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Summary
Vaughn considers himself the best of the best, a ghost in the night, capable of looking down that scope through someone else's eyes. He was NCR, so said the double-headed bear emblazoned across the back of his uniform, but he was also a survivor.
He always found this ability to look through some else's eyes at a situation cleansing, it made him deadly when you could pull that trigger without feeling the kick, without bothering to think of the receiver on the other end.
He found it useful, up until it ended up with him in the Legions Encampment, with someone he'd seen the posters of in Camp McCarran. He'd been in plenty of bad spots, but he could easily say that that spot? Was the worst.
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The Courier woke up with some sort of vengeance, but some sort of childlike wonder of the world. Things they couldn't remember, people they felt they should know, all in a world they were experiencing for the first time, for the second time.
Their own pretty face they didn't recognize, no name to put to their youthful features and their pretty sun-bleached hair. No name, no memory of who they were, only thoughts of a man in a checkered suit.
Whoever rigged this game? They did it poorly.