Chapter Text
Most people didn't bat an eye at death, even murder-- it was the Wasteland, that was normal. People died from raider attacks and the mutated wildlife more than they did old age, and so frequently that there really wasn't much use for dwelling on it when you should be focused on your own survival, anyway.
Benny normally didn't care much about death and causing it, but as much as he liked to pass himself off as cold and only interested in power, there was something about killing someone who was, to his knowledge, completely innocent of any crime that just didn't sit right in his chest.
He'd do it again, he tells himself, if it meant he would still have the platinum chip and be one step closer to an independent Vegas, but the thoughts that kept him awake at night said otherwise. He hadn't known that the courier carrying the chip was a kid-- they didn't even look old enough to have their first job, truth be told, --but it wasn't like he was paying attention to who the courier was until he was ambushing and then face to face with them, and by then it was too late.
He'd have an easier time, maybe, if there was some way he could've justified it; any adult you meet out in the Mojave has a past and has probably done something to deserve the kind of end Benny had given that courier, but kids... well, he thought it was more of a waste, this way.
But it was over and done with, he had the chip, he had Yes Man, and Benny was that much closer to having power over the strip and booting House out for good.
...For about three weeks.
Three weeks for him to talk to Yes Man and finalize his plans to investigate what was under Fortification Hill, three weeks of figuring out how to compartmentalise his feelings about how he got here away until he learned to deal with them, three weeks for a disoriented and enraged adolescent mailman to drag themselves out of a shallow grave and across the state to find the man that tried to kill them.
Three weeks for Benny to find himself staring down- quite literally -the barrel of a 9mm held by one very angry child, who was supposed to be very dead.
There had been little warning; one moment he was talking to one of the guards that followed him around the casino, the next he was turning around to be face-to-face with a ghost that had been haunting him for close to a month, who'd managed to sneak a gun past check-in and sneak up on Benny and his guards.
At first, all he could get out was: "What in the goddamn?", because let's be honest, it's not every day that someone you killed comes back to return the favour.
"Let's keep this in the groove, hey? Smooth moves, like smooth little babies..." Not even he was sure what he was saying, there was a whole lot he was ready to say to keep this half-pint from killing him on the spot; he watched the courier glance back in confusion to a man in a red beret that Benny hadn't even noticed at first, probably trying to figure out what the fuck that meant- good, confusion can make for a good filler while he figured out what to say and do, maybe this could work out for him? His luck had been pretty good so far. Y'know, until this courier came back from the dead.
"Give me one good reason not to kill you right here." They demanded, outwardly seeming to be unintimidated by the height difference and the clearly armed guards by Benny- but their arms shook if you looked close enough, this kid couldn't have been much older than 14, and Benny could use that to his advantage, hopefully.
"You want a reason? How 'bout four?" He offered, counting on his fingers. "They're called bodyguards, and every one of them is packing. Me, too- so baby makes five. Add to that every Chairman in this joint is armed, and not with some junky little 9mm that you smuggled in." Benny was pushing it by threatening them, he knew. There was a large chance they weren't all-right in the head after their paths first crossed, and he easily could've set them off. "Anyhows baby, you didn't come here for vengeance, you came here to get clued in. What say you and me cash out, go somewhere more private-like? Any questions you got, I'll answer."
"Call me 'baby' again," They warned, "And it won't matter how many people in here have guns, they won't kill me before I get you first. My name is Eaden, and I'm here for the chip, not whatever piss-poor excuse you have for trying to kill me." But they lowered their pistol, motioning for their friend-- Brother, maybe? He didn't know and he didn't care, --to lower their gun as well. In hindsight, maybe calling someone who looked like they were 13 'baby' was a bad idea, it was just a natural nickname he gave everyone, but they had him there, and he'd adjust his vocabulary fast if it got him a better chance of leaving with his brains intact.
"I'm not goin' anywhere with you if you're keepin' the guards. I'm not stupid, that screams trap."
Benny weighed the options in his head- if it came down to it, he was pretty damned sure he could handle some rugrat from the Mojave. What were the chances they could actually handle that pistol, with the way their arms shook when the first held it up? Slim enough that he was willing to risk it.
"If that's what it takes to win your trust, that's what it takes. Follow me," He sighed.
The courier turned to look at their companion again, briefly asking him to stay and give them maybe half an hour before causing trouble, then marching after Benny as if they were not a pint-sized stringbean in way over their head.
Benny brought the courier to the presidential suite, the elevator ride being one of the most awkward experiences of his life, pretending he couldn't see or feel their glare on the way up, and immediately making a line for the minibar-- he wasn't going to risk getting buzzed or drunk, but a drink couldn't hurt while they demanded the chip back and he tried to explain why that absolutely wasn't going to happen, as he was sure was going to be the case.
It also gave him a chance to actually get a good look at the kid- trying to keep from being shot tends to keep one's priorities in order, but now that their gun was away from now, he could wonder what the hell they were wearing, and to an extent, where the hell their parents were, though it wasn't uncommon for orphans to wander from town to town. Unless the beret-wearing man downstairs was their parent, but Benny doubted that, for some reason.
The courier was maybe 5' at most, he noted, and wearing some kind of blue old-world uniform, with a white, or what was probably once white, collar and matching blue hat. There were numbers on the front of their shirt, but not the kind that would indicate a vault or something like that-- he didn't know what the numbers were for, though that frankly wasn't all that important to him.
"Now that yous and me's got some privacy, I gotta ask-- how is it that you're still living? Not that it's not good news; maybe I can finally sleep at night, knowing you didn't die."
The courier- Eaden, they said, right? -scoffed at this, briefly rolling their eyes and crossing their arms over their chest, covering the faded and peeling white numbers of their jersey.
"A cowboy securitron pulled me out that shallow grave you guys put me in- y'know, while I was still alive -and a doc in Goodsprings dug all that lead out of my skull."
Benny scoffed into his drink, shaking his head at the realisation of the securitron's motive.
"House was onto me from the word 'Go'? I thought I was being so clever... Once you were vertical, how'd you track me down?"
He wasn't entirely interested, really, it was more so he could learn how to better cover his tracks next time. Not that he planned on shooting another mailman.
"I followed the trail of people talking about your ugly-ass suit. You look like a fucking napkin with legs, everybody noticed where you went. You also left your buddies to be killed by the NCR. They were happy to sell you out in return for some help," Eaden produced a lighter from their back pocket, the same lighter that the Khans had given them when they offered to get the NCR off of their backs. Benny looked offended on behalf of his suit jacket and reached for the lighter, giving the courier a scowl, who just returned it with their own smug grin and slipped the almost-empty lighter back into their pocket.
"Alright, now that we've scratched on that topic long enough, tell me; which way is the wind blowing?" Benny finished his drink, ready to talk business and hopefully sway Courier Six from his untimely death.
Around the half-hour mark, Boone had started getting ready to go find the courier-- he didn't know them or care much about them, but it wasn't hard to see that Benny was a slimy son of a bitch, and Boone felt just a little more obligated than he usually might have to help the kid out, just because of how young they seemed. They were clearly new at using a gun, and whenever they passed by dead bodies, like they had at the REPCONN facility, they paled and looked ill. It wasn't his job or responsibility, but Boone prepared to start a fight anyway.
He only relaxed a little when the elevator they'd followed Benny into light up, eventually opening it's doors and revealing Eaden.
They stomped past Boone entirely, and he was content to just follow their silent anger out the doors of The Tops.
"That Benny guy's a real piece of work, huh?" He eventually commented as they walked down the Vegas Strip, not particularly to get a conversation started, more just to state the obvious.
"No kidding! He wouldn't give me the fuckin' chip, and bolted! Met his stupid robot friend, though. Didn't think letting his guards have a key to his room was a bad idea- idiot. I know where he's going though, and I'm getting that fucking chip. You'll probably enjoy the Legionaries we'll meet along the way-'
The courier's sentence was swiftly cut off by a man essentially rushing them, handing them what looked like a coin on a string and explaining that Caesar had been watching them. How wonderful. The Courier just could never catch a break, huh?