June 20th 2278
The Lucky 38 – now officially rebranded Castle Grayskull 38 – stood as a gleaming monument to one man's unchallenged genius. Robert Edwin House, Master of the Multiverse, Tyrant of New Vegas, and self-proclaimed Greatest Capitalist in All Realities, sat enthroned in his stasis pod except it wasn't just a pod anymore.
Thanks to 10 Intelligence, 300 Science, and an afternoon of boredom, House had attached four adorable little crab legs to the bottom of his life-support chamber. Each leg ended in a tiny gold-plated pincer that clicked happily against the marble floor. The pod scuttled forward three steps, rotated 47 degrees for dramatic effect, then scuttled back.
"BEHOLD!" House boomed, voice echoing through the throne room. "Mobility! The final frontier conquered by me. The House always wins… and now the House can also walk."
General Oliver, chained to a pillar on the left, rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful. Legate Lanius, chained to a pillar on the right, screamed something that sounded like RAAAAAAGHGHGHGH mixed with dial-up modem noises. No one knew what he was saying. No one ever did. And no one cared to look underneath the MASK to find out the medical state of the clearly traumatized legate.
House's crab-pod clicked closer to his prisoners. "You two represent the last gasp of outdated ideologies. The NCR, a bureaucratic oligarchy disguised as democracy, your government is more likely to get nuked again before its senate comes to any form of beneficial decision that hasn't been paid for by special lobbyist interests. Then we have the Legion, primitive savages larping as romans, not a single one of you could ever match the might of the Las Vegas' anime conventions. The only thing the Legion is good for is reminding us that the roman roads are the only thing that lasted longer then the insanity your Caesar plagiarized. You are both obsolete. You have both been crushed by my unstoppable army. I have already won without question. Praise be to Laissez-faire Capitalism. You two need touch some grass and come down to reality."
Oliver spat blood onto the floor. "Your time will come, House. A group of heroes will rise. They'll tear down your little empire and—"
"Oh by who, your child murdering army funded by corrupt brahmin barons, nah, I'd win against anyone they send, assuming the senate can even reach an agreement on hiring some mercenaries to stop me." From House's pod raised up one perfectly manicured robotic hand. "Now, spare me the holier than thou speech General Oliver. Saturday morning cartoon heroics ended with the old world. I have already achieved total victory. Now observe my Magnum Opus."
He gestured grandly. A dozen Securitrons rolled in, except these ones had been… upgraded. Cat ears. Fluffy tails. Thigh-high stockings. LED heart eyes. They meowed in perfect unison.
"My Cat-Girl Securitron Army," House declared, voice dripping with pride. "Invading every corner of the wasteland as we speak. No one can stop me. No one dares stop me. BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHA"
"01101110 01111001 01100001 01101110" The cat girl Securitrons all spoke in unison.
"No, no what have you done House, robot furries, you are a mad man. Humanity is doomed. The human birth rates will plumet." General Oliver screamed, almost as loudly as the chicken clucking noises that Legate Lanius was making. "May you know no peace, may your robot harem all turn celibate, and may your amazing robot crab legs break under the weight of your sins, you maniac, you have doomed us all."
"I find your tone against the great capitalist crusader to be problematic. But its okay I forgive you… here I'll even invite our prime minister and head of Torture to solve your tone." The pod's robot hand pressed a button mounted on the terminal bellow the giant television screen that House normally displayed himself upon.
A hidden wall panel slid open and out came the most horrifying demented creature since Caesar discovered Legate Lanius. With slow and steady steps, came Mr. FISTO, Prime Minister of new Vegas and Head of Torture, the modified Protectron chrome was gleaming, the singular optical lenses component glowing pink with held back affection.
"Greetings, General Oliver," FISTO purred, voice dripping with synthetic honey. "It is time for your re-education… as the Wet Man of Hoover Dam. Now please assume the position."
Oliver's eyes widened. "No—NO—NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
FISTO's extendable arms shot forward, wrapping around the center of Oliver's Tootsie pop, a disturbingly affectionate embrace. The general screamed as he was dragged away down a corridor lined with flickering neon signs that read RE-EDUCATION SPA,ENJOY YOUR STAY, and LEARN TO NEVER SIT DOWN AGAIN.
Lanius began screaming in Egyptian hieroglyphics, yet no one paid attention to the literal bubbles of text coming out from underneath the mask of the Monster of the east.
House laughed an evil, triumphant, echoing laugh that echoed all throughout Castle Grayskull 38.
"Everything is perfect. The wasteland is mine. So are the Fallout hotties with drop dead bodies. The one true reward a nerd like me always desired after all of my hard work conquering the tri-state area. I shall scan the brains of every beautiful woman in the Fallout multiverse and create perfect evil robot versions of my harem to nag me for all of eternity. First shall be Red Lucy of the Thorn. Followed by Rose of Sharon Cassidy of Cassidies caravans. Next is Sarah Lyons from the East Coast Brotherhood of Steel. After her is Overseer Amata from Vault 101. And soon Lucy MacLean from Vault 33. As soon as my Conqueror Bot returns I shall declare formal victory over the Wasteland. Suck my mummified balls Toad Coward."
The conqueror bot, dressed like Napoleon Bonaparte had finally returned after conquering much of the tri-state area and the hell hole that is California. The modified securitron rolled into Castle Grayskull 38 pushing a small cage. Inside was a six-year-old Lucy MacLean, clutching a stuffed yao guai teddy bear, looking terrified.
House froze. The crab-pod scuttled backward three frantic steps.
"Ah fuck…I forgot she still a child right now at this time," House was sweating bullets, everyone in the room, even his own robots, were giving him horrified looks, judging him and accusing House of the worse crime you could be even in the Fallout wasteland.
House quickly cleared his throat and roared out his disapproval. "Return her. Return her Immediately. I have standards that must be 18 years or older. I will not be added to the Allistair Tenpenny list."
The Napoleon bot saluted and rolled away. Lucy sniffled once and waved goodbye as she was dragged back to her vault.
It was at that moment, through the use of Salem witch like sorcerer, that Emogene Cabot materialized in a swirl of green magical light, looking eternally youthful and more than a little amused. "Need another brain scan, darling? I'm available."
House's pod scuttled sideways, keeping distance from a mad woman that attempted cuddle against his pod. "Absolutely not. I draw the line at children and immortal old-ladys, get lost you Hag."
Emogene began crying, her beautiful form reduced to that of a 900 year old woman leaving the room while crying out. "Your loss."
House turned back toward his 4 beautiful prisoners, triumphant. "Everything is perfect. All I need is one more beautiful woman and then my victory of losing my digital virginity can be confirmed. The wasteland is mine. I just need one more woman for my autistic harem. Quickly someone capture Courier 6."
Just as House issued his order, the massive front double doors of Castle Grayskull 38 exploded inward. Dust and smoke soon cleared to reveal the intruder that dare go against the Master of Capitalism.
Standing in the breach was the female Courier 6, a six-foot-something woman of pure muscle and attitude, wearing nothing but power armor shoulder pads, short shorts, and thigh-high boots. Her chest was… noticeable. Very noticeable. From space it was Noticeable. Courier 6 was riding a fully armored deathclaw like a goddamn motorcycle. The deathclaw roared as the Courier grinned a victorious shit eating grin.
"House," she called, voice echoing with the authority of someone who had 100 in their Speech skill and still chose violence. "Your evil rule of New Vegas ends today. I've adopted every deathclaw at Quarry Junction and I've let them loose on the Strip like a really bad mother."
The deathclaw she was riding on turned its head slightly, looked up at her with glowing yellow eyes, and spoke in a surprisingly gentle baritone.
"No, you're a great mother. An… amazing… step-mother. I love you riding on top, step-mom. Let me know if you ever get stuck in a washing machine and need some help."
"Shut up, lizard son. Mommy's talking to the bad capitalist nerd." Courier 6 spoke the words in an harsh intent that matched the way her milkjugs bounced up and down before returning to their original gravity defying position. When the deathclaw made a pitiful whining noise, Courier 6 patted its head like a comforting parent.
House's crab-pod scuttled backward so fast one leg clipped a pillar and started sparking. "You and your horny lizard step-son alone cannot defeat my army of cat-girl Securitrons. Surrender, Courier, and join my brain-scanned harem of objectified women. It is your destiny."
The Courier cracked her knuckles. "I have not come alone, Mr. Chud."
Behind her, another explosion went off widening the entry way of Castle Grayskull 38 further.
In rode her companions, each on the back of their own deathclaw like a deranged cavalry charge.
Boone was first, edgy as ever, even wearing his sunglasses indoors, NCR beret tilted at maximum brooding angle. He didn't speak. Boone just stared at House like he was remembering every baby he'd ever killed at bitter springs and deciding House was the next Great Khan baby to be aborted.
Then came Frank Horrigan, his lower half missing, replaced by a hover-chair jury-rigged from stolen RobCo tech. His upper body was even more jacked than usual, for he had no choice but to do arm day, every day, and it had clearly paid off. He flexed once and the deathclaw he rode on immediately looked timid and fearful at the monster it was currently carrying that one punch the mutant lizard out of reality.
Next rolled a Zetan alien in a tiny flying saucer duct-taped to a deathclaw's back. It spoke in high-pitched gibberish. No one understood it… except Legate Lanius, who suddenly screamed back in matching gibberish. They were clearly soulmates, and together they would take over area 51 and the the tri-state area.
Then came Cipher of the Dark Angels, in full custom modified Warhammer 40k mark VI power armor, hooded, mysterious, bolt gun casually resting on his shoulder. He said nothing. The deathclaw he rode on looked half dead carrying the heavy mass that was a fully armed and armored Space marine. The poor lizard would never be able to walk again after three of his disks were misaligned.
Finally came Victor. Upper half still Securitron, lower half now a sleek Gen-2 synth body. No cowboy hat. No drawl. Just cold, righteous fury and a desire for edgy high schooler justice.
House's crab-pod froze. One pincer trembled.
"Victor… you traitor," House caustically screamed. "I gave you legs. You ungrateful CHATGPT."
Victor's screen flickered from neon grin to flat red rage. "That's because you made me flat and smooth like a Ken doll, you sociopathic monster. What kind of creator does that?"
"For the last time," House roared, "I am not a sociopath! I suffer from PDA autism! You would know that, Victor, if you were truly my friend and stopped trying to forcibly change me!"
Victor's synth legs stomped forward. "Well I would prefer you had Down syndrome. Quickly, Commie Mommy 6 of Darkness, beat him until he needs to ride the short bus to school."
Courier 6 grinned. "With pleasure."
She raised her arms. A golden light exploded around her as a Sailor Moon transformation sequence, complete with sparkles, and a magical girl pose that made the deathclaws avert their eyes in embarrassment…. All expect one who was a little too into the entire sequence.
With the transformation came a golf club made from the pure radioactive material known as the power of friendship.
"Moon Prism Power—Make Him Pay His fair share!"
Courier 6 charged.
House slammed every button on his pod. Crab legs flailed. Cat-girl Securitrons meowed in panic.
No matter what he did, it was too late.
Courier 6's golf club smashed the first crab leg clean off. Then the second. Then the third. Sparks flew. House screamed like a man watching his entire Steam game library getting deleted and replaced with Khan Academy lessons on Social Justice.
In desperation, House yanked out his emergency magical multi-spectral phone.
"Hello? God? My lord and savoir Tim Cain? Anyone? Courier 6 and her friends are bullying me! Please help!"
A beat of silence.
Then a voice, deep, tired, and extremely amused answered.
"It just works. Hope to see you real soon John."
Click.
It was the wrong number.
Toad Coward's maniacal laughter echoed from the abyss.
The last crab leg snapped. House's pod toppled forward with a pathetic clatter. The deathclaws rushed in to pry open the capsule. Fresh air hit House's ancient, mummified face for the first time in centuries.
He screamed in horror. "Germs, nooo, Germs. MY ONE WEAKNESS. MY OCD IS KICKING IN."
The shadow of Courier 6 fell over him.
"This," she said sweetly, "is what happens when you don't pick me first for the harem."
She leaned down.
And kissed Robert House full on the mouth. Fortunately for the dying man there was no tongue action. For that would have inflicted Robert House with a dire case of cooties that not even he could recover from.
The Golf Club grew jealous, so the Courier ended the forced make out session and raised the golf club up high over the mummy. And brought it down for a kiss. And then another kiss, followed by another, and another, and another, before ending the date with an extremely wet smooch that would be spoken of for centuries to come.
When I cried, people laughed. When I laughed, people cried. Justice you STD ridden whore, I damn you…. Praise be to Capitalism and the banking House of Valint & Balk. And with that the villain's fortune cookie philosophy came to an end, Robert House died of a broken heart…. And cranium. The New Vegas order crumbled into pieces over night.
The Mojave wasteland was forever changed into a hellhole that would never heal or rebuild society. Which is why the Wasteland Survival Guide is the biggest load of crap ever, don't spend your bottle caps on it, because it doesn't have a chapter on how to survive against eldritch mad gods who kill everything you love and care about.
Instead spend your money on the Yes Man guide to survive and thrive in a crazy apocalyptic hell hole, brought to you by the Ultra-Luxe who found themselves on the Tenpenny List because eating children is an Ultra-Luxe special. Get your orphan on a stick, brought to you by Iguana Bob and the Son of Iguana Bob. Yum Yum in a world that has creatures that go Num Num when they see you.
The real story resumes later in the week. Sorry for the Brain-Rot. This was a public service announcement from Yes Man to shill Iguana Bob's newest product, Orphan-on-a-Stick.
The End