(This is an in character journal of my Fallout New Vegas character, "The Perfessor.")
Forty thousand caps. I sit in my hotel room in Novac and run them through my fingers, feeling their serrated edges cut against my calloused hands. It's been three months since Benny put a bullet in my skull. Three months since I was thrown into an unmarked grave on the outskirts of New Vegas. Three months for me to amass the biggest horde of caps this side of the Hoover Dam.
Three months of me to plan my revenge.
My hand wanders away from the giant jar of caps and absently strokes the matted hair of
Rex. The dog sits patiently beside me, its exposed brain pan casting a low glow across the hotel room. It looks me and whines nervously, still not used its recent brain implant. The King probably isn't going to be happy when he I tell him that his favorite dog has a brand new personality. But that's ok. I've got the King in my pocket, and the rest of Freetown too.
How'd I do it? Let's just say that you won't find a better barterer or repair guy in the entire Mojave desert. I can fix your favorite armor using nothing but a cowboy hat, broken scraps of Legion armor, and cactus oil. My repaired 10 millimeter sub machine gun is is a work of art - even the guys over at
Gun Runner's say so. I might not be the smoothest talker, or the luckiest desert dweller, but when it comes to surviving out in the radioactive wasteland - I'm the guy you want by your side.
I'm the Perfessor.
And I'm gonna own the Mojave.
