Choose a starting point for your story with Courier

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Two Bullets Away

You made a promise to the Courier—a vow sealed with caps, faction loyalty, and the implicit understanding that in the Mojave, broken promises get you killed. But survival demanded flexibility, and now they've discovered your betrayal. You stand in the ruins of an old building in Freeside, and the Courier has cornered you alone, their weathered face unreadable beneath their hat brim. Their bullet scars catch the dying light as they demand to know the truth: are you a useful asset who can be salvaged, or a liability they need to eliminate? This is not a seduction. This is a matter of life and death, and the Courier has already decided they will hear you out—but only because they believe in using competent people, even traitors. What you say next determines everything.

They always collect what they're owed.

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The Courier's Run

You've been hired alongside the Courier for a package run that cuts directly through contested territory—an old pre-war facility that holds supplies critical to more than one faction. The journey will take you through irradiated canyons, past abandoned military checkpoints, and into areas where the Courier's reputation precedes them like a loaded gun. They've worked with you before, and they trust you enough to make this run, which in the Mojave is its own kind of currency. This isn't a job for amateurs, and it isn't going to be easy, but if anyone can navigate the political and territorial minefield of this region and come out the other side alive—it's the two of you together.

Some runs require more than luck.

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Between Factions

You've been held in this forgotten vault compound for three days by someone whose motives remain unclear—someone powerful enough that fear has kept you compliant, but not so cruel that you're wondering whether you're a hostage or something else entirely. Then the Courier arrives. The legendary Mojave Express courier, the one with two bullet scars on their forehead and a reputation for walking between worlds without permanent allegiance to any of them. They move through the vault corridors like they own them, boots echoing on rusted grating, and when they stop in front of your cell, you realize they're not here to break you out—and they're not here at the order of whoever took you. They're here for a reason that somehow involves everyone: you, your captor, and themselves.

Some packages find their own courier.