AN: One of the major issues I am having in writing this story is that the world of RWBY is extremely under developed i.e. we know very little about most aspects of the world. Therefore, while this is likely due to Monty Oum currently RIPing in peace, it means that it is very difficult for me to write original content without breaking canon badly. Just check the wiki. Few articles exist, and even fewer are more than stubs. It is likely that additional information will be revealed upon the release of season 3. I have decided to simply fill in any gaps in canon until the truth is revealed at which point, I will simply edit the story to fit with canon. However, I will ensure that no important plot points are based on things I make up. If anyone has any better ideas of a way to do this feel free to tell me. One thing that I would also like to address is this story's stance on "color naming rule." The Lone Courier will naturally not be named after a color and his involvement in a team will likely break the pronunciation of the team's name. Both of these will break the "color naming rule." This is intentional. The Courier is supposed to be different and is intended to contrast with the conventions typical of the world of RWBY. However, should I make any OC's or teams consisting of them I will respect the "color naming rule."

Chapter 7 - A Crimson Vista


The Lone Wanderer was now in a much better mood overall. He had an objective and more than enough alcohol to get him there. Things were starting to resemble normality, albeit his surroundings were far more visually appealing. Towering trees that flourished with life easily beat the radiation-blasted husks of the Capital Wasteland and the soft grass was preferable to the coarse sand and sparse grass of the Mojave. He resolved not to get used to this. Being accustomed to being uncomfortable for long periods of time was a useful skill. How else would one bear wearing armor in the desert?

The sun indicated that by now it was late afternoon and the Courier knew that he would not be able to reach the settlement he had been informed about until the following day. He began to pay more attention to his surroundings as he became bored of the incessant running. The trees around him were shorter than those that were closer to the river. However, the green behemoths were still impressive compared to what he had seen in the wastelands. Not even Oasis could compare with the grandeur of this forest.

An hour into his journey, the Courier noticed that he was walking up an incline. As his elevation increased it soon became evident that he was climbing a hill. This only furthered his good mood in that he hoped to get a better view of the landscape and potentially his destination once he reached the summit.

Another hour in and the incline became far steeper. The Lone Wanderer knew that a commanding view of the surrounding area could be crucial in determining his next move. After all, for all he knew he could at any moment walk into the main group of those "Faunus" he had previously captured. He doubted that even he could talk his way out of that one.

Not that such an encounter would entail talking. They would shoot on sight after all. The Lone Wanderer knew that he didn't even know how many of Faunus were out there or where they were. He hadn't wanted to risk the prisoner becoming uncooperative if he inquired into things that would be "military secrets". Torturing someone to diminish risk to himself was not something he was willing to do.

Slowly the hill became steep enough that it became slightly difficult for the Lone Courier, in that he needed to be more careful in order not to fall. Not that even a large fall would be unlikely to seriously injure him, the concern was more that he would have had to reclimb the whole hill.

While there were many hills in the Mojave, the Courier reflected, he very rarely climbed them. Most people didn't. After all, it wasn't safe to be silhouetted against the horizon. Who knew if there were snipers about? There were enough raiders and fiends with hunting rifles and surprisingly competent aim that in the open ground of the Mojave, snipers were a real concern. Even the Fiends were good shot, better than they had any right to be given the condition of their bodies.

However, in an area as densely wooded as this, the Courier did not need to worry about being seen; visual range was no more than twenty meters in any direction. He was safe from any long range observation. In the unlikely event that he did encounter something, he would rely on his enhanced reaction time to act first, either fighting or fleeing as he determined prudent.

A few hours passed, and the sky began to change from its usual blue to take on a pink hue as sunset approached. As the incline of the hill began to level out, the trees began to thin slowly and the Lone Courier could soon see light stream through gaps in the horizon of trees in front of him where he could previously only see an infinite darkness of foliage. As he approached the summit, light became increasingly abundant even as the sun set rapidly.

The color became a deep red as time went on and the blue vanished from sight. Soon the trees became sparse, isolated silhouettes against the horizon. The Courier was forced to shield his eyes with one hand from the blinding light while they acclimated to the sudden brightness. His elite riot armor was bathed in the red light of swiftly setting sun. The crimson glaze clashed with the dulls green of the Courier's armor and weapon.

Suddenly, the Courier found himself outside of the tree line, for the first time since he had arrived in this strange place, he saw something other than foliage in front of him. For him, it was the one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen, second only to Earth from space.

The first thing he noticed was that the hill he had climbed was bluff. On the face that led down into the forest below ancient rough-hewn steps were set into what would have otherwise been a nearly sheer cliff.

Beyond the bluff the trees continued to the sight that stole the Courier's breath and dominated his vision.

In the distance, roughly fifteen miles away, was a city in all it's pre-war splendor, nearly the size of New Vegas. In its center, raised upon a sheer cliff, a tall strangely shaped building of many spires reached into the evening sky. A series of green lights shown from the tallest of the central towers in this structure. The lights of a busy city illuminated the area, making the fresh stars difficult to see in contrast. And even beyond the city lay a vast shimmering expanse of water, large enough to be the ocean. The shattered moon and faint stars reflected dully off the choppy waves.

As he cradled his M14, a slight breeze blew the duster of the Courier's elite riot armor and it fluttered at the wind's gentle prompting. Above this dramatic vista, the shattered moon still hung, now in its crescent form.

The Courier decided that it was best to start towards the city in the morning. People were less suspicious during the day. Besides, even he was willing to admit that he functioned better with regular sleep. So far he had not found any cybernetic implants or genetic mutations that would allow him to forgo sleep. Unfortunately. Accepting what had to be done, he began his usual process of ensuring his safety while he slept.

Once he had reached the top of the tree, he gazed once again at the magnificent scene that stretched out before him, before turning his back on it to view the area behind him. Beneath the bluff where the tree he was on was located, the forest stretched on seemingly endlessly towards the horizon. In the distance, he could see the light of a fire and a plume of smoke silhouetted against the backdrop of the numerous stars. It was likely those "Faunus" he had captured earlier.

He felt a bit better knowing that they weren't eaten by guaiclaws. The Courier hoped that they would not come after him. He would hate to have more blood on his hands. He had enough events to keep him traumatized for several lifetimes. Fortunately, they appeared to have moved in a different direction than he had, potentially heading back to wherever the larger body of their organization was set up.

As the Courier prepared to sleep, he considered his next course of action. It seemed to him that his lack of knowledge of the society he had seen meant that simply knocking on the front door seemed inadvisable. The walls that surrounded the city were also curious. As far as he could tell, there was nothing that constituted enough of an threat out here that would necessitate the building of such a defensive structure.

The only two options he could think of were xenophobia, which would be problematic for him, or that these creatures that resided in the forest were more numerous and of a larger threat than he had realized. He therefore resolved to reconnoiter the city in his stealth suit before revealing himself. Then he could decide whether or not to reveal his origins and formally introduce himself to the regional power. He did not look forward to getting involved with the politics of this place. It was clear to him that even disregarding his abilities, purely by virtue of being the sole representative of what's left of continental America he would be the subject of more interest than he wanted. A better idea might be to just establish formal contact between this place and the NCR. Then he wouldn't really need to get too involved.

As well, the Lone Wanderer only hoped that this metropolis shared the NCR's Old World values instead of the authoritarian ones of Mr. House. Engineering a revolution would not be fun. As he thought of how one might overthrow a dictatorship and successfully replace it with a republican government with the least amount of death, slowly the Lone Courier fell into a deep sleep filled with memories, not all bad, of things he had seen and places he had been. It was the best sleep he'd had in weeks.


AN: Sorry for the short chapter, I've been busy lately. Not much really happens in this chapter except preparation for the Courier's entrance into Vale.