Chapter 43 - Suspicions & Suppositions


After three days on the road with him, it was official.

She had to cut Arc loose as soon as possible.

"Courier..."

Oh, somehow the problem wasn't the sheer positivity radiating off of him like rads from a fucking nuke.

In fact, in a weird way, it was growing on her, like fleas on a dog. If she were the sentimental sort, she'd almost call it "endearing" (so thank fuck she wasn't).

"... Courier..."

Oh, somehow the problem wasn't his naivety, idealism, or optimism either.

Sure, she'd been worried, when hearing him speak and act, that he'd eventually bite of more than he could chew, and drag her into some sort of trouble that'd compromise her job (Goodsprings didn't count; she'd have done it anyway since Doc Mitchell had patched her up).

But after having had the chance to see him in action multiple times, though, Pyrrha could safely say that the boy could probably handle almost anything in the Mojave with that weird sword of his... which really made her wonder where the hell he'd come from, and what the fuck he'd been through, to be able to impress her.

"... Courier!"

In fact, he'd proven himself to be a more than capable companion in the Wastes, not holding out on her when it came to food, water, or loot, and being more than willing to carry his share of the load and take watch shifts at night.

Despite all that, though, Pyrrha couldn't help but feel a growing sense of apprehension, that the longer things went sailing smoothly, the worse it would eventually be when shit hit the fan-

"COURIER SIX!"

"Huh, wha?" Pyrrha snapped to attention, tensing up and gripping her rifle with her spare hand as Jaune's words shook her out of her thoughts. "What is it, Arc? Are we under attack? Is it the Powder Gangers again? The Vipers?"

"Stop eating all the food as soon as I make them!" Jaune whined and pouted, not helping her image of him as a puppy in the least, while he slapped her hand away as it automatically reached for another skewer of coyote steak.

Pyrrha fought down a flush, though that didn't stop her from making another attempt at the food.

That, that right there, that was the biggest reason why she had to cut him loose.

Oh, sure, she knew how to cook. She was a Courier; her survival skills were top-notch.

But Jaune's cooking was just, dare she say, heavenly.

If she indulged in it any longer, she might get spoilt by it!

For the sake of their future selves, she had to say goodbye to Arc before she got too attached!

... and with that in mind, she should totally partake in as much of his cooking as she could manage, before their inevitable farewell...

And it would be inevitable.

Even though Arc was a surprisingly skilled survivalist (and that raised so many questions, like how the fuck could the boy compare to an experienced courier who'd been trained all her life to survive in the Wastes...), she was under no illusion that his companionship might not be temporary.

Once they'd tracked down her stolen package and delivered it to House, that would be it.

The two would go on to their separate ways.

And it would be for the best.

The life of a Wasteland Courier wasn't for most people.

And she wasn't a nice person, nor was she easy to get along with, especially not after she'd lost the Divide.

Pyrrha sighed, even as she began munching on the coyote steak he'd fried up, ignoring his grumbling.

Really, she'd be doing him a favor!

Better that they part on amicable terms, rather than letting him be tainted by mere associated with the Pyrrha Nikos.

And yet...

Pyrrha couldn't help but smile softly into her skewer, as she watched him huffing.

It was... refreshing, having some company during her travels.

She travelled alone out of circumstance, not choice.

And the fact that he was a ray of sunshine, easy on the eyes, and could cook didn't hurt in the least...

But that was why it had to be temporary.

She didn't want to have to go through the experience of having someone find out about her all over again.

She didn't want to see Arc's horrified face as he heard of her failure.

She didn't want to imagine him looking at her with a cold judgmental gaze, wondering whether he'd be the next one to be failed by her.

And that's why, until we part... please let me indulge myself as much as I can...

Jaune, on his part, noticed Pyrrha zoning out while staring in his direction, and hid a chuckle.

He'd had time to perfect his craft while on camping trips with his family, and it had only been honed through having to cook for Team JNPR, not to mention surviving in Skyrim and the Capital Wasteland.

He was glad to see it lived up to Courier Six's expectations.

Honestly, he was probably being too soft on her, but he just couldn't help himself.

While he couldn't place her red hair or green eyes (no matter how much he tried), her attitude just reminded him too much of his big sisters (if they hadn't been raised right by June Arc), what with the demanding haughtiness and the absolute lack of restraint when it came to his cooking.

He wasn't going to ask if she wanted seconds, though.

He was soft, not stupid.

"Hey, Arc..." Jaune heard Courier call out, and turned to her with a questioning look. "How'd you get so good at cooking?"

"I have seven older sisters." Jaune answered bluntly, as he bit into his own steak.

Pyrrha's hand paused as it brought another skewer to her mouth, as her mind processed his words and promptly shut down in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, seven?" Pyrrha echoed incredulously.

"Yup." Jaune nodded.

"Wha... how?" Pyrrha's mind was floored. How the hell could a family support so many children? Especially in this Wasteland?!

Jaune couldn't help himself. "You see, when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much..."

Pyrrha's brain short-circuited for a moment, and she quickly shoved the skewer into her mouth, to hide her growing smile and laughter.

Jaune didn't miss the amused twinkle in her eye, though, and fought down a grin.

The way she hid her smile and laughter made him want to chuckle, too.

In fact, it almost reminded him of Pyrrha...

Jaune's eyes widened.

There was no way, right?

"Fuck you, Arc." Courier Six finally shot back lamely, as she swallowed the meat in her mouth, though her eyes continued shimmering with undisguised mirth.

Jaune relaxed, and he mentally berated himself.

There was absolutely no way that this was this reality's version of his partner.

He couldn't even imagine his partner ever saying the word "fuck" without devolving into a blushing mess.

Just to be sure, though, he held out a chocolate bar, and offered: "Dessert?"

As she snatched it from him with absolutely no hesitation or shame, Jaune once again confirmed that there was no way Courier Six was Pyrrha Nikos.

"Thanks Arc." Pyrrha burped in a satisfied manner. "Now, shall we get going?"

"Remind me again why we couldn't have just made it to Nipton and spent the night in a proper bed..." Jaune sighed, as he began packing the camp up.

"Trust me, Arc; you don't want to spend the night in Nipton." Pyrrha rolled her eyes, before slyly adding: "Unless you might happen to know someone again?"

"I told you, that was a coincidence!" Jaune defended himself. "I had no idea Paulson would even be in Primm, let alone that he would be the new town sheriff!"

Pyrrha hummed thoughtfully, skeptical of Jaune's claims. But then again, she definitely had far more to hide, and so she didn't call him out for it.

She was, at least, sure about one thing.

Her journey with Arc so far had certainly not been boring.

When they'd gotten to Primm, they'd certainly managed to find clues about the people who'd shot her.

They'd also found an extremely odd situation.

A month before they'd arrived, the Powder Gangers had killed Primm's previous sheriff and his family, and tried to take over the town.

Most of the townsfolk had escaped, and the few that hadn't (or couldn't) ended up holing up in the local casino, resulting in a stalemate.

And, rather than helping (even though it'd been their fault the Powder Gangers even existed in the first fucking place), the NCR had opted to simply barricade the town, making sure the violence didn't spill out and threaten their Mojave Outpost.

At least the NCR had oh-so-generously offered their assistance... unfortunately, since the town technically wasn't under their jurisdiction, the only way they could send more men to protect Primm (not retake it, just protect it) was if Primm agreed to go under NCR control and pay taxes to the NCR.

The locals had, of course, told them to stuff it initially, but as the Powder Gangers had continued sieging the casino they'd been hiding in, more and more locals had found themselves wondering if their autonomy (and caps) was really worth it.

Things had gotten even more dire when the sole remaining lawman in the town, Deputy Beagle, had gotten captured listening in on a conversation between the Powder Gangers and some newly-arrived Great Khans.

And then, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, two days before they'd arrived, a cowboy had walked into town and sent all the Powder Gangers packing (all while shouting something about how they ain't got nothing on the little green men).

Anyway, the stranger ended up saving the town, who were so glad they promptly named him Sheriff (even though he didn't even know where he was, or what nukes and plasma pistols were).

And so, when they'd entered Primm, a surprised Jaune had been greeted by Sheriff Paulson, who'd happily gotten Deputy Beagle to share what he knew about "them Great Khan yahoos".

Confused, resupplied, and with a fresh lead, the two had left Primm, and made their way on past the Mojave Outpost towards Nipton...

"Courier, I see smoke." Jaune reported, snapping Pyrrha out of her musings, and she followed his finger in the direction of where Nipton should have been.

Indeed, there was smoke coming from the town.

Jaune couldn't help but run in, before Pyrrha could stop him.

As they drew closer, it became clearer that someone had attacked and sacked the town.

Corpses were piled up on burning tires.

But that wasn't what sent chills down Pyrrha's spine, though.

It was the men crucified to electrical poles, helplessly beset upon by biting flies as they baked in the sun, and the red banner of a golden bull.

Caesar's Legion had struck the town.

Pyrrha's mind began racing.

How?

How had the Legion struck this far West?

How had they attacked a town not even half a day from the NCR's precious Mojave Outpost?!

Despite everything Jaune had seen and been through, the sight and smell of the crucified men, left to rot in their own waste, made him once again throw up.

"Who..." Jaune hoarsely whispered, as he recovered from his nausea. "Who could have done something like this?"

"Caesar's Legion." Pyrrha spat. "Bunch of savages from the East, who loot, pillage, and rape everything."

"And nobody's doing anything about them?" Jaune asked incredulously.

"All the tribes that did got conquered and absorbed into the Legion, like a plague." Pyrrha explained. "The NCR's supposed to be fighting them, but..."

Jaune nodded in understanding, as Pyrrha gestured around the ruins of Nipton. "Have the NCR and the Legion actually ever fought before?"

"Outside of a few minor skirmishes... there was the Battle of Hoover Dam." Pyrrha thought about it for a second. "Well, I guess it's going to be the First Battle soon..."

"And seeing as how the NCR are still here, I'm guessing the Legion lost the First Battle?" Jaune pressed on, even as he looked for any signs of life.

"Pretty much, if they attacked right now, while the NCR are still fortifying and reinforcing the Dam, they could probably roll over them. Honestly, no one know why they haven't done so yet."

Jaune spent a moment to think things through, even as he continued his search for survivors.

"Really? Sounds to me like the Legion's got a good plan." Jaune finally mentioned off-handedly, as he checked the people on the crosses. They were already dead; he didn't know if it was a mercy.

Pyrrha blinked, before wheeling around to stare at Jaune.

"What?" Pyrrha demanded.

"What?" Jaune echoed back, shifting uncomfortably, confused by her sudden glare.

"What do you mean, the Legion's got a plan?"

"Well, I mean... whoever's in charge of this Legion..."

"Caesar."

"This Caesar... he knows the NCR can beat him, since they already have, right?"

"Yes, I guess?"

"So why attack until he's absolutely sure he can win? After all, the longer he waits, the worse it gets for the NCR."

"What do you mean? Wouldn't it be better to attack before the NCR finish setting up their defenses?"

"If the Legion could, then sure. But I don't think they were in that position, after they lost the First Battle and all." Jaune explained, recalling some of the games he'd played, some of the things Dr. Oobleck had mentioned during history classes, and what little he could remember from sitting in the Brotherhood's strategy meetings. "Instead, now they're forcing the NCR to concentrate all their forces in one area, tying down a lot of men and supplies, while they're free to hit everywhere else at their own leisure."

Pyrrha frowned, as she processed Jaune's words.

He was making sense.

A lot of sense.

Too much sense, in fact.

Because the Legion were already scary enough on their own.

Hearing that the Legion might actually have intelligence behind it, hearing that every brutal act wasn't done out of some animalistic violent nature, but actually calculated for some unknown motive...

Pyrrha fought down a shudder, and tried to think of something else.

Her gaze fell back on Jaune Arc.

Damn it, she knew she shouldn't pry, since he wasn't, but her curiosity just kept growing the more she learned about him!

The naive puppy who radiated positivity, sunshine, and ideals as he helped everyone, who also turned out to be a wicked-good swordsman and an excellent cook and survivalist... was also apparently well-versed in tactics and strategies?!

A melee fighter and survivalist, with an apparent knowledge in warfare...

... could he be ex-Legion?

Pyrrha just rolled her eyes, at the conclusion her brain had jumped to. Nobody knew of a person who was ex-Legion, and she highly doubted someone like him could have ever been in the Legion.

... damn it, she really knew she shouldn't pry, but surely one question couldn't hurt...

Before Pyrrha could open her mouth, though, Jaune tried the door to the Nipton Trading Post.

A Powder Ganger sitting in a chair stared at the pair, as they stood in the doorway.

He blinked.

"Uh... hi?" Jaune tried.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Boxcars couldn't help but shout, once again cursing his luck, as he looked at Jaune and Pyrrha. "First I get my legs smashed, then in walks the Powder Gangers' grim fucking reaper? What the fuck have you got against us, man?!"

"Is... is he talking about us?" Jaune asked Pyrrha, who merely shrugged.

"Jesus fucking Christ, if you want me dead, just gimme 15 Med-X and I'll fucking O.D. for ya, okay?" Boxcar continued ranting, ignoring the by-play. "Fuck!"

"Woah, calm down there." Jaune slowly approached the Powder Ganger, holding out his empty hands. Pyrrha, for her part, just watched her temporary companion, torn between curiosity and exasperation. "Easy... what happened to the town?"

"The Legion happened." Boxcars snapped. "What the fuck's it look like?"

"Told you, Arc." Pyrrha whispered to Jaune.

Jaune ignored her as he tried a different method of approach. "So... why are you still here, then?"

"I dunno, I just love it here." Boxcars drawled sarcastically, gesturing to the looted shop he'd been sitting in. "What the fuck do you think, asshole?"

"I'm thinking I've got a bullet with your name on it if you don't cut that the fuck out." Pyrrha growled.

"Please, death would be a fucking mercy." Boxcars rolled his eyes, though he complied. "Prize for second place was I got to live, but they beat my fucking legs with hammers. I'm fucking crippled, get it?"

"Second place?" Jaune echoed, confused.

"That's right. You're looking at the second place winner of the Nipton lottery!" Boxcars drawled. "That asshole Swanick took first place, so him they let walk! At least I wasn't one of them losers, though..."

"... I know I'm going to regret this, but what did the losers of the lottery get?" Jaune couldn't help but ask, massaging the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

"The lucky losers got decapitated, then there were the crucifixions, and god those went on and on and on..." Boxcars began listing off with his fingers. "The mayor got burned alive on a pile of tires, and third place was slavery. Poor bastards are probably in the middle of Legion territory right now..."

"Christ..." Pyrrha murmured.

Jaune fought down a wave of nausea. Oum, even the Capital Wasteland hadn't been that bad...

Even though they were Powder Gangers, escaped convicts, a part of him wished he could still help them.

But at the same time, Nipton had been hit a while ago; there was no way he could find the enslaved Powder Gangers, let alone convince Courier Six to abandon her job and go looking for them.

At the very least, though...

"I'll go and check upstairs for some Med-X." Pyrrha announced, as Jaune moved to examine the Powder Ganger's legs.

She couldn't fix him; she didn't have the equipment or training to heal bones that had been shattered that badly.

But she wasn't heartless, either.

At the very least, though, she could help him with the pain.

A bullet would be cheaper and easier, but she doubted Arc would approve.

As she reached the top of the stairs, however, there was a sudden flash of a light from below.

A warm and familiar white light.

Pyrrha's eyes widened.

She spun on her heel and sprinted down the stairs, skipping steps as she ran.

She remembered that light.

She could never forget that light.

She could almost feel the comforting warmth radiating from the light.

But hadn't it all been a hallucination? A delusion from her bullet-addled brain, to comfort her in her dying state?

Why was it back?

Where was it coming from?

The light faded, as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

As she burst back into the main room of the Nipton Trading Post, where she'd last seen Jaune and Boxcars, she found Boxcars standing up, staring at his now-functioning legs.

"I-uh-buh-what the fuck?" Boxcars stuttered, too shocked to form proper words, as he began looking back and forth between his legs and Jaune. "How...?"

"Eh, don't mention it." Jaune just shrugged, before adding. "Just... do us all a favor and warn the Mojave Outpost, alright? I know you guys and the NCR don't exactly get along, but nobody deserves what happened here."

"Whatever you say, sir." Boxcars answered automatically, unable to muster the slightest hint of resistance or sarcasm as he tested his legs. It was a miracle! A motherfucking miracle! He didn't even care if the NCR threw him back in jail! He could fucking walk again!

Jaune watched with a small smile as the Powder Ganger practically danced out of the store, too enthusiastic to even thank him, before he noticed Pyrrha staring at him, her mouth hanging wide open.

"Hey, Courier, I guess you won't be needing that "Med-X" anymore." Jaune helpfully informed her.

Pyrrha blinked, and shook her head, trying to regain her composure.

Questions were filling her head.

What the fuck had just happened?

How the fuck was the Powder Ganger walking?

What the fuck was that light?

Where the fuck had it gone?

How the fuck was Arc connected to it all?

Unfortunately, while her mind was racing, her mouth was less than coherent.

Jaune spent a second waiting, but as the Courier still remained unintelligible, he just shrugged, and suggested: "Well, I guess we'll head up to Novac now, Six?"

Pyrrha forced her mouth shut, and she looked Jaune Arc over, as if seeing him in a new light.

Had he changed the subject on purpose, or was she just imagining things?

Should she call him out on it?

What if she risked alienating him, driving him away, based merely on her suspicions?

"Hey, Six, you alright?" Jaune asked, concern tinging his voice. "You've just been staring for a minute already."

"I'm fine, Arc." Pyrrha answered automatically, even as her mind kept asking a single question.

Just who the fuck are you, Arc?

-PROSPECTOR SALOON, GOODSPRINGS-

"I'm telling you, Trudy, 'e's gotta be the Lone Wanderer!"

The woman in the red cloak almost spat out her drink, but thanks to years of experience managed to control herself and school her expression.

"This again, Sunny?" The bartender sighed. "You know the Lone Wanderer's just a legend from the Capital Wasteland!"

"But you saw how he was with that sword!" The woman argued.

"Yes, but it was just a sword." The bartender pointed out. "You know the stories say the Lone Wanderer's a knight in shining power armor, whose sword bursts into flame and has electricity running through it."

The cloaked woman breathed a sigh of relief, and automatically tuned out the rest of the conversation, opting instead to finish her drink.

Looked like stories of her exploits had already spread this far West, and by the sounds of things there were more people being inspired by her example and copying it.

Heh, it was sort of poetic, in an ironic way.

After all, what else was she, but just someone inspired by his example, copying it as she did many other things?

A familiar pang ran through her chest, and she quickly downed the rest of her drink, before waving goodbye to the two arguing women as she got up to leave.

At least the copycat the people were talking about seemed to have some level of skill.

She was tired of seeing people trying to copy his deeds without having even a fraction of his ability.

He probably wouldn't have wanted to see all the dead hero-wannabes, after all.

She couldn't help but smile, as she stroked the locket around her neck, and tried to imagine his reaction, if he ever found out how she'd preserved his legacy.

Then she shook her head.

She'd come all the way here today for a different reason.

She slowly walked up the slope, to a small house overlooking the rest of Goodsprings, and knocked on the door twice.

A bald man with a white mustache opened the door, and looked down at the stranger.

"Hi, are you Doc Mitchell?" The woman asked, hiding her nervousness and social awkwardness well.

"I am." Doc Mitchell nodded, opening the door to invite the woman in. "And who might I have the pleasure of speaking to?"

"My name is Ruby "Rose" Ironwood." The woman lowered her red clock, revealing her red-tipped black hair and silver eyes. "And I've just got a few questions for you, Mr. Mitchell."

"Rose? Ironwood?" Doc Mitchell repeated, staring at the girl. Then it all clicked. "You're Jimmy's and Summer's kid? They actually finally hooked up?!"

"Yup and yup!" Ruby chirped, as Doc Mitchell led her into his house. "That's me!"

"So, how have your folks been?"

"They died years ago." Ruby said, her tone falling slightly. She'd had years to come to terms with it, but that didn't mean she didn't miss them at all.

"Oh... I'm sorry." Doc Mitchell apologized.

"It's okay."

"If you don't mind me asking..."

"Mom died giving birth to me, while Dad died making the Capital Wasteland a better place."

"The Capital Wasteland?" Mitchell echoed incredulously. "They made it that far East?"

"Yup! Though they're thinking of renaming it, now that Dad's purifier cleaned the entire Tidal Basin..."

"... wait a second..." Mitchell murmured, as he tried remembering a certain book. Fortunately, a certain boy's recent presence made the book's title and contents easier to recall. "The Capital Wasteland... you're the author of the Wasteland Survival Guide?!"

"Co-Author, but yes." Ruby corrected him with a blush, before elaborating: "My... best friend did most of the research; I only helped turn it into a book."

"I see..." Doc Mitchell replied politely, before asking: "So, what brings you all the way to the Mojave?"

"Well, I was going through my dad's old notes, and I learned that he and mom came from Vault 21." Ruby explained. "And so I got curious to see if I had any more family out there, you know?"

"Ah, gotcha." Doc Mitchell nodded, before reluctantly adding: "Well, I'd love to help, but..."

"But?" Ruby repeated, not liking where this was going.

"Well, Vault 21's no longer a vault. Mr. House won it in a game of Blackjack years ago, kicked most people out and turned it into a hotel." Doc Mitchell answered. "Most of us went our separate ways after that..."

"Oh..." Ruby's face fell.

Doc Mitchell couldn't help but feel guilty; making Ruby Ironwood sad made him feel like he'd just kicked a puppy.

"But you could always try heading to Vault 21 directly; maybe the Weintraubs might have kept in touch with some of the others." Doc Mitchell hastily suggested, before offering: "And I could always answer any questions you have about how your old folks were, back in the day."

"Thanks, Doc Mitchell!" Ruby said, smiling brightly. "And I'll keep it in mind! I don't know how long I've got in the Mojave, though, so I'd better check Vault 21 first. Do you know where it is?"

"No problem, Ruby. Just head on to New Vegas. Can't miss it." Doc Mitchell told her, before frowning and adding: "I'd recommend you take the long route, though. The direct route's been crawling with Deathclaws and all sorts of other wildlife."

"Thanks for the tip, but I can take care of myself." Ruby revealed the hilt of the greatsword on her back.

Doc Mitchell's eyes widened.

The sword's hilt was complicated.

Overly-complicated.

But he recognized a propane tank and a fusion battery when he saw one.

"Are... are you..." Doc Mitchell couldn't help but whisper, staring at her.

"Please don't freak out." Ruby begged, as she nodded and drew out her blade.

Holding it in both hands, she pushed her thumb down on the switch in the guard, and a small jet of pressurized propane shot out, coating the blade, as electricity began running up the length of the blade, the sparks igniting it.

Doc Mitchell's jaw dropped, as he stared at the marvel of engineering.

Ruby flicked the switch once more, and the fire and the electricity died, revealing just a "normal" blade once more.

"What... how..." Doc Mitchell's mind was swimming.

Jimmy's and Summer's kid was the Lone Wanderer!

And she had a sword!

Doc Mitchell's mouth, however, asked: "So... you're the Red Reaper, who bathes in the blood of your enemies?"

Ruby's face burned with embarrassment, and she sheathed her sword and hid her face in her hood as she defended herself: "That was just one time! Stupid Enclave threw a Deathclaw at me, and all I had was a ripper..."

Doc Mitchell led out a sigh of relief.

Despite being a legend in the Wasteland (and a sometimes terrifying one at that), it was clear that the Ironwood was, at least, human.

And had inherited some of Summer's shyness to boot, too.

"So, the Lone Wanderer, eh?"

"I kept trying to introduce myself as a Knight-Errant, or at least a Wandering Knight, but for some reason the Lone Wanderer title kind of... stuck." Ruby complained.

"So, how'd you make that fancy sword?"

"Oh, the blade's made of Enclave Hellfire Power Armor, since it's the only thing that could withstand the heat..." Ruby began rambling, excited to discuss her baby.

Doc Mitchell couldn't help but smile, as he listened to the young lady.

Despite looking a lot like her father (except for having her mother's eyes), it was clear that she'd gotten a lot of her personality from Summer Rose.

"... well, the design isn't perfected yet." Ruby finished lamely. "The original blade, the one that I'm trying to copy, had fire, electricity, and frost on it."

"That... doesn't seem physically possible." Doc Mitchell raised an eyebrow as he heard her describe the original.

Ruby fought down the urge to answer with "It's Jaune", and instead just shrugged and continued: "It also had a sheath that turned into a shield... but I couldn't make the sword any smaller, so I can't use a shield with it."

"Just what kind of sword are you trying to build?!" Doc Mitchell couldn't help but exclaim.

Missing the sarcasm, Ruby happily answered: "The sword that I'm copying, the guys used to call it Excalibur (though I still don't know why). But since that blade's Excalibur, then mine will be Arondight!"

Ah, the sword of Lancelot, the First of the Knights of the Round.

If he didn't know any better, it sounded like Ironwood was trying to emulate someone.

"So... where in the Wasteland did you learn to fight with a sword? I'm pretty sure Jimmy and Summer never used one..."

"Oh, from the same guy that taught me how to survive, the same guy whose sword I've been trying to copy."

"The other Co-Author of the Wasteland Survival Guide, right?"

"Yup! It took me years of practice and experience, but I'm finally able to copy some of the moves he used to effortlessly pull off!" Ruby proudly declared, before an alarm on her Pip-Boy sounded. She checked it, and as her eyes widened, she hastily apologized: "I'm sorry, Doc Mitchell, but I have to get going now. Thankyousomuchforeverythingandgoodbye!"

"Take care, kid!" Mitchell called back, as she sprinted out of the door (she was fast, he had to admit), before shaking his head in fond exasperation.

Honestly, Ironwood's kid was just so naive and trusting. Why did he keep running into kids like that?

Then again, what else could he expect from the author who'd added the line in her book "strangers are just friends you haven't met yet"...

His eyes shot open.

He rushed as fast as his bum knee could take him, towards his copy of the Wasteland Survival Guide.

He quickly flipped to the Author's Foreword, and stared at it.

... it had to be a coincidence, right?

There was no way the Jaune Arc she was talking about, the guy who'd taught her how to use a sword, was the same Jaune Arc that had brought the Courier into his clinic, and defended his town from the Powder Gangers... with a sword...

...

... he should probably ask Ruby how Jaune Arc died, just to be sure, if she ever came back.

And maybe a physical description while he was at it.


Author's Note: This chapter took much longer than usual... mainly because work's been even more tiring than usual, but also because I got stuck trying to figure out if I should bother with the Primm part of the story (which I didn't; they've brutalized the Powder Gangers enough), or if I should skip past that relatively boring section. And so, to make up for it, I decided to just combine it with the next chapter, rather than end it with the woman in the red cloak finding Doc Mitchell.

Just a reminder; the Pyrrha Jaune knows is a 17 year old polite girl in armor with Milo and Akouo, who has never lost a fight as far as he's known, and is also beautiful enough to be able to star in commercials. The Courier that he's helping is a 25 year old woman with 2 bullet holes in her head and has no issue dropping Precision F Bombs, and while still beautiful doesn't have nearly the same skin-care regiment thanks to growing up in a post-apocalyptic nuclear desert wasteland. He finds her face and voice maddeningly familiar, but really doesn't have a reason to associate his partner with the Courier yet. Where Pyrrha's a showy fighter, Courier is ruthlessly and mercilessly pragmatic. Backflips? Why bother? Just shoot the bomb in their hand, then follow it up with a bullet to the brain.

Also, as a Beacon student and Skyrim survivor... Jaune can definitely match the Courier in general survival skills, though her experience in the Mojave Wasteland is naturally higher than his.

And yes, that is really what happened to Primm. Yes, to be fair, the NCR is overstretched and focusing on their big priorities, such as Vegas and the Hoover Dam. But from the locals' perspectives... the NCR gave criminals explosives, who used it to escape, and when the escaped convicts attacked the surrounding areas, the NCR just did the bare minimum to protect their own interests. You can see why the people of Primm would be less than pleased with the NCR.

Also yeah... canonically speaking, Paulson (or as Sally calls him, Jangles the Moon Monkey) leaves Mothership Zeta, to find his own way through the Wasteland. All he has aboard the ship is bad memories, of how he was abducted, how he failed to protect his wife and son. So I decided to have him end up in Primm. Hopefully he finds some peace there.

Just as an aside... Pyrrha is trained to be a champion fighter, a one-man army. She can deal with dozens of armed men by herself. That doesn't necessarily mean she knows much about team-fighting techniques or strategic and tactical movements. Compound this with the fact that she, like everyone else West of the Hoover Dam, has come to believe that the Legion are little more than enslaving and brutish thugs (which they may well be), and you can see why she doesn't appreciate the genius behind the Legion delaying the Second Battle of Hoover Dam. Jaune, on the other hand, being trained as a team leader in Beacon, and being an outsider, can see things differently.

Of course, with that said, I'm not even sure if the reasons Jaune suggests are the actual canonical reasons for why they do it; while Caesar's top generals do seem smart enough to think of it, Caesar himself... not so much. Even so, no matter what, Caesar's Legion are still people, not Grimm. They are, in their own sick and twisted way, acting in accordance with their own logic and reason. And like how I tried not to portray the Enclave as cartoonishly evil, so too do I want to try to avoid portraying the Legion as mindlessly evil.

It was also honestly amusing and confusing, watching everyone believe that the legend of the Lone Wanderer referred to Jaune Arc. After all, in the Capital Wasteland, Jaune never travelled alone, and never revealed his sword and Aura to anyone outside of the Lyons' Pride (and obviously the Enclave). Also I actually had to tone down the foreshadowing in the previous chapters, because it was honestly so thick I'd call it Jaune Arc if it were blonde.

But yeah, for the payoff... the Lone Wanderer, aka the Red Reaper, aka LIBERTY PRIME, is in the Mojave.

Okay, I'm kidding, but yes, Ruby's back.

No, she's not here for Jaune (yet); she's already accepted he's dead (as far as she knows). She's here coincidentally, looking up Vault 21 to see if she has any more living relations.

And according to my previous chapter, she does actually know the name of Jaune's partner...

Eh, just a fun fact.

I'm sure absolutely nothing will come of it.

What could possibly go wrong, and all that jazz, eh?