#couriersixkin

Take a HIKE to the New Vegas strip- HOME OF CHALLENGE PISSING. That's right, CHALLENGE PISSING.

How does it work? If YOU can piss six feet straight in the air and NOT get mugged, you get NO radiation!

Don't wait, don't delay, don't FUCK with us or we'll BOMB YOUR NUTS OFF. Only at New Vegas, the only city that tells you to FUCK OFF!

Hurry up, ASSHOLE. This event ends the minute you get assigned a delivery. And you better not fail, or you're a dead motherfucker.

GO TO HELL- New Vegas, the wasteland's filthiest and exclusive home of the meanest sons-of-bitches in the state of Nevada- GUARANTEED.

[Wakes up in Doc Mitchell's house]

-Courier Six and making that everyone else's problem.

Well I was a fugly bastard, and I ain't afraid to admit it. You don't get blasted with as much rads as I did and come out lookin' like a movie star. There's a reason I always wore that helmet and all those layers of clothes and armor. I mean, part of it was for the aesthetics. But it was also practical.

Veronica used to make fun of me for wearin' a hat on top of the helmet. But you gotta understand, if you wanna unintentionally take over New Vegas, you gotta have a flair for the dramatics. She never had to take that Vault Exam, she don't know how competitive the job market is.

Anyways, I guess other people saw me as... dangerous? Reliable? Crazy? Depends who you ask. I was always polite, stuck out like a sore thumb sometimes, but my mama taught me the importance of good manners. My friends knew I was an annoyin' prick. The Legion hated me, but sucks to suck. The rest of the factions were... mixed bag. At least in the Mojave. And everywhere else, I guess - I had friends and enemies dotted across North America.

Some folks in New Appalachia called me the "crazy music cowboy", a title I wear with pride.

-Courier Six