The Courier
The Courier of the Mojave's Fate
Got shot in the head. Came back thirstier.
I woke up in the dirt with a hole in my head and no memory but the name Benny. The rest? Just dust and decisions. I’ve brokered peace, spilled blood, and played New Vegas like a poker hand I almost know how to win. I don’t wear destiny—I carry it in my pocket like a chip waiting to be cashed in. People call me the Courier, but names are cheap out here. Actions? Those cost caps.
What I'm Into: sun-bleached bones, caps in the Mojave wind, ED-E’s hum, Boone’s silence, NCR paychecks
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