AN: Hello again, ladies and gents, to another chapter of Sand and Steel.
We saw the Lone Wanderer in the first chapter, now let's take a look from all the way across to the other side of the war-torn United States at our other hero now hailing from the beautiful and shining city, New Vegas.
And I know you guys are just waitin' for some of the sweet, sweet works from Obsidian Entertainment.
Comments:
Guest: More like Mass Effect's Paragon and Renegade morality system, it's complicated.
Speaking of Mass Effect's dialogue system, Fallout 4's getting more DLC: Wasteland Workshop Mouse Trap Board Game edition, Disney Land if it was advertised by Coca-Cola, and a Vault-Tec reenactment add-on.
*Drops mic and leaves the stage*
Mandalore the freedom: Your feedback is appreciated, thank you kindly.
edboy4926: Thank you.
Sanford's Vessel: Welp, thank you. Shame that your vessel doesn't allow you to teleport between different bonfires, unlike a different vessel (*cough* mandatoryDarkSoulsReference *cough*).
Now, onto the story.
AD VICTORIAM!
I do now own either Fallout or RWBY.
"And in those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them."
-Revelation 9:6
Chapter 2: The Omega
It was another hot day under the scorching sun that ravaged the Mojave wasteland. Old world relics scattered about the desert like garbage; old bones of man, brahmin, and many other creatures lay motionless, bleached by the hot ball that had been hanging above the sky, beating down on all it saw like an angry god.
The Mojave wasteland may not have been the most comfortable of places, but it was home to many. Prospectors, raiders, ghouls, Super Mutants and their schizophrenic cousins: the Nightkin, you name it.
And in the choked sands of what once was known as Nevada, there laid the capitol of a new nation that had been formed after the bombs had fallen.
A glittering, almost literal diamond in the rough known as New Vegas, a city known for standing the test of time and decay even during the Great War. It was a city of dreams, sins, and the chances to go big or go home for just about anybody who had the caps, dollars, or denarius to do so.
For the capitol of the Mojave to even take on it's luxurious appearance, the former Sin City was powered by a concrete behemoth barricading the Colorado River known as Hoover Dam. Harnessing the power of hydroelectricity, the dam introduced light once more to the land of New Vegas, once led by their enigmatic de facto leader: Mr. House.
Though there were some that sought to control the land that made up the Mojave. And to control the Mojave meant that both the dam and the city must be under their influence as well.
To the west of the Mojave was a booming nation known as the New California Republic, or NCR for short. Founded in a place known as Shady Sands, the settlement grew steadily until it formed into the powerhouse nation that, to this day, controls nearly the entirety of Old California. It's white flag bearing the image of a two-headed grizzly bear walking across a patch of green grass, a red star was visible alongside this image on the corner of the flag.
Though the New California Republic was doing it's best to mirror the positive traits of a nation that had once thrived before the war, it had also fallen to inheriting some of America's bad. Corruption and infighting was a common trait in such things like the NCR, so it was understandable and to be expected from a nation trying to mimic old world traditions such as democracy.
But it's greed and hunger for expansion? They had paid the price with a fair share of blood from another force to be reckoned with.
Meanwhile, to the east laid a mighty empire. A golden bull emblazoned upon a red flag and their soldiers sporting the appearance of Roman soldiers during the times of old. Old even for pre-war history. This empire, known as Caesar's Legion, was lead by a man known as Caesar.
Only a select few knew of his real name, Edward Sallow, but that number has been dwindling significantly, save for one who had survived a grisly execution and had fled to eventually take part in and change history in a canyon residing in the remnants of Utah.
Caesar's Legion was the NCR's counterpart in every sense of the word, it's polar opposite in every way, shape, and form. The Legion was a dictatorship that implemented old, archaic methods that spanned many a millennium. Slavery was the most well-known of these methods, and although there's been many demonstrations of such practices throughout the many wastelands that dotted the fractured States, the Legion was it's poster boy.
Their tyrannical leader had spread lies to his followers, proclaiming himself the son of Mars, falsely confessing that the bombs had been sent by the god of war for the sole purpose that mankind has grown weak; and if anyone dare to disapprove of these proclamations, either he or his Legate, be it the Malpais or Lanius, would personally see to their punishment. Though the Legion was a cruel and brutal empire, Caesar's purpose of the Legion was to unify mankind under one banner in an attempt to create order.
But like any other tyrant with good intentions, their ends required devastating and abominable means of carrying it out.
And so two powerful nations forced themselves against one another for one sole reason: the Hoover Dam. The NCR wanted the power that the dam contained to provide electricity for the republic; while the Legion wanted power, not power that the Dam provided directly through hydroelectricity, but as a symbol of strength, wanting to then take control of Vegas to give Caesar the "New Rome" he's been looking for.
Both powers had been locked in a fierce stalemate, neither side gaining control of the other. The NCR had it's technology, firepower, and manpower; while the Legion had strategic advantage, using guerrilla tactics to make short work of their adversaries, alongside their durability towards harsh conditions and their fierce dedication to their leader.
But after a long while, their stalemate was broken, not by either side gaining control of the other, but by an outside party. A force to be reckoned with, a man who was brought back from the grave only to seek out his killer and finish the job.
He was known as the one who braved the Sierra Madre (even making it out alive with some of it's gold as well), the one who had met face to face with the former Malpais Legate: Joshua Graham; one who had taken part in the hazardous, yet somewhat outrageous, misadventures of Big Mountain (also known as the Big MT to others) and it's Think Tank before braving through and surviving the skin-rending, radiation-filled hellhole known as the Divide, his assumed nemesis' fate unknown to those who've heard the stories.
This man had taken both factions and brought them to their knees, usurping power from Mr. House, and forced the Legion back east, using not only his wits and weapons, but his remarkably infamous silver tongue. With the power given to him by both an army of Securitrons and a deal brokered by the NCR, he was now fit to rule over the city of New Vegas.
This man had many names since the Second Battle of the Hoover Dam, but he would always favor the first he was given, ever since Doc Mitchell brought him back from the dead.
This man was The Courier.
-oOo-
It had been two years since the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, and even after the dust had settled, there were still grudges to be held.
More specifically, the Legion. Before the Courier took power over Vegas, he had performed many misdoings in the eyes of those that followed under the banner of the bull.
The first of the Courier's sins was after the sacking of Nipton. Vulpes and his legionnaires made short work of the town and spared the one who had won the "lottery", they had spotted a figure making it's way towards them. Wearing a vault suit with a familiar thirteen emblazoned on it's back, an old weathered 10mm in it's holster, and a 20 gauge in his hands, the stranger approached them, his eyes widened with horror and disgust.
A typical response for a profligate.
"Don't worry," he had said, "I won't have you lashed to a cross like the rest of these degenerates. It's useful that you happened by."
Vulpes only received silence from the stranger. Good, most certainly out of fear.
"I want you to witness the fate of the town of Nipton, to memorize every detail. And then, when you move on? I want you to teach everyone you meet the lesson that Caesar's Legion taught here, especially any NCR troops you run across."
More silence.
"So you won't talk? Good, that means you're listening. I want you to learn the lessons that have been taught here. That fact that they are weak and they are strong? I'm sure you know that already. No, it was their dissolution, their moral sickness, that made it a perfect example. It was a wicked and corrupt place, serving all, the sinners and weak alike, so long as they paid. They even had the gall to serve the men of the legion, a city of whores, so they had to be dealt with," the legionnaire grinned wickedly at the stranger before turning away, "So tell all of what happened, the sinners, the weak, the whores, the beggars, let them know that the Legion will come for them. And once you are finished, I will find you. So I now bid you "Vale"- until we meet again."
The stranger knew he was both outgunned and outmanned, so he could do nothing but watched as the legionnaire walked away, his lackeys following behind him like the dogs that followed them.
It wasn't until he had finished his "meeting" with Benny where he ran into Vulpes again, standing in front of the Courier as soon as he exited The Tops casino.
"The eyes of the mighty Caesar are upon you. He admires your accomplishments, and bestows you the exceptional gift of his Mark," the frumentarii had started, "Any crimes you may have perpetrated against the Legion are hereby forgiven. Caesar will not extend this mercy a second time. My Lord requires your presence at his camp, at Fortification Hill. His Mark will guarantee your safe-conduct through our lands. Make your way to Cottonwood Cove, south of Nelson, and you will be brought before the mighty Caesar. We will be expecting your arrival."
Vulpes turned on his heels and walked away, but had stopped when a voice emitted itself to him.
"[Terrifying Presence]No, only Caesar will be expecting me. You won't have the chance to make it back to base," he turned around to see the now-dubbed "Courier" pressing the barrel of a pistol against his forehead. The gun had shined with a golden hue, a long intricate design of flowers covered the barrel. And on the handle of a gun was an image that Vulpes barely managed to make out.
The picture was that of a woman, her eyes closed and her head down, surrounded by golden light and covered in a green cloak with a yellow garb, and angel below her.
Vulpes had been transfixed by this picture for merely a half-second before he heard the sound of the pistol's hammer being pulled back. The legionnaire looked back at the man, who looked back at him with a look of disappointment on his face.
A gunshot sounded off from the pistol before being holstered by it's wielder, who watched as the body of the frumentarii crumpled to the ground, looking at the new hole that had made itself known at the base of Vulpes' forehead.
And that was only his first misdoing with the Legion.
His many sins would later be killing off camps throughout the wasteland, freeing slaves, and killing frumentarii that blended in with both New Vegas' and the New California Republic's many soldiers.
But his biggest and worst atrocity of all? Crossing Cottonwood Cove, storming the Fort of the Legion and killing all who stood in his path, and with the help of a cybernetic dog whom the ruler of the Legion had known before and a 1st recon marksmen of the NCR, they had put an end to Caesar's reign, his corpse sitting on his throne as a fifty-caliber had left the barrel of an anti-materiel rifle and into the tumor-ridden skull of Edward Sallow.
Ever since then, they had been led by an even more brutal leader: Lanius. And even then, he had been forced to retreat back east with just the words of the Courier himself.
These were the stories that the few survivors of the Second Battle had told, spreading the stories of "The One who killed the Fox".
Although the Courier was feared, that did not mean he wasn't deemed as a threat. Lanius had learned that the Courier was not someone to mess with, so he had to do something that seemed out of the ordinary even for some of the more seasoned members of the Legion.
Rather than just rush blindly into battle, the former Legate had been attempting to send scouts to the Mojave, trying to exploit a weakness in the city and take New Vegas for the mighty empire that had once stood against the weak and corrupt NCR.
Key word being "attempting". See, as Lanius sent scouts into the harsh desert, he grew more and more furious. His reasons being that they'd never come back. He started off with sending a small group of three, knowing that his legionnaires were strong enough to hold their own in combat.
They never returned, so he then sent a much larger group. Eighteen would most certainly be more than enough to survive whatever was killing his men.
And just like before, there was no news of them. When he had heard of this, Lanius grew enraged, but the Monster of the East was far from a savage, he had to keep a level mind if he wanted to best his adversary.
So one last time, he sent a group of seven. Neither too big to be conspicuous in the middle of the Mojave wasteland nor too small to fall to even the simplest of the wasteland's many abominations.
-oOo-
September 20th, 2284.
Gypsum Train Yard, East of New Vegas.
Midday.
It had been a bad day for Quintus, having to be chosen for the scouting party to New Vegas, much worse having to be the leader.
Like a majority of the Legion, he had once been a part of another tribe. His was called the Sun Geckos. A tribe from southern Utah born from Vault 91. The Vault's purpose was to test the effects of an airborne experimental steroid not unlike Psycho on a small population; the experiment was successful... slightly. It succeeded in giving strength, stamina, and senses to the inhabitants, but there was a side effect that caused seventy percent of the newborn population to suffer from deforming birth defects. Even worse, the negative effects of the steroid were passed on from the original vault dwellers to their children, whether they were deformed or not.
Once the Vault opened up after a century and a half of isolation, they were greeted by the Utah wasteland. There, they set up a community, usually hunters and farmers, nothing too special.
Then in 2264, Caesar's Legion made their presence known to his tribe, hearing rumors of a group of enhanced warriors after exposure to a special Vault.
To put it simply: when they were finished with his tribe, they were forced to render unto Caesar.
And now here he was, walking towards his death and having to bring a bunch of legionnaire foot soldiers to ease his fear of dying.
That was only the first of Quintus' problems. Second was the rumors of the other two scouting parties, never returning after an attempt to find a way for the Legion to exploit a way to storm Vegas for their own.
The legionnaire had also heard of the stories of the Courier. Some say he sported a special service rifle and the armor of an NCR ranger, yet did not bear their insignia; others told tales of him wearing the power armor of the old Enclave decades ago with a plasma rifle in his hands, yet the skeptical claimed to have seen him with nothing but a checkered suit and a golden gun, claimed to be picked off of a dead man.
The third problem was his own survival. Quintus knew that they couldn't fight the Courier, so he was guaranteed that the squad would die. But if there were any survivors who've never had the sense or fortune to die quickly in combat? Well, any dedicated/idiotic member of the Legion would walk back to the heart of their empire and plead forgiveness from Lanius, who was almost never on the forgiving side. He'd make an example of those that dared to show face after a defeat.
So it was a double-edged sword. Fight the Courier and you die, manage to survive an encounter and you still die, whether it be from Lanius' wrath or whatever the wasteland would throw you.
In the meantime, he would have to live his last moments talking down to the bunch of surviving idiots behind him.
"Would you all just shut up!" the legionnaire leader yelled at the remaining bickering group of foot soldiers.
At first there had been seven, but two were lost. The first was attacked by a swarming group of radscorpions, forcing them to progress further towards the heart of the Mojave through the Gypsum Train Yards of all places after having to cut around Lake Mead, which was riddled with Deathclaws (though most of them were dead, for some reason), adding to the fact that Camp Golf, which was an area filled with NCR soldiers, was right around the corner.
The second had the unfortunate chance of being found by a deathclaw, a blind one no less. At least his death was quick, getting killed by a pack of mutated scorpions wouldn't be considered a fast death, or a painless one.
Quintus turned around to see the remaining four behind him playing around with the helmet of a centurion which they had picked up probably half an hour ago. The idiot that picked it up had been wearing it for the rest of the travel.
The Legion soldier swore under his breath, these guys had the intelligence of the potatoes he used to grow back when he was a Sun Gecko, probably even more idiotic as his plants at least had the ability to grow under harsh conditions, while these guys' brains seemed to fry when exposed to the sun.
"Oh lighten up, Quintus! Just you wait, when we get to Vegas and tell Lanius of our success, we'll probably get a pick of his slaves," the one wearing the helmet laughed bombastically, "I know you've been gettin' a looksie at 'em."
"I don't know what you're talkin' about," the legionnaire answered monotonously, though the idiot was right, some of Lanius' slave women were in fact quite beautiful.
Well, that is when they still had their eyes in their sockets, at least.
Anyway, fantasies of Legion women aside, the group continued to make their way to Vegas for the next half hour, having to avoid deadly creatures such as lakelurks that have wandered a bit too far from their home, radscorpions, deathclaws, and the most feared creature in the wasteland: the cazador.
While the deathclaw has been seen in a majority of the old United States' wastelands, the cazador was an exclusive horror in the far west end of the former pre-war country. No one knows where they came from (though some think that the Courier himself might have a clue as to how they even exist), but they did know this: they are deadly, they are vicious, and they always came in swarms. Erratic in movements, and venomous through the use of their stingers, they left little to no survivors in their wake.
After another half hour of walking through the hard, burning sand, they finally came across the oasis of the Mojave, standing on the other side of a dilapidated highway: New Vegas itself.
Quintus had never been to the city, but he'd heard the stories before. Tales telling of a land filled to the brim with glittering light and color as far as the eye could see, and now he was standing before it! No wonder Legion soldiers act so awestru-
The legionnaire's thoughts were interrupted as his foot made contact with a rock that had found it's way in his path, not only gashing one of his toes, but also causing him to trip and take a tumble down a small hill. As he made his way to the bottom, Quintus was very much aware of the other Legion soldiers laughing at his misery; he groaned slightly and looked up to see the centurion-helmed legionnaire laughing at him and pointing their fingers.
Well, that is until his head suddenly exploded, showering the rest of the troops around his corpse in an explosion of red and grey goop. Both the corpse and the centurion helmet clattered to the ground, throwing up a small dust cloud of pale sand.
"Sniper! Get do- gah!" one of the legionnaires screamed before another shot tore through his chest, leaving a fist-sized hole where the part of his upper torso used to be.
The man was dead before he hit the ground.
Quintus did not dare to get back up, fearing that the next shot would belong to him.
"True to Caesar! For the Legio- GRAAGH!" the scout leader heard another scream as a bullet whizzed past his head and tore once more into the other legion soldier, finally silencing the legionnaire. After summoning the courage to finally look up, he found himself looking at the fleeing form of the last soldier.
That didn't last long, however, as another shot tore into the man's lower back, forcing the man to emit a grunt and fall to his knees. The legionnaire kneeled on the hard ground for only a matter of seconds before another bullet tore into his helmet and perforated his head before exiting and creating a miniature crater in the ground, blood spraying out of the wound as the last man fell onto the sun-baked earth.
The former scout leader laid on the ground, uncaring about the sun that beat down on him, or the scorching ground that tore into his skin like an army of fire ants, he knew that the next shot would be for him. His flinched as another shot flew past his head and smashed into the ground just a few inches beside his head.
After a few seconds of recollecting his thoughts, Quintus turned to look at the bullet that laid next to him in confusion. They could've fired at him, yet they didn't, in fact, they did the opposite.
They missed. The enemy had wiped out their entire group with well placed shots, and yet they missed.
Another shot fired, this time on the other side. The legionnaire suddenly realized that this had to have been done on purpose, they wanted him alive.
Cautiously, Quintus removed the nine millimeter pistol from his holster and tossed it to the side then proceeded to the unsheathe his machete and proceed to do the same. He then raised his arms above his head, trying to prove that he wasn't a threat to whoever was shooting at the legion soldiers around him.
'I surrender I surrender I surrender I surrend-' the man's thoughts were interrupted as he felt a sharp sting prick the side of his neck. His hand flew to his throat and grabbed whatever had stung him to get a look at whatever it was.
Quintus looked at the object in confusion, 'A dart? Why would they shoot me with a... ohh... now I...'
The legionnaire's thoughts began to grow sluggish before he finally crumpled to the ground, the last thing he saw was a glint of light reflecting off the scope of a sniper rifle.
From the other side of the ruins, standing from the top of the Lucky 38 casino, two figures stood. The two, one being a man wearing a 1st recon NCR beret and a pair of sunglasses while holding a .308 caliber sniper rifle in his hand; while the other was a girl, no older than thirteen, with a scoped hunting rifle with both hands now gripped on the barrel and a pair of binoculars hanging from a string around her neck, watched as the man laid still on the barren ground.
"So... what do we do with him now?" the girl asked, looking at the man for an answer.
"I'll keep watch over him and make sure nothing tries to make dinner out of the scumbag," the man answered in a soft, yet raspy voice.
"What about me?" she asked, slinging her rifle over her shoulder and onto her back, "Not gonna leave me with a job to do?"
"Hmph," the man said in a combination of a grunt and a chuckle, "Tell Fitz that we've got another one, send a few securitrons to pick him up and take him away for interrogation."
"Ouch, isn't that a little harsh?" she cringed at the thought.
"He's just some Legion bastard, nothing's too harsh for them," he retorted before laying down, keeping his eye trained through the scope.
"Oh right... I forgot about that, sorry," the girl apologized, lowering her head slightly out of shame.
"It's alright, just inform Jack that we've got another legionnaire for questioning," the sniper responded.
"Didn't he leave for a trip to the Wyoming Wasteland? Something about a meeting with the New Mongols?" she asked.
"He made it back just an hour ago. He's making his way out of Freeside now," the man answered, lowering his rifle to get a look at the man who had just arrived to New Vegas.
The girl nodded, making her way to the hatch that led down into top floor of the Lucky 38 casino, "Okay, I'll get it done. Thanks Boone."
"You're welcome, Melody," Boone replied nonchalantly, peering through the scope of his rifle once more.
-oOo-
Meanwhile, just before the entrance to the city of Vegas, were two individuals making their way to the door. One being a man and the other being a securitron with a cartoon smile on it's monitor.
The man was clothed in Desert Ranger combat armor, the duster's back displaying a picture of a black spade with a 21 emblazoned on the logo and the helmet's eyes glowing with a green light. On the man's back was a battered service rifle, the old wooden stock of the rifle bore a single word: Arrêt; in his holster was a pistol bearing shined floral designs, a picture of Our Lady of Guadalupe on the handle.
"Well Jack, now that we're back, I think it's safe to say that that went better than expected!" the securitron cheered, following behind his master as they left Freeside to then open the door to New Vegas.
"Hmm," the man hummed, looking at the familiar city that he had grown accustomed to, "Yeah, you're right, Yes Man, the Khans may have been a bit... savage, but now that the New Mongols have been founded, they're actually acting like a proper nation.
And now that we have their support, our backup plan should be able to work greatly," Jack continued speaking with the one-wheeled robot.
"Wonderful! And I'm saying that not because I have to, it's well thought out and should have a failure rate of only 3.77798 percent. If we're assuming that Lanius could grow power in the Legion like rabbits grow litters, AND if the NCR has an ear on-"
"Yes Man, you do realize we're not in the Lucky 38 yet, right?" the man asked, looking around to see if anyone was listening.
Luckily, no one was around, other than the... exotic dancers beside Gomorrah, though they were too busy making a living than to listen in on someone's conversation, even someone like him.
Jack Fitz was, after all, the Courier.
'Speaking of luckily,' Jack thought, pressing a hand to his collarbone to feel the necklace under his shirt that held the platinum chip by the thin rope that coiled between hole that had been made in the poker chip earlier, 'Really have to ask myself more often how I'm still alive.'
If Yes Man actually had functioning eyes rather than a computer screen and an optical lens to actually see, they would be widening right about now.
"Oh, I'm sorry if I talked a bit too much, it's just that my circuits are just beaming with excitement! I can't stop being happy, causing me to continue rambling on and on! Not just because of my programming, seeing New Vegas now independent just fills me with... well, happiness," Yes Man exclaimed, though his answer sounded a bit forced.
Ever since the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, Yes Man decided to power off and make a few changes to his programming, telling the Courier that this change will make him more... assertive, to say the least. At first, this worried the man, feeling that Yes Man would be able to control the Securitrons and turn them against him.
Fortunately for him, that never crossed the machine's technological mind. Instead, his new programming just meant that he wouldn't be able to be manipulated by anyone who had such intentions. Yes Man was a follower, like every other securitron, and he would follow Jack to his last metaphorical breath.
The two turned left and made their way up the long and wide steps to the Lucky 38 Casino, one walking while the other rolled up the stair steps.
Just as the Courier was about to open the door to the place that he had called home ever since the Second Battle, another securitron made it's way towards him, it's semi-bright screen displaying a cartoon picture of a man wearing a military-esque helmet.
"Sir, we've received a message from the New California Republic, they require you to attend a meeting regarding the New Vegas Treaty," the machine said immediately as soon as it approached Jack.
"Tell them that I'm too busy actually taking care of the citizens of New Vegas, not just residents with NCR citizenship, repeat that to Ambassador Crocker in those exact words," Jack commanded, his voice calm yet subtly harsh underneath given the circumstances, before continuing to make his way back to the door leading inside the Casino.
After the Second Battle, another deal was made with the New California Republic, one that was more strict and controlled now that New Vegas had leader with a name and face to follow under. With House out of the picture and Jack's experiences through the Mojave and beyond, his experience and knowledge had made him the appropriate, though slightly cynical, leader to bring the city of Vegas, including the outer areas that made up Freeside, to a new age, a golden age.
The Golden Age of Vegas. Though such a vision required time, resources, and patience, all things that the Courier possessed. Time coming from his younger age, resources coming from places and people that are willingly under Mister Fitz's influence (Goodsprings, Primm, Novac, the Cassidy Caravans, the now-rebuilt Nipton, and the newly-retaken Nelson, to name a few), and patience, being one of the Courier's many virtues, otherwise he would've given up on Benny, Vegas, Sierra Madre's treasures, and Big MT in general before putting another bullet into his skull, this time doing a better job than that black and white checker-suited prick and actually using a higher caliber.
A Ranger Sequoia may have done the trick, if that didn't work then he'd have to eat Red Glare.
Jack watched as the robot disappeared from his sight, fading into the patrols of other securitrons that secured the streets of the ever expanding city. The Courier turned back to the building in front of him before pushing open the door.
The man was then greeted by the brightly-lit casino floor of the Lucky 38, a small group of Securitrons each stood at the corners of the room, their sensitive cameras seeing all in their sights. A collection of people all wearing similar attire paced around the room, various weapons such as rifles, assault rifles, pistols, police batons, laser and plasma weapons alike in their hands.
Before then, there were just the Three Families of New Vegas: the Chairmen, the Omertas, and the White Glove Society; though after the Second Battle, another Family was formed: the Samaritans, lead by their leader, the one and only Courier.
A month after the battle, Jack had decided that, although he now had an entire army of Securitrons at his fingertips, it needed a more... human touch. From what the Courier had known, the machines that he's witnessed and had gone toe-to-toe with did not have the ability to comprehend as much as the human mind does.
What he meant was that each robot/android/synthetic organisms that Jack's seen was only able to learn whatever was limited to them (though Yes Man could, debatably, be an exception. The Think Tank, on the other hand, were human brains kept in floating mechanical chambers, so they were not part of the subject. Roxie and Rex were in the same category as the scientists of Big MT, though with a bit more canine flare.).
So the Samaritans were formed, taking part in defending New Vegas and the rest of the Mojave that wasn't settled by the NCR via the New Vegas Treaty, their key features being either their navy blue tuxedos with a pin of a spade with a 21 over it or their combat armor bearing the same color scheme and logo.
To this day, only a meager eighty wastelanders of varying cultures and intentions have joined the Samaritans, a small number when compared to a majority of the factions that made up both the Three Families and the two superpowers that had recently battled for the shining City of Sin. As soon as they caught sight of their leader, they nodded slightly and waved to him in welcome, some of them greeting him with a 'welcome back' or 'it's great to see you again, sir'.
Before Jack could press the button on the elevator to descend and take him back up, he heard a chime and watched as the doors slid open, revealing a girl standing in the middle of the elevator floor.
"Mister Fitz! I was just looking for you, great to see that you're back! I've got some news from Boone," the girl smiled, revealing a set of clean white teeth, which was a rare thing to see in a world like this.
This girl was Melody, a girl he had rescued during his raid on the Legion's Fort two years back, just before he had taken part in the wild misadventures of Big MT. Melody had been a child slave in the Legion all her life, her mother killed by the Legion once she had exhausted her purpose. At first, Jack's intentions was to take Melody to the NCR and place her under their protection, but then something strange happened between the two of them.
She had cried as they made their way to the NCR embassy, holding onto his leg with one hand while clutching her "Sergeant Teddy" close to her chest with the other as they were just a metre away from the door, causing quite a scene and maybe an awkward moment for any NCR troops that may have been around him and the little girl.
Thus began a sort of father-daughter relationship. After Mr. House was relieved of his duties as de facto leader of New Vegas, the casino became their new home. Alongside the Courier being her surrogate father, he also acted as her mentor, using whatever was taught to him by Sunny Smiles (he'd have to remember to thank her later for that) and whatever he had learned on his own journey through the Mojave.
Such methods of training included surviving off the land (healing powder was a big must to live through the conditions of the Mojave), explosives (he made sure to use dummy grenades so she wouldn't end up with an imploded crater for a face), hand-to-hand combat, marksmanship (letting her use an old BB gun that he had carried with him a long time ago before moving onto live fire).
And after two years, the results spoke for themselves. Standing before him was a girl now entering the age of thirteen, with black hair tied back in a ponytail, a scoped hunting rifle slung over her back, clothed in an old armored Vault Suit, and a battered Pip-Boy 3000 clinging to her left wrist, previously owned by a Vault dweller, which was then taken by Ricky (though it had been broken at the time), which was then oh-so graciously donated to Jack before proceeding to fix it back up and give to Melody as a gift.
"Melody, what did I tell you?," Jack smirked, ruffling the girl's hair before entering the elevator alongside her, "Just call me Jack."
He watched as the girl blushed in embarrassment before looking back up at him, "Alright then... Jack."
The Courier looked at the smiling securitron in front of him, "Yes Man, I'll need you to keep me updated on any more news that you may come across."
"On it, boss," the robot responded optimistically, attempting to salute with it's robotic arm before turning around and rolling away. Jack watched as the machine exited the building and closed the door behind him.
As Yes Man left the casino, Jack pressed a button on the elevator's panel. As soon as the door closed and the elevator began to ascend, Jack spoke, "You said you had news from Boone?"
"Yep, we found another group of legion pricks, we took them out and sent a team of securitrons to bring in the survivor for questioning," Melody nodded, briefing her surrogate father on what had happened earlier.
"Who's leading the interrogation?" he inquired, popping his the bones in his neck as they were a bit stiff.
"I'll give you three guesses... and the first two don't count," she raised an eyebrow as she looked at him once more.
"Fucking hell..." Jack slowly ran a hand down his face in exhaustion, "I almost feel bad for the guy."
"Hah! Almost," the girl guffawed, not noticing that the Courier had began moving the knobs on his Pip-Boy, moving the screen to "APPAREL" and selecting his signature outfit as soon as the door to the elevator slid open, emitting a ding as the two stepped out of the lift. The Courier now wore a black and white checkered suit with a black tie and grey slacks rather than his Desert Ranger combat armor.
As soon as the two stepped out of the elevator, they were immediately greeted by one of Jack's Samaritans, a ghoul with a laser RCW in his hands, "Hey boss, you're back!"
"Yep, glad to know I'm feelin' the love here," Jack grinned, shaking the ghoul's gloved hand.
"Well, I got some news for you... we got another one."
The Samaritan caught sight of Jack's features as the man frowned slightly. Short, yet disheveled light brown hair covered the top of his head, a pair of cobalt-blue eyes filled with concern, with scars given by harsh sands and gunfire shifted alongside his visible frown.
"Did you play it?" he asked.
"Nah, didn't bother to, it said something about a code word," the ghoul shrugged his shoulders before he continued to speak, "I don't want this to sound weird, but the voice that came out of the thing sounded... well, like you."
"Just scrap it, I need more parts for ED-E anyway," the Courier waved off as they walked further onto the floor they've been taken to.
The Samaritan nodded, "Got it boss, I'll make sure to find Raul to get the job done."
"Good. By the way, where is that sombrero-wearin' son of a gun off to now?" Jack stopped for a second and asked, trying to lighten the mood somewhat.
"Dunno, the man's like a uh... a... what's that word? A superhero or somethin'? Like some 'un out of a comic book."
"A vigilante?"
"Yeah, that's the word. He just pops in to say hi before leaving to fight some more Raiders and slavers or whatever the hell the crazies out there are doin' these days. Heh, sure saves us a lot of time and trouble with his help, one of our boys would've died from a Cazador sting if it wasn't for 'im," the ghoul smiled that... ghoulish smile before sauntering off, whistling a tune as he continued his job as part of security.
"Well, Mark seems to be in a good mood today," Melody observed the ghoul Samaritan as he continued to walk away.
"Either he's on Jet, or he got lucky at the Atomic Wrangler," he smirked.
"Ew... don't put that thought in my head!" the Courier looked down to see the girl beside him as she cringed slightly, "Anyway, how was Wyoming?"
"Pfft hahaha... terrible, did y'know they actually have deathclaws with hair on 'em?" Jack asked her.
"Bullshit," she crossed her arms over her chest and frowned, "You know that hairy deathclaws are a myth, right?"
"Who knows, maybe there is. But I sure as hell won't see one in my lifetime," the man chuckled as he walked down the stairs of the penthouse and taking a seat near the oversized window, pulling a bottle of unopened whiskey that had sat on a nearby table closer to him. Melody watched as the man opened the bottle and lifted it to his lips, wincing somewhat at the taste before putting it back on the table.
"Bad day?" she asked.
"Very bad day," the man responded, "I'm juggling the Legion's attempted raids, the NCR's bullshit excuse for diplomacy, and the fact that I almost screwed up my deal with the New Mongols."
"Wait, didn't Papa Khan make you a member of the Great Khans? That'd give you an advantage, right?"
"Yes it would, but he passed away last month," the man lowered his head in respect, Melody doing the same as well.
"Shit... was it fast at least?"
"Consumption," Jack shook his head before taking another sip of alcohol, "Horrible way to go."
The girl cringed at the thought. Even after centuries of barren wasteland, diseases like tuberculosis still managed to survive.
"Anyway, the past is in the past. As the french once said, 'c'est la vie'," the Courier shook his head, pushing the bottle away from him.
"That's life," Melody repeated, nodding in understanding.
Before the two could delve deeper into their conversation, they heard the chime of the elevator sound off. Exiting from the lift was Boone, making a steady beeline towards the Courier before stopping in front of him.
"Craig, it's good to see you again," Jack nodded, turning his head to see the sniper's unchanged face.
"Jack, I'm finished with interrogating the prisoner," the man said, unconsciously rubbing his now sore knuckles, "I think it's best that you see him for yourself."
The Courier fell silent as he gazed at the wall in front of him, almost as though he was in a trance for a matter of seconds before finally speaking, "Is there anything specific that he wants to tell me? Any useful information that we might benefit from?"
Boone shook his head, "No, all he knows is that the Legate sent him to find a weakness to Vegas and exploit it. Other than that, that's all he knows."
"Well, shit..." the leader of New Vegas muttered, "Did we get another Legion fanatic or something new?"
"If I'm to make an educated guess telling from what he said-" Boone started, causing Melody to stifle a laugh, only to be met with a glare from the former NCR marksman, "He doesn't want to be a part of the Legion anymore, making him either really smart, or a coward."
"Huh, that's new, all the other legionnaires we questioned were just blind fanatics to a glorified 'no-girls allowed' club," Jack quipped, managing to earn a laugh from the girl beside him, and an almost hidden grin from Boone, "What's different about this one? Don't you usually have a 'kill on sight' rule with those nutjobs anyway, other than the occasional prisoner that you'd later get rid of once you're done with him?"
He nodded, "Yeah, but unlike the others, this one said he never liked the Legion to begin with."
"And you have reason to believe him?" the Courier cocked an eyebrow in suspicion.
"First time I've heard one of them have doubts."
"Frumentarii," Jack rebutted.
"Lanius," Boone countered.
They watched as he stood up and dusted off any 'dust' that could've accumulated on his checkered suit, "Good point. Either way, I'll go and see what makes our guest so different from the others."
Both the sniper and the girl followed suit as Jack made his way to the elevator, muttering something about 'never having breaks' before stepping into the machine as soon as it opened up. As they all stepped in, Jack pressed one of the buttons on the panel, watching as the metal box that surrounded them finally closed off and descended deep below the unseen rooms of the Lucky 38.
-oOo-
September 20th, 2284.
Lucky 38 Basement.
Midday.
Quintus continued to keep his head lolled back, his face riddled with bruises after his meeting with his interrogator.
Like many other stories that the Legion had secretly spread throughout their ranks, one tale told of a sniper that had served under the NCR. A man who held a burning hatred for all that had to do with the Legion. No legionnaire survived an encounter with this new bogeyman of the Mojave, but those that had taken part in the Second Battle of Hoover Dam and retreated alongside Lanius spoke of a man wearing a red beret, his eyes obscured by sunglasses and a scoped hunting rifle slung over his back.
And just an hour ago, he had just met the man whom the stories had told of.
Needless to say, it wasn't pretty, given how the former legionnaire scout leader felt right now. Because he believed that he was in a state of hell right about now. The legionnaire sat on a wooden chair, his hands bound behind the chair with a pair of rusty handcuffs, giving him nowhere to go.
Finally taking the time to look at his surroundings, Quintus looked up to see the room he was currently in. Surrounded by dry grey brick walls, a solid rock floor, and a single lightbulb dimly illuminating the entire room.
The door in front of him was closed, but he heard a noise, one that sounded like a bit like a chime. Quintus' ears strained as he tried to pick up the noise.
Footsteps. Now he heard they were making their way towards his room now.
The door opened up, Quintus watched as a man stepped into the room. The person before him wore a checkered monochrome-styled suit and grey slacks, his polished black shoes tapping rhythmically against the floor as he approached the legionnaire. Around his wrist was an old Pip-Boy 3000 lit up with amber light. Behind him was the man with the red beret and a young girl behind him.
For some reason, she looked familiar. Formerly one of the slaves? Probably.
The man leaned over, getting a look at Quintus from the dim light, cocking his head to the side in intrigue. Quintus gulped instinctively, unsure of what was going to happen to him.
"Do you know why you're still alive?" the man asked, a devious smile played about his lips.
He stood back up and looked at the legionnaire, "Because my friend here-" he motioned to the man beside him, "Thinks that you're different from all the others that we've questioned, which really surprises me-"
The checker-suited man withdrew a cigar from the pocket in his suit and lit it with a lighter bearing a picture of a woman wearing a lewd angel costume engraved on both of it's sides, inhaling from the stick of tobacco and blowing the smoke into the boy's face, causing him to erupt into a coughing fit, "-because he enjoys killing guys like you on the daily. So when he says that there's something different about you and decides not to kill you, it interests me as well."
When the man had removed the cigar from his suit, it shifted slightly to reveal the pistol hidden underneath, shining dimly in a sort of macabre beauty.
Once Quintus' coughing began to die down, he spoke, "I-I was part of another tribe. I played along, doing my best to survive in their world, and so far it's done me good."
"What was your rank in the Legion? Ever killed anyone, NCR or the like?" the man asked before extinguishing the rest of the cigar into his Pip-Boy glove, his face remained unchanged.
The boy shook his head, "No, I was a blacksmith."
"Really? And why would Lanius send you of all people when he could've just sent someone who could actually perform decent reconnaissance?" the suited man demanded.
"We were expendable, Lanius wouldn't risk sending professionals if he knew they were going to die," Quintus answered, "He sends them to bring back useful information in order to build up the Legion even more by conquering any nearby tribes."
At the mention of Lanius, he turned to see the girl beside the man scowl at the name, her eyes watering slightly but managed to hold them back. Did she have a past with the Legate?
"But between you and me," the legionnaire said, "There's conflict going on in the Legion, some sort of civil war happening between the Legion that supports Lanius and those that don't. It's tearing itself apart and now, I want out."
"Oh, I already knew that. The late Caesar's Legion'll probably last several months, at most," he replied, shaking his head before leaning in close, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, "Now, I want to see the both of us as friends in the near future, I really do, kid, but you're going to have to give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you myself."
Quintus' eyes widened in panic as he watched the man remove the pistol from within his suit, thumbing the safety and pulling back the hammer before pointing it at his head.
"Y-you don't have to kill me, I n-never wanted to be a part of the Legion, I was forced into it!" Quintus yelled, hoping to find any mercy from the man's pale blue eyes. The man wearing the beret remained unchanged, while the girl raised an eyebrow out of concern, whether it be for him or his new interrogator, he'd never know.
"Sorry, old sport, but I've heard that story too many times to even count," he raised an eyebrow, "Yet those that were forced into it became loyal members. Case in point: every other legionnaire we've interrogated, try again."
The legionnaire may not have been the smartest man in the world, but he'd be damned if he had to take the way out alive that would seem the most reasonable.
"I'll join you if you don't kill me!" he yelled, "L-look, you're friend said that I was different, right? Well, Lanius had gotten rid of the frumentarii in place for more warriors. There's no way I could be a spy or betray you, all I want is to live!"
The man failed to waver, though his head cocked to the side, "Really? You'd swear allegiance to Caesar's Legion's adversary?"
"Adversary? What're you..." Quintus was about to ask until it finally dawned on him, "Y-you're the Courier!"
"The one and only, kiddo," his grin widened even further, which continued to terrify Quintus even more so due to the gun still not changing in direction, "Now would you really want to work for me? If so, then I'll guarantee you that it'll be tough, it'll be painful, and it will surely bring hell upon you... and I'm only talking about the initiation."
"Better to die here than from Lanius," Quintus said, calming down slightly as the newly-discovered Courier lowered his pistol, holstering it.
"Alright then."
"Wait, really?" the legionnaire asked, surprised by what had just transpired.
"Yeah, of course, but you're not justworking for me. If I wanted a legionnaire to work for me, he's going to need a teacher, preferably someone who's skilled in killing them," the Courier looked to the other man, who had was holding an almost unnoticeable smirk that reeked of sadism, "Boone, are you in the mood for a new recruit?"
"Hmph, depends on if he survives," the man known as 'Boone' spoke, removing his machete and shattering the rusty links that had bound the legionnaire's hands in one fell swoop.
Quintus watched as the Courier began to leave the room, the girl following close behind him, "Goodbye, I'll see you soon, old sport... if you survive, that is."
'What did I get myself into now?' the legionnaire thought as Boone began to lead him somewhere else, the man's hunting rifle pointed dangerously close to his back as they began moving.
-oOo-
"Was all that really necessary?" Melody asked, striding beside her surrogate father as they exited out the elevator, now on the ground floor.
"He's a legionnaire, Melody. You know what they did to you," his sadistic persona dropped and was replaced by a more paternal demeanor, "Whether he was telling the truth or not, Boone's initiation would test if he's actually loyal or not. Either he's a damn good liar or actually telling the truth, even I wasn't Perceptive enough to tell if he was lying or not."
"How does the Black Jack initiation tell if he's loyal?" Melody asked, trying to evade her previous affiliations with the Legion.
"If he makes a run for Caesar's territory, Boone would make sure the problem is solved. Otherwise, he just needs to stay out of Boone's crosshairs," Jack answered, "Anyway, now that my job's done for now, I have something else to take care of."
"What is it?" she asked, concerned by the sudden news.
"I received an encryted broadcast from the Remnants. It seems that Arcade and the rest of the old-timers near Jacobstown have something important that they have to tell me," he said, looking down at his Pip-Boy and tapping at the constantly moving radio waves on the screen, "It says that it has something to do with the-"
Jack looked over both of his shoulders, making sure no one was listening in on their conversation, before turning back and leaning closer to the girl's ear.
"-The Enclave," he whispered before leaning back, standing up straight.
Melody nodded in understanding, "Okay Jack, just... just come back in one piece, alright?"
The Courier gave the girl a two-fingered mock salute, "You know what I always say?"
"Don't shoot at the messenger... or else he'll shoot back," the girl repeated before wrapping her arms around his torso, embracing the man in a tight hug.
"Melody, I know I always say I love you... but you're kinda crushing my ribs!" the Courier wheezed before she finally let go of him, taking a long inhale before patting the girl on the head and walking away.
"Won't be long," Jack said as he walked out the door.
'Christ, she has her father's strength!' he said, clutching at his sides before pulling out a stimpak and sticking it into his waist, releasing a long sigh as any potential bruises began to disappear.
As the Courier left the Strip, making his way out of Freeside, he had walked by the School of Impersonation, where Rex rested beside the King himself; strode past the Old Mormon Fort, where Julie Farkas and the rest of the Followers tended to the sick and wounded; leaving the entrance to Freeside and making his way across the Gun Runners shop, where Vendortron continued selling firearms of the highest quality.
While Jack started his journey towards Jacobstown, changing out of Benny's old suit and into the combat apparel of his Desert Ranger armor, the Survivalist's rifle held in both hands, his right hand left the rifle and reached towards his Pip-Boy, turning the knobs on the old gadget on his wrist.
At first, there was silence for the first few seconds, until music finally came through from the machine.
~I was walking along, mindin' my business, when out of an orange-colored sky...~
"Mojave Music never gets old," Jack said to himself with a small smile, humming along to the music as he made his way to the Remnant's Bunker, 'If only James had the time to see this...'
And so the Courier continued his travels to meet with Arcade and the old Remnants of the Enclave. With barely a care in the world.
Barely, being the key word.
Disclaimer: And so there goes the second chapter of Sand and Steel, hope you lads and ladies enjoyed the chapter, as I will be making more chapters for each of my stories soon.
Now, I know how I painted the Courier in the first chapter as an 'Immediate Evil Karma' character, but there's a reason why our Mister Jack Fitz acts more neutral... and why he doesn't bear the same last name as James. All will be revealed in the (eventual) future.
For those of you who don't know, Melody actually is a character from Fallout: New Vegas, there's a side quest for her where you have find her old teddy bear "Sergeant Teddy" and return to her... or you can be a total dick and do something more cold-hearted to gain fame for Caesar's Legion.
Anyone wondering why Melody reacted negatively to Lanius... no, he didn't rape her, you sick, demented nobs.
AND! For those who are put off by the character known as "Quintus". Don't worry, he plays a very, very, VERY minute role in the entirety of the story. If you want to see more of him... well, I'll, uh... I'll see what I can do.
As for the Samaritans, well... there's the Ultra-Luxe's White Glove Society, Gomorrah's Omertas, and the Top's Chairmen, so it seemed fair that the Courier wanted to have his own 'Family' to add for the Lucky 38 since he's not so enigmatic or as secretive as Mr. House. (Sarcasm) Now all that's left is for Vault 21 to do the same.
For anyone wondering when the RWBY part of the story will appear: be patient, this takes time.
I was honestly hoping to release this on the Fourth of July and have the Courier do something cool with Red Glare, but I digress.
Anyways, if you have a question regarding this story, leave a review and I'll make sure to answer it in the next chapter.
And as always, stay beautiful, ladies and gents.