His vision is blurry when the courier first opens his eyes. "You are awake. How about that," a man's voice says. The courier tries to focus on the voice. He sits up. "Whoa, easy there. Easy. You been out cold a couple of days now. Why don't you relax a second? Get your bearings. Let's see what the damage is. How about your name. Can you tell me your name?" The courier is looking at a bald old man. He is sitting in a chair in front of him. The courier listens to the doctor. "My name...? My name... is... is Phil. Philip. Yes, that's it," he says. "I'm Doc Mitchell. Welcome to Goodsprings. Now, I hope you don't mind, but I had to go rooting around there in your noggin to pull all the bits of lead out. I take pride in my needlework, but you'd better tell me if I left anything out of place," the doctor says. He then hands the courier a mirror. Philip takes a look at himself in the mirror. There are hardly any signs left of his injury. He nods at the Doc Mitchell and gives the mirror back. "Well, I got most of it right, anyway. Stuff that mattered. Okay. No sense keeping you in bed anymore. Let's see if we can get you on your feet." Philips vision fades for a brief moment as he steps out of the 'bed' and stands on the floor. "Good. Why don't you walk down to the end of the room? Over by that vigor tester machine there. Take it slow now. It ain't a race," the doctor says. The courier slowly puts one foot in front of the other. With each step he picks up the pace a little. Before he knows it he stands in front of Doc Mitchell's old vigor tester machine. "Looking good so far. Go ahead and give the vigor tester a try. We'll learn right quick if you got back all your faculties," the doctor says. Philip uses the machine. He then waits for the doctor to comment on his result. "Yep, that's a pretty standard score there. But after what you been through, I'd say that's great news. Well, we know your vitals are good. But that don't mean them bullets didn't leave you nuttier than a Bighorner dropping. What do you say you take a seat on my couch and we go through a couple of questions?`See if your dogs are still barking," the doctor says. He has shown the courier into the nearby room. Philip sits down on the worn-out old couch. Doc Mirchell takes seat in an armchair in front of him. "All right. I'm gonna say a word. I want you to say the first thing that comes to mind. Dog." "Cat," Philip says. The good doctor says several words and Philip answers with what comes to mind. Lastly the doctor shows him some pictures and asks the courier what he sees. Doc Mitchell seems pleased with the result, though he admits he really doesn't have any material to compare the results with. "Before I turn you lose, I need one more thing from you. I got a form for you to fill out, so I can get a sense of your medical history. Just a formality. Ain't like I expect to find you got a family history of getting shot in the head," Doc Mitchell says. Philip, the courier, fills out the doctor's form. He feels his faculties are still coming back to him with each passing minute. He feels stronger, tougher, smarter, and more agile. The doctor has done an amazing job bringing Philip back from the dead... but the question, 'How did he end up here in the first place?' That was still unanswered. The courier gives the filled out form to the doctor. "All right. I guess that does it. Come with me. I'll see you out." Philip follows the doctor to the door. "Here. These are yours. Was all you had on you when you was brought in. I hope you don't mind but I gave the note a look. I thought it might help me find a next of kin. But it was just something about a platinum chip. Well, if you're heading back out there, you ought to have this. They call it a Pip-Boy. I grew up in one of them vaults they made before the war. We all got one. Ain't much use to me now, but you might want such a thing, after what you been through. I know what it's like, having something taken from you. And put this on, too, so the locals don't pick on you for lacking modesty. Never was much my style anyway," Doc Mitchell says. The courier puts on the leather armour and the Pip-Boy -- a wrist computer from before the great war. He checks his weapon, a 9mm pistol. It appears to be in mint condition. "Thanks for patching me up, Doc," Philip says. "Don't mention it. It's what I'm here for. You should talk to Sunny Smiles before you leave town. She can help you learn how to fend for yourself in the desert. She'll likely be at the saloon. I reckon some of the other folks at the saloon might be able to help you out, too. And that metal fella, Victor, who pulled you ootta your grave. Anyway, you ever get hurt out there, you come right back. I'll fix you up. But try not to get killed anymore," the doctor says.
If you want to know the rest and follow the progress of my fan-fiction, please find the link to it under my profile. Thank you for your time /Peter a.k.a. Wotan
© Copyright 2016 Wotan. All rights reserved.
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