#|| diary

[atomiccourier-archive]

The last few days could be described as a whirlwind of harm, healing, harm, healing, et cetera. Almost getting blown up, blasts shaking the down to the very atoms (ha) of the courier’s being. Making friends with the eccentric locals who wore cool outfits. Probably breaking his knee again while fighting off explosive ants, and refusing to admit it to Arcade. Gaining tons of fame with the locals by listening to their alluring history and fixing up their wounded. Having to walk back and fourth on his bad knee at least four times from the Crimson Caravan Company and back. Getting to see young waste-crossed lovers unite. 

Tomorrow he’d have to hurt again; but as he scratched callused fingers against the inside of his knee, Atom figured he deserved healing tonight. He hadn’t slept in a week.

[atomiccourier-archive]

Less than an hour has passed since they had entered New Vegas and the Courier was already exhausted. He had been separated from both companions, (albeit temporarily) shuffled into an intimidatingly decorated hotel, and caught in a stalemate with a voice behind a computer screen. (Stalemate meaning he was afraid of being shot for even thinking anything too rebellious) Maybe it wasn’t all bad, but Atom couldn’t imagine ever getting used to the size of the master bedroom, now unspokenly his. One could not to get too attached, as there was always a chance it would get ripped away tomorrow. Arcade and Rex’s reactions were expected, and they were already settling in nicely while the courier sat, fingers running absentmindedly over enemy sheets, lost in thought.

[atomiccourier-archive]

It should have taken an eagle's eye to notice Atom's limp. Weeks ago his body was as strong and lean as any other courier's, aside from the occasional sprained ankle. Then he had died, come back, and proceeded to be judged The Most Likely to Break All His Limbs Multiple Times by whatever sick godly graduating class brought him back. Atom could no longer count the times he had broken something on one hand, especially now with his frequent amnesia. He didn't know blonde, tall, researcher-scientists had eagle's eyes. He hadn't even broken anything recently, but open exit from the bathroom doorway located in a motel room on the edge of Freeside, the older man had commented. Atom laughed it off a little too forcefully, and was questioned more. Dropping clothing distracted polar bears, so he attempted to drop details correspondingly. Arcade is not a polar bear. Thankfully, he is also not a physical therapist, and Atom did not give into the demands for one.

[atomiccourier-archive]

Bloodstained hallow hallways left the courier scrambling. He could right this. He could find the bastards. Nipton wouldn't die so painfully. He could bring it back. Atom ranted to himself silently as he jammed another bullet into the skull of another abandoned hound, it's pitiful last breaths absorbed by the wood of the town hall. Where did they go? The last residents couldn't be dead already. But there they lay like beaten rugs on the dusty floor. Where did they go? Where did they go? Where did they go?

Arcade's footsteps followed hesitantly behind. He hadn't spoken since they entered beyond warning him on incoming hellhounds, or cursing when a mine exploded on Atom when he went to check the terminal at the front desk. He hadn't responded verbally when Atom refused the stimpacks for his arm and leg, just put them back away. God, the guy must hate his self-absorbed, over-confident, careless ass. The courier couldn't say that though. He had manipulated the guy with a few well-placed words to come join him, after all. Who knew he wasn't just subconsciously manipulating Arcade to stay even longer by making the researcher pity him? Did he even know he hated the Courier? Holy shit, Atom breathed, I'm so fucked up. He must have died from that bullet because his mind and body were in hell.

[atomiccourier-archive]

Stale air constricted the courier’s lungs as the dark room weighed down on him like bricks. Light dark lightdark Light in his eyes. Pain fizzle painfizzle Pain in his brain. He had a hole in his head, spit in his mouth, bone in his neck, and a helluva nosebleed. Shivers and footsteps made the old floor creak. Cracked stained hands gripped the counter for dear life. Blood dripped silently into the sink. This body was playing for it’s previous owner’s side and wanted Atom out.

[atomiccourier-archive]

Yes sir, I’ll retrieve your data. Yes miss, i’ll save your friend. Yes Arcade, I know, and you shouldn’t talk like that when the man is right on the other side of this very open doorway. In all honesty, the Courier hadn’t had a specific plan in his mind when observing the red painted letters twenty feet from the entrance to the vault. He just did what he was capable of, and what would best satisfy his hungry eyes. Info, info, info. Take it in before it’s blown away again. Re-discover the world in all it’s glory. He would have been content with leaving after downloading the precious data if Arcade hadn’t angered the plants in large cave he wished he had avoided. He had expected the missing woman to be some sort of dead, as his experience with the ghoul’s friend had been when she was taken by the nightmarekin so many weeks(dayshoursminutes)ago. But she was kind enough to lead them back up, and he allowed himself to be almost blown up out of courtesy to the lady. The courier knocked his knuckles against the wooden sign as the pair exited, hair still smoldering. Maybe a quick checkup at the followers’ base wouldn’t be a bad idea. Wouldn’t be as easy to ignore creaking lungs as it was to ignore creaking joints.

[personalityquizzes]

                                              4 Days Gone: Diary 2/?

I’ve been watching the news as often as I can, happy to see that I am still the main item every night. FIND AMAZING AMY, the posters and the screens read. Though they are searching for the wrong person, perhaps someone ought to tell them. Amazing Amy was never me. She was the sister I never had. The fictitious twin my parents invented who would be one step ahead of me at all times. Compared to Amazing Amy, I was a disappointment. I fail at something and in the next book she has mastered it. I was not that girl. I was their second favorite daughter. Which is a real kick in the teeth when you're an only child.

Yet there my parents stand, teary-eyed, pleading with all of America to find their daughter - Amazing Amy. It’s their own fault. They will never find that girl. I can’t help but wonder if they are worried for themselves. It will be difficult for them to write anything new now that I am ‘dead’. People may think it’s insensitive. Then again, they might prove me wrong. Give me a dedication in their next release.

                                           Amazing Amy goes Missing!

                                                                     or perhaps....

                               Amazing Amy and the Mysterious Murder!