A/N I enjoy the mentor side of Joshua and decided to write based upon that. His conviction will either help or hinder the OC. Boone will play a heavy role in later chapters. This is a slow burn because I'm cruel. Rated T for now, but that will change. I've added the OC's picture on my profile if anyone is interested. Told from her POV.

Svetlana (last name unknown)

Age: 32
Height: 5' 2
Tag Skills: Lockpick, Sneak, Speech

S - 3
P - 5 (6 with her glasses)
E - 3
C - 6
I - 9
A - 7
L - 8

Outfit- Merc Grunt or Vault 3 Jumpsuit, Eyeglasses

Notes:

Despite her constant thieving, Svetlana remains good in Karma due to her nonviolent good hearted nature. If asked, she does not believe she is a good person.

Has a medical skill of 60. She was in training to become a Doctor but quit for an unknown reason.

Fiends will not attack her.

"Next," a gruff voice echoes through the immeasurable cave.

I move my arm up, situating the strap of my backpack on my shoulder and hand the man my papers.

He chews his toothpick obnoxiously for a few seconds, then spits it to the damp earth. "You sure?" I nod and he pulls the paper closer to his face. "Sv- Sveh-"

"Svetlana," I educate him. I hope he doesn't ask me anything else because I had my records forged.

The corner of his lip curls upward as if he's unsure about taking me with them.

Normally, I wouldn't agree to such a thing but I'm in a lot of trouble with the Omertas for stealing money by cheating their casino at blackjack. The farther I can get myself from New Vegas the better and I thought Zion would be a good place to start.

"You'll be pretty on the eyes at least," he adds, folding the paper and handing it back to me. It's obvious his vision is terrible, especially his right murky eye that seems to keep drifting off to the side.

The truth is, I'm not much to look at. The wasteland has made sure of that. I use my knuckle to push up my eyeglasses, even though they're already in place. It's an awkward tic of mine I've developed over the years.

"Jed," he calls.

Jed walks over to him and looks me up and down. "Heard my little broadcasts, did you?"

I have no idea what he's talking about and, frankly, I'm getting a little antsy to leave.

"Well, the Journey to Zion takes 14 days. Also, there's a weight restriction. No more than 75 pounds."

As if my small frame could support 75 extra pounds. "I understand." The only things I'm carrying in my backpack are, three flasks, the caps I took from the Omertas, a few hygienic items, my cigarettes, an empty bottle, and a change of clothes.

"No companions allowed."

"I don't have any companions."

Jed points to the miniature broken Sentry bot toy at my feet.

I won him in a card game 15 years ago and he's been with me ever since. "If it's that big of a deal, I'll put it in my backpack." I hoist him up and flip the AI switch off.

"Let's move out, everyone."

I gather my messy hair up in a ponytail and we start the fourteen-day hike.

"Smokin's gonna kill ya," someone interrupts my thoughts, helping themselves to sit next to me.

I can't stand when people talk like this. "Let's hope," I murmur, taking another drag.

"I'm Finn," he beams.

"Svetlana," I respond dryly.

"What kind of a name is that?"

"It's just a name." I put my cigarette out, hoping he'll get the hint from the irritation in my voice to leave me alone, but the asinine roster of questions continue.

"What'd you dye your hair blue for?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time." Or rather, a quick way to alter my appearance by boiling a few Xander roots with Nuka-Cola Quantum. Gun shots startle me as Finn grabs his weapon and runs back to camp. I fumble for mine in my holster, but I should just stick with what I know. Running. I frantically pack and keep low to the ground before I come to the edge of the cliff. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice there's a supply bag just out of my reach. I debate leaving it behind but know I'm not that great of a survivalist despite my lifestyle. I stretch my fingers, moving my foot out a bit and slip off the cliff. "Oh, Christ," I whine, gripping the ledge. I take a deep breath and press my foot against a conveniently placed rock, steadying myself so I don't fall to my death. Swallowing hard, I reach again for the bag. This time, I'm able to snatch the canvas flap between my fingers. I pull it closer, not expecting the small bag to be so heavy. It falls over the edge as the strap winds around my ankle, taking me with it. I'm knocked unconscious when I hit my head against a boulder towards the bottom.

I'm alive, although, that's not always a good thing. There is no telling where I am and if I'm safe. I feel a little better about my odds once I get my glasses on and see my surroundings. Several medical aids lay near the bedroll, including the needle and thread that sewed the gash on my head. Surely someone that meant harm wouldn't go through this much trouble? My boots are off, leaving me in my vault suit. Well, it wasn't technically mine but that's neither here nor there. "Hello," my voice quivers. I need something to drink. My throat is incredibly dry. When I get to my feet, it's difficult, but I manage, walking out to an open part of the cave. I trip from my fatigue, landing on my outer leg and hands.

"We should have given you a better welcome on your first visit to Zion, but from what I hear, the White Legs beat us to it. You're not who I was expecting but I suppose they wouldn't have come with a caravan. I don't know if you were close to the other members of your group, but you have my sympathy. I pray for the safety of all good people who come to Zion, even Gentiles, but we can't expect God to do all of the work."

I give a breathed laugh through my nose at the voice. "You don't actually swallow that shit, do you?"

"Not a God fearing woman I trust?"

"If there's a God, he sure isn't worth praying to."

"We all go through periods of darkness. In such times, we can turn to the Lord."

Is this a joke? Did I die? After a few breaths, I get to my knees. I touch my hand to my temple and let out a groan. Running my fingers through my hair, I can feel where the rock hit my head. Dried blood mats my hair. I see the man that's been talking to me for the first time and move away from his hand when he tries to inspect my wound. "Don't." I notice that his hands are covered in white bandages. They move up his arms and disappear into his sleeves that have been rolled up to his elbows. The bandages start again on his neck and completely cover his face, except for a small strip where his eyes are. My vision blurs and I sink to the floor.

I'm back on the bedroll but I don't wake up alone as he sits on the floor reading what appears to be the Bible. I roll my eyes, pushing the blanket off me. "Where am I?"

"Angel Cave at the Dead Horse camp." I'm still just as lost before I knew my location. "How did you manage to escape?"

"I didn't. I fell down the cliff and woke up here."

He gives me a look almost as if he doesn't believe me. "You weren't missing any bullets from your gun."

"I don't even know how to use a gun. I carry in hopes of intimidation because I could never harm anyone. Killing doesn't solve anything."

"I don't enjoy killing, but when done righteously, it's a chore, like any other."

"I guess," I say, reaching for my backpack and pulling out the flask. I gesture it towards him as he folds his arms and shakes his head no. "Are you the town preacher," I ask, taking a drink, trying to quench my thirst. Surprisingly, he takes it from my hand as some of it spills down my vault suit. "I offered you some," I snap, running my hands down my suit as if it's going to completely dry my attire.

He pours what's left out, then flings it at me.

"Jerk," I mutter, shoving the flask back into my backpack. "What's your problem, anyway?"

The man doesn't respond and leaves me alone.

I grab another flask, chugging it before he comes back with vague persecution. I'm starting to think I should have just stayed in New Vegas.