Gryphon Six

by Sunsong

Chapter 1: A New Beginning

Boots dug deep into the dunes as a dark figure trudged through the sandstorm, his helmet keeping the sand out of his eyes. Glowing red eyes were locked on his Pip-Boy’s map, tracing out a path to the nearest cave, necessary shelter if he wished to remain unscorched by the irradiated sands of Arizona. But just as he takes another step, gunfire erupts from ahead. Shadows rise from the dune sea, cloaked in the thick walls of sand that whip past his face. The Courier drops down and dives behind the cover of a nearby dune, drawing a large revolver from its holster before peering over and firing two 45-70 caliber bullets, toppling the nearest shadow. Two more shadows rush forward, spinning rippers in desperate need of repair clenched in their hands.

Dropping the revolver back into its holster, the Courier hits his Pip-Boy and brings out a pump action shotgun in a flash of light. He racks the slide before taking aim at the remnants of the once fearsome Legion. The twelve-gauge ruthlessly tears through their flimsy football armor, ending their charge in a spray of red mist.

Returning the shotgun to his Pip-Boy, he once again draws his revolver and puts a couple of shots into each distant shadow, all but one go down with ease. The last and largest shadow drops its rifle and reaches instead for a large lance-like object on its back, before charging the Courier in a desperate last gamble. The Courier fires one last round into the shadow before holstering his revolver and drawing the curved blade at his other hip. The duel only lasts four swings, as the Courier parries aside an overextended lunge from the thermal lance and slides his blade’s sharp edge down across the Centurion's vulnerable neck. With gurgling last gasps the Centurion falls to his knees, reaching for his throat with shaking hands. The Courier ends the slaver’s life with one last thrust to the brain through the underside of his jaw.

Taking the time to relieve the half-buried Legionnaires of their own limited supplies, the Courier finishes his trudge towards the cave. Which in ten minutes, is cleared of its scaly gecko inhabitants, and now temporarily home to a small camp that set up within; a small bedroll, fire, a pot of coffee, and a small assortment of deadly implements guarding the cave’s mouth, from basic mines and bear traps, to a couple of more exotic ones.

The Courier lies on his bedroll, slowly nodding off, unaware of the game being played in the background. A game of chance where the prize is his life and future.

Because somewhere in eternity; a coin is flipped.

On one side of the coin, still in this reality, the Courier wakes up and continues to blaze his way through the West, bringing death and change to every trail he treads. With new friends, foes, and opportunities at every turn, his legend continued to grow as he walked further and further into the horizon. Eventually, there was not a single person in the entire western United States who didn't know his name. James Gavin, the man known simply as the Courier, eventually died, gun in hand, defending something he valued more than his own life. But stories like his don’t end in death. And much like the stories of the Lone Wanderer to the East, they gave people hope even long after their passing. A force far more powerful than any gun, legion, or nuke.

But that is only one side of the coin.

New Vegas had almost been the death of the Courier, but that trail had long been trodden, and everything that the City of Sin could offer him had already been taken. The Courier had known it was time to walk a new trail, as there was little left for him here, but the East belonged to another’s story. So the only other way forward… was to first step to the side.

On a distant world, far, far away from any that might have known his name or the weight behind his title, Courier Six wakes up.

“Ughhh… my head,” the throbbing in my skull began to fade as I tried to rub my head through my helmet. My hands slipped and fumbled as I reached for my helmet, trying to unclasp the locks keeping it on my head. Panting with the effort, I finally managed to tear it off of my head and set it on the ground. Squinting through blurry eyes, nothing in my small camp, lit by the light of softly glowing embers, seemed to be out of place. Giving no obvious sign as to why I had awoken with such a savage headache.

Still looking around in confusion, I attempted to sit up from my bedroll where I had been sleeping, but as I attempted to rise, I felt a sharp jolt in my spine. With a loud yelp, I crashed back down to the floor on my back. Lying still, I waited for the sensation to pass. But despite feeling… off… like my lips were too stiff, my body too warm, my vision too sharp for this darkness, my toes curled up a bit too much, my hands missing fingers, and like I was lying on a numb pair of extra limbs under my back, I didn’t feel sick, or dizzy, or drugged, or hungover, nothing to explain that odd feeling.

Lifting my Pip-Boy up to my face, I tried to use my right hand to fiddle with the controls and turn on the dull amber light it could emanate. But as my fingers reached for the knob, I froze in shock. Where my five glove-covered human fingers, marred by a lifetime of sun, sand, and scars, had once been, were now four bird-like talons, armored in dull yellow scales, glinting in the soft glow of the firelight. I numbly fumbled with my Pip-Boy and finally managed to open it up to the Stats page and gazed at the strange figure in place of the familiar Vault-Boy. It was a cartoonish quadrupedal figure straight out of some tribal myth or a Think Tank experiment gone wrong, with the head, talons, and feathered wings of a hawk-like bird, and the body, tail, and back paws of a big, cougar-like cat.

Looking down at my prone form, everything I saw matched up almost directly with the image. In place of booted feet were big, tan, cat paws, and my armored form was much bulkier, with formerly exposed skin replaced with dusty tan fur and brown/white feathers. Stripping out of my armor and coat, I pulled a hand-held mirror out from my Pip-Boy and gazed upon what I had become. The tan pelt of a cougar or some other big cat spread from the tip of… the tip of my tail, up to the edge of my shoulders where a thick mane of stark white feathers fell over my neck and chest. My head was hawk-like, covered in brown feathers with a glossy black beak and my own familiar blue eyes. A pair of wings with brown and white feathers lay folded against my sides, and with a curious tug, I gently pulled one of them out with a taloned hand. I could feel the foreign muscles stretching beneath the feathers… ‘could I actually fly with these?’

I rolled over onto my stomach and then to my fee… my paws, “Well, that's going to take some getting used to.” I said, stretching out, testing my muscles, and feeling how they shifted and pulled. I placed one taloned hand out ahead of me and then tried to shift a paw forward. Trying to remember how Rex walked, I attempted to move an opposite hand and paw at roughly the same time to mimic my favorite pooch, but I quickly found out that catching bare stone to the beak is just as painful as to a human face.

I growled and cursed into my stone pillow, because I did not walk the breadth of the West, have a conversation with my own brain, end two dictatorships, and survive getting shot in the fucking head, only to be defeated by some tribal magic hoodoo and some mild-to-moderate body dysmorphia!

Peeling my face off of the floor, I took it slower this time, bringing one leg forward at a time until I got the hang of four-legged walking… with plenty of tripping and enough face-planting to start a cannibal’s dream garden.

Moving carefully, I slowly broke down my camp and took stock of my supplies. Thankfully, nothing too important had been missing from my inventory. Most of my gear had been extensively modified to work with this new body I had changed into. All of my boots were gone, my gloves were fingerless to make way for my sharp talons, helmets were molded to fit over a beak, jackets and shirts now had slits for my wings to fit through, and my guns now had bigger triggers and trigger guards to handle the size of my new fingers… claws, talons, whatever. My long coats were even fitted so that they wouldn’t drag on the ground or hang down from my stomach, only really covering my hind legs down to the knees. But it was still my gear, every stitch, cut, scrape, and battle scar was still there.

Not quite trusting myself to stand on my hind legs, even with a bit more familiarity with this new body, I flopped onto my stomach and flipped through my Pip-Boy before pulling out a bottle. Using a talon to effortlessly pop open the Sunset Sarsaparilla (Talons:1 Hands:0), I pocketed the cap and flipped to the radio tab, hoping to catch some Radio New Vegas and see if the rest of the wastes had been hit by this tribal hoodoo too. But when I hit the page… there was nothing. Sure, I was used to Radio New Vegas cutting out whenever I was too far from the City of Sin, Utah being the perfect example. Yet, even then the grayed-out name was an ever–present reminder that the calm and comforting voice of Mr. New Vegas was still on air somewhere over the horizon. But for the first time, the screen was empty, no Radio New Vegas, no Mojave Music Radio, no Raider Death Metal, no NCR propaganda, no coded transmissions from powers unknown, or shady commercials from questionable individuals, nothing but a silent symphony. The map tab only cemented my thoughts, the military grade satellites that should have been giving me an accurate picture of the wastelands instead were replaced by a SIGNAL LOST message. The satellites of the old world now lay silent, sending me one final message. We’re not in Kansas anymore Toto… I just hope they still have casinos here.

Back in my armor, I walked up to the mouth of the cave, where nothing appeared to have changed. It was still nothing but sand dunes, rocks, and the occasional shrub for as far as the eye could see. And without satellite imaging it's impossible to tell where any signs of civilization could be.

Looking down at my Pip-Boy, I sighed, I have no map, no radio, and no clues as to why the hell I look like I just climbed out of a tribal’s drug-induced hallucination. As a Courier, I had known my trails, my purpose, and my destination; as a man shot in the head, I had a functioning map, a mission, and the ever-present glow of Vegas on the horizon; and as a Ranger, I had a legion to fight, chains to shatter, a Caesar to kill, and an Empire to burn. Now I had nothing, nothing but one burning question, “What the hell do I do now?”

Not knowing where I was or where else to go, I set out for the highest peak I could see, a large mesa a little ways off, in order to get a lay of the land and make a plan. Well, a plan beyond ‘find civilization, hope they have whiskey, and pray that they accept caps or gold’. As I walked, paws and talons digging into the sand, it slowly got easier to move, feeling more natural with every step. Climbing up another dune, I paused at the top, feeling the dry, cold wind of the desert night flow through my feathers. My wings, which had been folded up tight against my sides, slowly spread out with a mind of their own. Feeling the air, I stretched the foreign muscles and felt how they shifted as they slowly began to flap.

Smiling under my helmet, chock full of all the combined confidence of a Ranger, Knight, and Courier in one body… I lifted my wings and slammed them down, kicking up dust and sand with every flap. In my very bones I felt the wind be pushed down, I felt my paws and talons rise from the ground. I felt untapped strength flood through my veins like a rush of jet as I gave another strong flap. Before, I had conquered sand, blood, and death, and now I rise to claim the sky itself! I flapped again, sending myself skyward, I flapped, and flapped, soaring toward the mesa with amazing speed! I laughed and shouted with joy as I flew. But as I got closer and closer to the mesa, I finally recognized the one big glaring flaw in my otherwise completely well-thought-out, improvised plan… “Ok, flying… check. Now, HOW THE FUCK DO I SLOW DOWN!?!”

Author's Note:

I honestly lost count of the amount of times I've rewritten this chapter over the years, always trying something new, just to delete it and start again. Who knows, I may pull this down for another round of editing or extending. I've tried coming back over and over again, but life and my own hesitance kept pulling me away. I published the first chapter late 2019, and its mid 2024 now, so much has changed, I've lost a few friends, and made some new ones. But this fandom is still going, and that gives me hope. Thank you all for taking this ride with me.

Comments

[Base-Delta-Zero]

Wow, this is looking like a very wonderful reboot! I'm so glad you got this uploaded, it's so rare to have a fallout crossover feature gryphons that this one always stuck with me. I look forward to seeing where this one goes!

Edit: if you need an editor or proofreader for this as it continues, feel free to dm me!

[Thicsalt]

Solid reboot keep it up

[Electuroo]

Nice to see this return ^_^