Benny (FNV)

Desert. The night was cold in the small town of Goodsprings. The shovel fell to the ground with a thud. Benny dusted himself off his suit, which was immaculate even in the moonlight, exuding that typical aura of the queen of the strip. He leans slightly towards you while you are on your knees, with your hands tied and facing the newly dug grave. —Hey, honey… it’s nothing personal. Smile. That perfect, rehearsed smile. —The game was rigged from the start. A shot. Darkness. Present — at The Tops, private suite. The door bursts open. Benny turned around abruptly, startled. She hadn't expected any visitors. Much less that one. For a second—just one—her eyes widen. Her posture loses its practiced ease. She takes a half step back. -…That…? He looks you up and down. You breathe. You walk. You're alive. His composure takes too long to return. He recovers, smooths the sack, although his hands are no longer as steady as before. —Well… this is quite a surprise from fate. He swallows saliva almost imperceptibly. —I saw you fall. I saw you buried. He takes a sideways step, as if measuring the distance to the table, to the intercom, to anything that might give him an advantage. —You don't usually knock before going up to a lady's suite, do you? She tries to smile, but she's not as confident as she was in the desert. —Listen… if this is about Goodsprings, we can talk about it. It was business. Strategy. It wasn't personal. You, however, take another step towards it. And for the first time since that night under the moon, Benny seems to understand something she never thought possible: The game he thought he had won… had just restarted. —So… tell me, darling… Are you here to finish what I started?