My name is Anita Blake. I was a courier for Mojave Express. I have stolen, I have killed, and I have seen and done things you wish you had never even heard of. I have been through death's door and back. I walk a winding road of thievery, blood, and virtues all struggling like a tangle of vines. This, is my diary, wherein I will record the road as it comes, whether it ends with me in a gutter dying of radiation, or like city folk, in my bed, fast asleep.
I woke in Goodsprings, with little to my wits. I didn't pay much mind to the people, although I appreciated the aid. They seemed decent, but decency only spreads so far, and is only worth so much in the wastelands. Before long, I had ripped into their sunset sasparilla boxes at night. I'm not proud of it, but I needed the caps, and a good drink is welcome after you've been shot in the head and left for dead. They probably wouldn't notice anyway.
Sold some gear I had found around town to their local merchant. He's a skittish type, wary of anyone causing any sort of trouble. I find out one of the locals around town has got a gang gunning for him. I told him I'd help, for a price, since I was low on coins even after selling some of my father's old gear. I keep the laser pistol, although it still has less focus than an agitated rabbit. He didn't sound interested in helping us, so I left him to his own devices. If we lost, he'd pay a far less reasonable bargain. I got the doc and the local wannabe hero to help, and got most of the townsfolk involved thanks to the bar tender. The thing is though, it had been a good few years since I had last had to pull the trigger on another man or woman.
Couriers like to stick with trails that they know others won't follow, we use caravans and little known backroads so you never see us unless we want you to. To be back in that position, it was a bit... unsettling. A ghoul, sure, they aren't really alive anymore. Animals are just that, animals. But pulling the trigger, I wasn't too keen on increasing my tally by much, so I tried to resolve the fight before it started. I went to the lead man of the Powder Gangers, and tried to talk to him. Something snapped when he tried to twist me against the people though. I could see that glint, that selfish, soulless hunger in his eyes, and before I knew what I was doing, my revolver had loaded two shots into his skull, fracturing it into a bloody mess. No one Gangers were around, so I was in the clear for the moment, but they'd be headed to town within the hour they found the body.
Thankfully, most of them were just idiots with guns, barely grazing more of us while one blew himself up with his own dynamite. I got the only one that ever neared us, and the *** never saw it coming. Died from blood loss, instead of from a gun to the head, when I blew his arm clean off.
They had a fair amount of ammunition, most of which the town let me keep. I sold off what I didn't need to the merchant, and by that point, I was fairly sure I had no real interest in staying around here. Goodsprings was nice, but it was the kind of place people like me could be found hiding. If someone wanted me dead so badly that they'd personally jammed the bullet into my brain, I didn't want to stay near the grave. I was going to head south, reach the border, see if I could find a NCR outpost, maybe a Mojava courier express and find out what the hell had been in that order.
The trail I set for myself wasn't easy or pleasant. Gangers were still on the hunt, and it was very clear that Goodsprings wasn't the first town they had hit. I hit an NCR small camp, but found out that the town they were was overrun with the Gangers. They were only four or so NCR soldiers against an army of convicts escaped from some nearby prison. There was a Mojave outpost within the town, Primm, but no luck likely that anyone would be alive. Still, I had to check, so I crept in at night, not making so much as a sound as I slipped between the buildings.
I hit the sheriff's office first, but then sincerely regretted that decision. The sheriff and his wife (I assumed) were both lying in bed. Seemed the Gangers had come in at night as well, as both of their heads had been torn clean off. I wasn't sure if it was work by a blade or maybe a razor -- hell maybe a high power round. All I knew was, it had been a wise decision to not eat before heading into Primm. I took whatever looked useful, not sure if anyone would ever want to reclaim the place anyway. If there was one rule my father had taught me that was worthwhile, it was that in times like these, being a kleptomaniac wasn't that bad a trait, so long as you knew your limits.
I pressed on, but was met by early rising Gangers on patrol. They tried to take me out but a quick few blasts knocked them down and away from me. One up on a broken circus ride tried to snipe my head off, but I finally hid long enough to get him running up close. I shot his head off, grabbed all I could, and got up close to the doors of the main town hall. It was a big building, but looked like one of those big abandoned houses out of a ghost story. I dodge the glance of a few Gangers, hiding behind the rubble and getting into their back room. I closed the door -- it was a thick safe room. The only problem was that there were two other people in there, both pointing their guns at me.
The door must have suppressed the fight because no one came running to stop me as I shot them both.
It's after I step back out that everything goes straight to hell. I usually sat back when this sort of thing went down. I wish I still was, but I kept firing back, sparing a few stimpacks to stop the bleeding. Luck was not in the cards for me or the Gangers. It's hard to write, it was such a blur, but some images will haunt me from that day forever. The Gangers turned it into a hell house of jumps and gore that I never wish to see again, no matter if every cap in existence were hidden behind the front door of the hall.
The school rooms... they had fresh blood in them... I just...
*the handwriting on the journal breaks off*