc Mitchell held up his hands. “Easy! He’s fine—he’s with Sunny Smiles, and the other two helped Victor dig you up.”
Relief hit like a wave. I nodded, trying to act casual. “Good to know he had someone watching out for him. I wouldn’t forgive myself if a radscorpion got him.”
Mitchell chuckled. “Yep, though living out here, good thing the knight and the kid with the knife could deflect Blowfly darts.”
Then came a knock at the front door. Doc Mitchell told me to stay put while he answered it.
I heard him greet them. “Ah, Sunny Smiles! Good to see you and the kiddos again. Come to check on our friend?”
“That’s right,” came Sunny’s familiar voice. “All three of them wanted to make sure he was okay.”
“He’s awake now, lounging on the couch. I was just about to get him something to wear.”
“Really?!” a young voice shouted, followed by a blur—a kid in a light brown hat with cat ears and a blue scarf came charging into the room, his blue hair poking out from beneath his hat.
“Niko, wait! He’s not dressed yet!” Sunny called.
Too late. Niko leapt over the back of the couch and crashed into me, hugging me tight.
“Player! I missed you so much!”
Caught off guard, I wrapped my arms around him. “Hey Niko… glad you recognise me.”
“I’d recognise your presence anywhere, Player—no matter the form!”
Doc Mitchell stepped in. “Kiddo, I know you’re happy, but he’s not exactly decent. Let the man get dressed.”
Niko blushed furiously, pulled away with a flustered apology, and dashed back to the hallway, where Sunny and the other two waited.
Mitchell handed me a Vault 21 jumpsuit and a Pip-Boy, along with the usual gear he gives the Courier. I got dressed, stepped outside—and was immediately tackled again by Niko.
As I hugged him back, I glanced at the two kids standing beside Sunny Smiles.
“…Wait. Ghost? Frisk?!”