A/N: As you can see, I'm riding both the RWBY Vol 6 and Fallout 76 train. Woot woot! Now, The reasons I'm going to be using the Courier instead of any of the other Fallout protagonists is because A) I can use a fairly believable way for him to arrive in Remnant. B) I can use my favorite gun in the series, the Holorifle, which I feel doesn't get the love it deserves. C) The Courier is a goddamn Cyborg! That's awesome and makes it a tad harder for people to realize he doesn't have Aura. At least initially, because it'll come up.

And without further ado...

Many across the Mojave, and a bit beyond, knew of the near legendary figure known as Courier Six.

Of how his journey was instigated by the Chairman Benny.

Of how he can always be seen wearing a black set of Riot Gear with a large assortment of weapons, most common being a strange energy weapon.

Of how he was the current owner of the Lucky 38 casino, and practically ran New Vegas with the NCR.

Of his legendary stand-off in the heart of the Divide.

Of how he assassinated Caesar within the middle of his own Fort.

Of how he brought about the seemingly impossible alliance of the NCR, Brotherhood of Steel, Great Khan's, Boomers, and remnants of the Enclave.

Of how he had engaged Legate Lanius in single combat, and came out on top.

And while most people envisioned Courier Six as the Paragon of Humanity, or a grizzled survivor of a thousand conflicts, those who knew him personally had different thoughts.

Those who personally knew Courier Six knew him as a strange person with a good head on his shoulders. Of how he had managed to get through his trials with an insane amount of luck and bullshitting. Of how he accidentally became a cyborg because of his insatiable curiosity. Of how he would go through stupidly long lengths for his best friends and take a piss on his worst enemy's graves.

And of how he was much younger than most people think.

Arcade Gannon was helping out with constructing a more sturdy place for the Followers of the Apocalypse, seeing as how one of the Legion's mortars had somehow destroyed one of the Fort's ancient walls. And while they would still be stationed within Freeside, they had gotten the okay and resources to rebuild in one of the many ruined blocks. It also doesn't hurt that they had a large amounts of Securitrons helping them.

"One more box down, probably three hundred more to go," he said, wiping away the sweat on his brow. This desert heat mixed with the physical exertion had made him forgo his usual attire for jeans and a t-shirt.

"Aww, don't be like that, Arcade," a feminine voice said behind him. "This is a walk in the park!"

"Says the one wearing a full suit of power armor," he chuckles.

Veronica Santiago was a member of the Brotherhood of Steel, along with being a part of the Courier's Party (as he likes to call it). Out of all eight of them, she was probably the one that Arcade got along with best, her snarky humor and sarcasm a match for his.

Veronica, wearing her air conditioned T-51b Power Armor, scoffed. "Not my fault you didn't want to wear a set. Besides, it's hot as balls today. My beautiful face is fine just the way it is without a sunburn."

"Yes, because protecting beauty is exactly what you're doing, and it just so happens that what helps with that is an air-conditioned suit of armor that lets you bench press a car." Honestly, he would do it, too. He would gladly adorn his family's Tesla Armor with pride, had he been at the Dam fighting with his friends. But he was convinced to help the wounded by the Courier, in fear that the NCR would take a more active approach in finding out who he really was. He was grateful for the Courier's concern, yes, but he still would have liked to be by his friends' side when the Legion attacked. Speaking of...

"Any idea where he is? I'm pretty sure it's been, like, ten minutes."

"No clue," she responded, shrugging her shoulders. "Last I checked, he tends to wander where he pleases. Kind of his whole thing."

"And last time he did that, we had to deal with his 'Sierra Madre PTSD.'" That was an unfortunate month to be a radio, indeed.

As she was about to open her mouth in response, a gun went off in the distance.

*Bang Bang Bang*

Both of them turned their heads in the direction before sighing. "Found him," the Courier's companions said in unison. Because really, if anything exciting was going on, he'd be right in the middle of it.

The two walked towards the sound of chaos, and what they found they weren't certain was expected or outlandish.

They found their friend surrounded by the dead bodies of three elderly ladies, each wearing a strawberry pink sundress and a roller in their hands. And each of them had a fresh bullet hole in the forehead.

The Courier before them wasn't wearing his iconic Elite Riot Gear, but instead was wearing his blue, sleeveless duster, showing off his athletic build. His messy, platinum blonde locks were long enough to cover the two bullet wounds and scar from when he was lobotomized (that last part took a long while for Arcade to accept), but not long enough to cover his striking blue eyes. His Ranger Sequoia was out, the barrel smoking a bit, showing that it was fired off recently. But what was most noticeable about the person before them was that he was young. How young you may ask?

It was only three months ago that he turned seventeen.

"I can explain," he started off. The Follower and Scribe crossed their arms before motioning for him to continue. "They were trying to mug me, and I felt threatened."

"They were old women," Arcade pointed out.

"With the second worst weapon to ever Grace humanity after the chancla. Grandma Silvers wielded both with such force that, to this day, I am terrified of going against anyone wielding a roller or chancla."

Veronica rolled her eyes, not that they could see inside the helmet, and chuckled. "I swear, you come up with the craziest shit sometimes."

"Who says I'm making it up," the young cyborg retorts.

"Whatever," Arcade says. "Can we go back to building our new site?"

"Alright," he responds. "Onwards to forced labor!"

"You do know you don't have to help out, right," the Scribe tells him.

"Yeah, but Boone isn't free until next week, and I don't want to watch Yes Man go through paperwork," he whined. "I don't know how he does it."

"Maybe because he's a robot," the Doctor says.

"Yeah, probably. But it's still boring as hell."

Craig Boone was a simple kind of man. He was direct and blunt in conversations, was loyal to the NCR, was beyond upset when his wife was killed, was extremely skilled with a rifle, and hunted down Legion Remnants in his free time.

And that's exactly what he was doing. After a month of service, he was given a week of leave. And while he could have been doing his favorite hobby alone, he had who he considered to be the best spotter by his side.

The Courier was looking through the scope of his signature Holorifle, his favorite gun and "his precious baby." When the Sniper asked earlier why his friend wasn't using the Survivalist's Rifle, like he usually would in these scenarios, he responded with "Running low on ammo, so I'll save it." Boone chuckled at that. The Courier's definition of 'running low' meant that he still had around a hundred rounds on him.

The Sniper shifted a bit, feeling the soreness one expects to receive from staying still for hours. He looked through the scope of his modified Anti-Material Rifle, given to him by his spotter and named "Caput Iaculat," or Headshot.

"See anything," he asked.

"Nothing," the young cyborg responded. And that was the only conversation they would have for hours.

It often amused Boone at how childish his friends saw the Courier, but all of them had a hard time believing that he could be still for hours on end. When asked about it, he responds with 'I play the radio in my helmet.'

While Boone would wear his Riot Gear, he was filled with pride wearing an NCR uniform again, and often opted for that instead. It may not have night vision or look as terrifying as the black armor, but there was just nothing that satisfied him more than showing off who he fought for.

"Got something," the Courier said, catching Boone's attention. "A hundred yards East."

The Sniper directed his gun in that direction. Four Legionaries in total, one Centurian in the lead. "Yeah, I see 'em."

"Group's a bit small, if you ask me."

"That just means we've been doing our job-"

"Hobby."

He shook his head before continuing. "Our hobby well."

The Courier nodded before taking aim, the one at the front of the party, while Boone took the end.

Three.

Two.

One.

The Holorifle and the suppressed Anti-Material Rifle fired, the former turning it's target into ash and the latter turning its target's head into brain mulch. Two more shots ran out with the same effects.

"Welp, that was fun," the Courier said, standing up. He slung the large duffle bag filled with his vast array of weapons over his shoulder. "Maybe I'll get lucky and find some 12.7mm on them. If not, than gold and silver can't hurt."

"Always so classy, aren't you," Boone deadpanned. He was going to do it, too, but wouldn't have put it like that. "Any plans after this?"

"Since you asked, I'm headed off to Big MT. They finally made that metal organ maker, so I'm picking that up before headed to the Followers. Why, need me to walk you back home," he asked cheekily.

"Hm," was his response.

With that riveting conversation over, bodies were looted, ammo was replenished, and strange teleportation devices were pulled out. But before the two friends could say goodbye...

"For the Legion," came a cry from their right. Both their eyes turned to a Legionnaire that they didn't know was there, and what he had thrown. A pulse grenade. In all honesty, he probably only threw it because of how often the Courier was seen with robots or someone in power armor, and was some recent tribal who misinterpreted it as a one-shot kill for the Courier. It happens sometimes. What they didn't know was that it was very effective on the hunk of steel where his heart would be.

Boone quickly aimed and fired at the Legionnaire. And right as the cyborg pulled the trigger of the Transportalponder, more in surprise more than anything, the pulse grenade went off.

"AAAAGGGGHHHH," the Courier cried out, as the blast was screwing up both his teleportation device and his artificial heart before he seemingly exploded in a large flash of blue and white.

And with that, quiet returned to the Mojave Wasteland, as the Sniper tried to process what the just happened.

"Oh fuck."

Pain! That was all I could focus on at the moment, and the worst center of it was where my heart was.

It wasn't working, I couldn't breathe.

Four minutes until brain cells start dying, and ten minutes until death. Why the fuck am I thinking that! I'm gonna get this bitch working and I'm gonna live!

I roughly beat the area over the hunk of metal in a pattern. A minute in and my vision was starting to get foggy. Come on you piece of shit, work! I kept you around for the poison immunity, not to give up after three months of work!

And right before my vision went completely dark…

*Bu-bump Bu-bump Bu-bump*

I took the deepest breath anyone could take, starting to feel the healthy blood rush through me. I turned to lay on my back, soaking up the night air.

…

Wait, night?

I bolt up, looking around frantically. It was around four in the afternoon like, two minutes ago? Grey buildings surrounded me. And not the destroyed buildings one usually sees in the Wasteland, nor the shoddily repaired buildings with metal strewn around holes. No, these are complete buildings, just like Pre-War. I look up to see if I can see where I am when I freeze.

The goddamn moon was shattered!

I fall on my ass, enraptured by the sight before me. As I was staring, my brain was running on overtime.

Events that lead to this moment: pulse grenade went off at the same time as the Transportalponder. Aforementioned device looks fried, not good.

Possibilities for why I'm seeing this.

1) My brain was scrambled and am now in a lucid coma-like state somewhere in the Wasteland. Likelihood; most likely reason.

2) Reassembling of my atomic structure was postponed for an extended period of time. AKA: Time travel, or at least future travel. Likelihood; Doctor Who.

3) Teleportation did happen like it was supposed to, but sent me to another inhabited planet. As with the Alien Blaster Incident, it is proven that we aren't the only sentient species. Likelihood; probably.

4) Interdimensional travel, with this being a mirror of ours. Except the Great War didn't fuck everything over and Moon was blown to shit. Likelihood; Schrodinger.

Final thoughts: I need whiskey and more information.

"And just when I was starting to believe it would be a quiet Saturday…"

My first action, after all of that crazy shit went through my head, was too look around and find people, or at the very least something that won't eat me on sight, knowing how my luck seems to be. Live through an impossible scenario only to be attacked by a murder of Deathclaws.

The streets, which are immensely clean, were empty. Shiny and most likely functioning cars were on the sides of the road, and a nearby poster of some woman in Legion-like armor informed me of two things: There are humans living here, and that I can't read this language.

*Crash!*

Ah, yes, action. Best way to see what my odds are at- why is that girl wielding a massive scythe?

Short, black hair with red highlights, black and red dress with a red hood, and swinging around comically large scythe that was taller than her. Oh, and she was taking on what looked like evil henchmen that were taken straight out of a mafia holovid, with striking success. All in all, I found the one I want to befriend. And if I accidentally side with an evil organization by siding with her, than I blame false stereotypes.

I pulled out my Holorifle, making sure that it was loaded, and proceeded forward.

"You know, I'm not really sure what it says that you're getting your asses whooped by one person," I say aloud, catching everyone's attention. "But I do know that it doesn't speak highly for your man cards."

"Oh great, another one," the guy in a similar style but clearly different outfit, marking him as the leader, groaned aloud. Plus side, it's only their written language I can't understand. "Look, pal, I-"

"Hey, buddy, walk off if you don't wanna be full of bullets," one of the henchmen said. Well, at least the guy with orange hair had the good sense to look at him like he was retarded.

"Wow, and I thought Raiders were dumb." It's true. Who else but raiders and retards would go up against a black, armored figure with glowing red eyes in the middle of the night?

Of course, that seemed to cause the chain reaction that most in bars would consider a brawl. Me being me, and realizing that I have a very limited supply of ammo, clocked the first dumbass in the skull with the butt of my gun. Red Hood joined into the fray, and we managed to soundly beat them. And I may or may not have accidentally killed one. In my defence, I usually never go non-lethal, and from what I remember of the Old World lessons I got from Big MT, killing is a big no no.

"Well, you fellows were certainly an excellent investment on my part," Bowler Hat deadpanned. "And for as amusing as this was, I've still got a schedule to keep, so…" He pointed the end of his cane at is and- Oh, that seems to be a gun.

I jump out of the way when he fired, and boy am I glad I did. The resulting explosion broke apart a large amount of the wall behind us and sent debris everywhere.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay," a feminine voice said. Looking up, I saw Red Hood, offering me a hand, which I take.

"Taken worse, and the armor isn't for show," I say. I look around for- there the fucker is! He's trying to climb away. Using what my gun was meant for, I fired a round at Bowler Hat. I do hit him, and that sends him reeling, but there was a flash of orange all over his body, and sends him forward onto the top of the building. And this place had body covering force fields. Makes sense why the girl doesn't have a scratch on her.

"First off, that was cool and I totally want your autograph," the girl says, causing me to raise an eyebrow. "Second, he's getting away! After him!" Then this girl did the impossible and used a gun feature on her scythe (seems kind of impractical) and used the recoil to shoot herself to the top of the building.

*Just play along,* my brain told me. I rushed forward, climbing the ladder as fast as I could. By the time I got there, the bastard was in what looked like a vertibird.

"End of the line, Red," he shouted, before throwing a red crystal and firing his gun/cane. Wait, was every weapon here going to be part gun? That's awesome and very strange.

Before this whole situation blew up on the cloaked girl's face, literally, there was a flash of purple that blocked the resulting explosion. When it cleared, the vertibird was about to fly off and there was a third person on the roof.

Take what I think is a teacher with a dominatrix aesthetic, mixed with a tiny purple cape, and you've got the woman in front of us. And then she did fired lasers from the tip of her riding crop at the flying machine, piercing it in various places. Another wave of her magic crop and there was a mini storm brewing above the vertibird before chucking ice, of all things. A woman in a red dress stepped into the open and quite literally open fired at us. By shooting flames from her hand.

*Just go with it or we'll get a migraine.*

But fucking weather control! Fucking fire! What is-

*JUST GO WITH IT!*

Deciding my course of action, I shot at the fire woman while she was busy dealing with a giant debris snake thing. They hit, with the rifle's signature light blue glow enveloping her, before she did a massive 'fuck you!' A sphere of fire surrounded the flying machine, effectively destroying whatever control the Dominatrix had, before flying off.

Well, at the very least, I gave her a massive headache, I thought somberly as I took off my helmet and mask.

"Y-you're a Huntress," Red exclaimed, looking at the woman like one would their first time in Vegas. "Can I have your autograph?" What was with this girl and-

*Smack* "OUCH! What was that for!" She was smacked with the riding crop, the apparent Huntress had adorned a look that was often worn by angry parents. And she was looking at him now.

"Okay, look Lady, before you do something we'll both regret, how about we-"

*Smack*

"WHAT THE SHIT!"

*Smack*

"Language!"

Ozpin was called into the Vale police station to deal with two teenagers that appeared to be a Hunter and Huntress in training. He had been given a rough report on the events that took place, and could happily say that he was impressed.

He first met with young Ruby Rose, the silver-eyed daughter of Taiyang Xiao Long and Summer Rose. And while they had never personally met, he could tell that she was a true diamond, and would work on an early commission for her attending Beacon.

The other, whom he was about to meet, seemed an odd one. What was odd, you ask? Why everything about him. His armor, the thing on his wrist, his strange assortment of weapons and what were believed to be types of grenades, everything. And as he was watching the boy through one-way glass, the Headmaster could hear music. Music he had never heard in any of his lives.

When Ozpin entered the interrogation chamber, because what else could it be called, and had a conversation with the armored boy, he got perhaps the most bizarre origin story he had ever heard.

"Another world," the silver haired man asked, his words perfectly enunciated.

"Yep," the Courier responded, adding a little pop to the end of his reply. "It's one of the few explanations that make sense to me. Most damning piece of evidence is the Moon. Last I remember, the Moon wasn't supposed to look like a Super Mutant got angry with a dinner plate."

"Hm, assuming that I believe you, how did you arrive."

"That, my graying, friend, is what I'm really wanting to figure out. The shiny orange gun-looking thing that they took from me? That's my teleportation device. One of a kind and the reason I'm here."

"I see." Ozpin's mind was attempting to process this information. "So if I may be so bold, what kind of world did you come from, exactly."

"That depends," the cyborg started. "You want the long version or the abridged, because we'll be here for a while if it's the first."

"I believe it would be best to hear the whole tale, Mr…"

The boy smiled, and leaned forward. "Jason. Jason Silvers. And the story begins on October 27, 2077. The day humanity shot itself in the dick..."

Name: Jason Silvers

Gender: Male

Karma: Very Good

Level: 50

S: 8 (+2)

P: 7 (+2)

E: 9

C: 5 (+1)

I: 10

A: 8

L: 10

Traits:

Skilled

Wild Wasteland

Skills:

Barter: 72

Energy Weapons: 100

Explosives: 100

Guns: 100

Lockpick: 100

Medicine: 70

Melee Weapons: 100

Repair: 100

Science: 100

Sneak: 100

Speech: 100

Survival: 75

Unarmed: 94

Cybernetic Perks:

Big Brained

Heartless

Reinforced Spine

Implants:

Strength

Perception

Endurance

Charisma

Agility

Luck

Monocyte Breeder

Sub-Dermal Armor

Implant GRX

Implant C-13

Implant M-5

Implant Y-3

Implant Y-7

Equipment:

Armor:

Elite Riot Gear

Elite Riot Gear Helmet

Courier's Duster (Blackjack)

Rebreather

Sunglasses

Vera's Outfit

Weapons:

Ranger Sequoia

Lucky

All-American

Holorifle+

Survivalist Rifle

Blood-Nap

Red Glare+

Plasma Grenades x10

Pulse Grenades x5

Flash Bang x5

Holy Frag Grenade x3

Misc:

Scripture

Vault 13 Canteen