Once the engineers all had normal, baggy cotton clothes on, each taking the guise of merchants, and had a backpack full of the essentials for traveling, they left Freeside and started making their way out of the Free Economic Zone into a nearby maize farm. They would have little support from here on out, Owen knew. The robots could only operate so far from Vegas, and his men were either in the neon city or spread out gathering intelligence and supplies. Luckily, Owen knew the Nevada area like the back of his hand. He didn't even need a pip-boy to navigate through the Mojave. Yet, there was one particular robot that could and did operate all across the country, and Owen had it in the bag.

He unzipped his brown duffle bag and took the heavy sputnik-esque robot from out of it, lifting with his legs. He took out two wires from a compartment in his pip-boy, one black, the other red, and hooked them up to a compartment inside the machine. He flipped a switch on his pip-boy, and it started humming. Then he flipped a switch on the robot, and it started humming for a few seconds before making the mechanical noise of a computer starting up. He waited for a few seconds until the eyebot started levitating, then turned off, removed, the wires on his pip-boy from the robot, satisfied the dial-up noise ended. His pip-boy, riot helmet, ED-E, all were linked. His helmet upload display started flashing a wealth of information onscreen, cardinal directions, ED-E's machine diagnostics, nearest bio-signatures, and an option to view through ED-E's lenses. He tapped a button on his pip-boy to decline that last part. The eyebot turned around and shook left to right in mid-air.

**Excited Beeping**

"Yeah, Eddy, nice to see you too."

**Curious Beeping**

"Can't tell you, not right now. It's a secret. You'll know it when it happens."

#Hi, Eddy. So nice to see you again. We're going to visit Dr. Klein and Dr. Borous. Wanna come with?# Bonnie spoke to the robot by UHF waves, and only Owen could hear her in his helmet. ED-E gave some more beeps in reply.

"Are you talking to an eyebot? You do know it's not understanding a word you're saying, right?"

The blonde boy looked incredulously at him, the man with the moustache scowled at the blonde boy, and the one wearing glasses was just looking timid. Owen sneered under his helmet. Profliga- he bit down on that train of thought before he could finish.

"What, you never speak to your machines? Can you really call yourself an engineer?"

Mitch gave a little scowl. "Course I do. If it takes orders. It can't understand what you're saying. It's just giving stock beeps. You can't even understand what it's saying. Let's just move on and quite wasting daylight. I'm not getting paid by the hour, here."

Mitch started walking ahead, getting a bit of a bad temper. The other engineers looked a little disturbed at his behavior.

"Dumb-ass luck getting dumb-ass me trapped with dumb-ass mercenaries talking to dumb-ass eyebots in the middle of the dumb-ass desert on some dumb-ass quest to haul a dumb-ass-"

As he was talking and walking, he heard a ZZAP and saw a laser go right above his head, feeling the heat on his scalp, before it immediately dissipated. He hit the ground immediately, getting out a high-pitched shriek, as his hat fell over into the dirt. The other engineers stood stock still with their mouthes open, browning and yellowing teeth for all the world to see. ED-E did a little midair dance from side to side, giving some happy beeps.

"Ah, Eddy, great aim! But, if you wouldn't mind, next time could you wait to calibrate your gun on something hostile instead of my friends here? You almost got his head." The Courier started walking over on to Mitch, picking up his hat by the holes in it, and beat the hat against his outer thigh, shaking some dirt off.

**Angry Beeping**

"Yeah, yeah, I know he called you a dumbass. Doesn't give you the right to shoot at him." Owen extended his hand to Mitch, who looked to be in a bit of shock. Mitch took it. "Up and at'em, partner." He pulled on Mitch's hand, who stumbled a bit from the force that brought him standing, nearly hitting the dirt again. Owen patted his hand on Mitch's back, shaking some excess dirt and sand off from the impact. "Little word of advice, Mitch. Don't try and piss off the laser-shooting robot." He put the hat in Mitch's arms. The rest of them started walking, glad to be done with Mitch's yakking, while Mitch just stared ahead. "But- but eyebots don't- robots don't-" He looked down at his hat, putting a finger through the holes, before focusing back on the robot. "...How did it understand me?"

"So Mr. Bede- uh, bedar-" Mitch, the blonde haired boy stuttered. "Bedauern." Owen corrected. "Right, that. What is our mission, exactly? What's with the dress-up, the walking, the guns, the killer robots? Because the way I see it, we're dressed to kill, and killing was not in my contract. I'm not down with that." Mitch, the one with the blonde hair, was adjusting his stormchaser hat, while the other older men were resting their hands on the holster straps of their 9mm submachine guns. They were barely five miles outside the vegas walls, still in the midst of cropfields, though these ones were growing potatoes, and Owen was already getting complaints again. To make matters worse, he had a pacificist on his hands. A pacificist who decided that the best place to hang his hat at was the epicenter of the biggest war in America only three years ago. 'God preserve us both.' Owen felt unease from the other two, unspoken questions, but only Mitch seemed to be brave enough, or more likely, stupid enough, to ask them. Owen took a look at some of the hard-working farmers in blue overalls and straw hats that were a couple hundred feet away. Any one of them could've been spies.

Owen knew these men were only looking out for themselves. Couldn't blame them for wanting to know more. He thought House would've at least informed them of the risk they were taking. Must be big, if House thought the only ones that could be trusted were him, himself, and House.

"You mean they didn't tell you? Typical Vegas Bureaucratic Brahmin..." Owen trailed off. "Well, first, we have to go over to a nice little trading post. Get us a bit of cargo. Then, that's when the hard part comes in. It's going to be a long trip. You'll need those guns for coyotes, dogs, nightstalkers if we're unlucky. Me and the robot will handle the rest Mother Mojave has to throw at us."

Owen looked over his shoulder at his reluctant companions-for-hire tailing him. Mitch seemed satisfied, so he his eyes back on the road. They walked for another few hours, until they were well and away from Vegas and it's many prying eyes and ears.

"Y'know I'm pretty sure we passed the Crimson Caravan a while ago." Mitch was tossing his hat into the air and spinning it, catching it. Anything to kill time, Owen supposed. Hope he didn't keep doing that later, he'd either be too exhausted to walk or the sun would give him a heatstroke.

"We're not going there. We're gong to the 188. Going to get a brahmin, carry some tools to repair Old World tech, and and some more water."

"MORE water? We each got a backpack full of the stuff. How long's this trip?"

Owen didn't even look back. "Already told you. Three weeks."

Mitch groaned. "Why? Why can't some other company in California just take care of those radios?"

"Because we're not going to California." Mitch flipped the hat over again. "Not going to- then where are we going?" Owen and the rest just kept walking. "Hey! I'm asking a question, here! Where are we going?!" The man with a grey beard answered. "Quit your bitching already, boy, or I'll shoot you myself. I'd be more than happy to take your share." He looked at the other engineer with the handlebar moustache. "How does fifty-fifty sound?" The man with the handlebar moustache looked amused, giving a little smile and a kind little twinkle in his eye. "Sounds alright by me."

"Knock it off, you two. You're all a team. I'm the one that shoots any deserters. That's my job. It'll be my share." Mitch's face made him look like he was about to piss his pants. "You're all psychopaths! Every one of you!" The three of them, all except Mitch, laughed. "I just need my pound of flesh, Mitch. You must be new to Vegas. Poor, Dumb, Naive young man." The one with a grey beard, Henry, chortled at his own 'joke'. Owen eyed Mitch through his helmet lenses. He thought Mitch was just talkative, but now… Well, he'd wait and see. Hope he learns better.

Once they got to the 188, Owen gave them each a few caps to get something to eat, and told them he'd meet them under the Bridge in 30 minutes. The Courier… no, Owen, needed advice. He was playing a dangerous game, escorting House's men to his home base, to fix tech he (mostly) left alone, to do things unknown. Owen needed advice. He didn't want to have wasted three years of life for nothing. He wondered if this whole walk was a warning, a bluff, or if House was completely unaware, just eagerly trying to get a better hand. The Courier just didn't know, and that just wouldn't do. Owen had an ace hid up his sleeve, a card he could always count on. Below a bridge, below notice. Below everyone. And he helped build up more than he knew.

It was an eleven year old boy.

The Forecaster.

"Hey Fore-man, how's it been?"

The young boy was nose-deep in a book, titled "The Mysterious Stranger", by Mark Twain. Slowly, he lowered the book, and when he did, his eyes shone, full of admiration. He felt a little guilty about that.

"Owen!" He dropped the book and went up to hug him, wrapping his arms around his coat.

"Christ, kid, keep it down. Here, I brought some food." He dropped the duffle bag gently onto the decayed asphalt. Foreman didn't let go, unfortunately. He raised his head to look at his masked face, eyes still bright and shiny. "You got any more stories for me! I'm almost done reading all the books from last month." Owen ruffled the little guy's hair. "Yeah, yeah, missed you too. Shithead… Now get off of me, you're cramping my style." The adolescent psyker obliged him. Owen started picking some of the jars of green goop out of the bag's outer pockets. "Ugh, green slime again? I know it turns into other stuff, but it always tastes off. Like it's… tingly." Owen set the jars in the shade of a nearby baby carriage. "Yeah, well it's calorie-dense and it's good for you. Trust me, the ladies will love you for it when you're older." Once he was done putting them away, Owen dusted off his hands and put the now much lighter dufflebag across his back. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I'm a little short on time. I need to hear your thoughts again." The boy's eyes got a little sadder, but the smile grew a bit. "Awww. Well, anything for you, I suppose." "I really don't know why you still talk about me like I'm some kind of hero. I've never done a thing in my life that wasn't to benefit yours truly." The Forecaster got a happy little gleam in his eye again. "Oh, I know. You don't pretend to be some do-no-wrong paladin or act like a Grognak The Barbarian villain. You're real."

"Again, I really don't-"

"It's not what you have done, it's what you will have done." That shut Owen up. Maybe it was just playing on his ego, but who was he to argue with the soothsayer?

"You came for a vision, right? Truth is, I haven't had a clear vision for a couple weeks now. Mind's been drifting between Vegas and… somewhere else. Not sure where. But, now that you're here, there's something I can focus on. Something I know." Forecaster took a deep breath, eyes looking towards the ground. "It usually hurts a lot whenever I go a few weeks without a clear vision. Could you… make sure the other two kids here don't do anything to me while I sleep afterwards? I don't want Cindy to think less of me…" The Courier grinned underneath his helmet. "Well isn't that something. You starting to get feelings for that crazy NCR gal?" The Forecaster blanched. "Christ, no. Ew. She takes me hunting sometimes to get away from all the people here. It's quiet, in the desert. It's one of the only times I can really hear myself think, and I don't want to be reminded of all the mean pranks Esda and Beth play on me. They're not even clever, it's just… embarrassing. They either lay a bunch of bugs on me while I'm sleeping or pretend they're Brotherhood of Steel jerks shooting muties. Guess who they always make the mutie. I swear, they really, really can't think up any other way to spend their time." Owen laughed. "Alright, you got my promise. Now come on, I got about fifteen minutes left before I gotta go." The Forecaster gave a warm smile, putting his hands up to his head-brace he wore. "Thanks. Here goes nothing..." He removed the brace.

"A new hand is dealt. The deck is shuffled. Neon lights, shining brightly in the dark, but the shadows they cast hide a secret worse than the dark. Much to gain, but what does it cost? Old hands will come back to haunt those who gamble. Brother killing brother, causing families to bond. Maybe the bonds will let them hold on. A darkness will blot out the sun, but who it'll belong to is anyone's guess. The shadows find new children in the broken earth. The remainder of a bet made in secret long ago has paid off, but was it in vain? It'll take bringing every last card to the grave to know. Maybe on that grave, there will be a new beginning to things? Something takes up the shape of… Hope?

Forecast: Red. God, so much red. No. NO!"

Owen was startled, reaching for him, "Hey, are you alri-" However, The Forecaster reached for him first. He grabbed the collar of Owen's duster, and pulled him down almost to his face level with strength no eleven-year old possesses.

"Take. The plane. To VEGAS."

His eyes were wild, and in this moment, Owen saw not a boy, but an old man. A man who lived his life in fear. A wild-eyed messenger, a courier, his eyes telling of something awful beyond imagining.

"What plane are you talking abo-"

"Dont FUCK with me, courier! You know which one! Fast, fast one! Take it! Take it and go back! Back to NELLIS! Take… the…" The Forecaster went limp, falling asleep. Owen caught him before he hit his head on the asphault, and put his skull brace back on. He put the jars of green goop back into his bag, and scooped up the poor psychic kid into his arms, to deliver him to Cindy. To safety.

Because that's what a good Deliverer is supposed to do.

If there was ever any doubt in Owen's mind that psychic powers existed, it was gone now. He never told anyone about the plane in Big MT, nor did he ever fly it, at least not outside of Nellis' simulation pods. Truth be told, he went to The Forecaster mostly to get a different perspective on things before taking an action. The kid had a knack for seeing things from another person's point of view. He didn't go to him today for… that. Owen was a little worried for the kid, but also amused. What's the worst that could happen? The world ending twice? Psssh. As if.

Although he stopped Ulysses from doing precisely that before.

…And Caesar.

...And The Think Tank.

...And Himself.

But still, he chewed and chewed on Forecaster's thoughts with his own brain. Mick was talking, but he already tuned him out. Owen just wanted to know if House knew about all his tools he had stashed in the Big MT, he wasn't expecting a fucking doomsday prophecy.

...Ah. He probably should've told him to focus on his money. Damnit.

"Mooooooooo." The pack-brahmin agreed.

Sometimes, Owen hated his job.

Under 3k words in two weeks? Unfortunately, yes. Still better ratio than the last two years, wouldn't you agree? Now, onto review responses.

CheesusChrist15 (8-29-17): Do I smell richard cheese? Nice username. Thank you, the crossover aspect really is coming, I swear. Give it just another chapter or two. Introductions are for introducing, after all.

PaxAmericana(8-30-17): Noted. Although, it's not like immersion is going to be easy once Owen's over in nightmareland fighting bears made of breathing darkness and battle-wizards, sorry, 'hunters' are leaping 20 feet into the air and running up walls. There is a bit of suspension of disbelief required, but I get what you mean. It'd be annoying if Owen was talking to himself in the middle of a battle wondering what perks he should pick or pulling a rocket launcher out of his a- out of his PIP-boy(Not throwing shade, there are some good fics where this happens, but with my writing style it wouldn't work out). Less video-gamey, more post-apocalyptic-y.

Guest(8-30-17): Hate to say this seeing as you waited two years for this answer, but You'll Know It When It Happens.

MoralityIsASpook: Already replied to you before in PM but shout-out to this guy for being a cool dude and a good writer. Check out his stories and follow them if you like, he updates regularly.

Guest(9-8-17): watch?v=bgs9OhjAE2g

Guest(7-14-19): Thank you! What exactly is it about how I write characters that you like?

AscendedHumanity(7-15-19) Noted. It does look different in my text editor than on FF. Luckily there's tools on the site for that. I'll be fixing them shortly after this chapter is uploaded.

VLF(7-16-19) He was an inspiration for the first chapter, though I didn't remember his name. The first chapter, as you can probably tell, was more of an experiment than anything. I've since had some differing ideas about how I want to take the direction of the plot, but rest assured, the NVPD absolutely will play a central role in things to come, mostly because of who they work for. I don't do empty words.

Author's Note: I've watched some of the more recent seasons of RWBY after Season 2. It, eh. Yeah. I'm going to be replacing some of the plot.