"Goddamn it, kids."
Ruby's scythe dipped. "Six?"
The Courier strode over the dead with his grip tight on his smoking revolver. His voice, though muffled by his haunting gas mask, dripped with venom. "You're crossing a mighty fine line here."
"You shot him!" snarled Blake.
Big deal. "Yeah, I did."
"Y-you executed him!"
So? "It's called euthanasia."
"He's not some wild creature that needs to be put down!"
You dumb little shit. "He was feral."
"Yeah, he was," Yang interjected bitterly. "There's only one reason why. You all heard what the guy said. Six did this to them. How do you suppose that happened, eh, Courier Six?"
"Or perhaps we should address you by your true identity, Major Vickers," Weiss corrected with an air of condescending judgment that was beginning to grate on his nerves.
Six huffed. "So you did your homework. Should I be impressed?"
"It's true then? You're really harboring these so-called 'weapons of mass destruction?'" demanded Cat-girl.
The Courier snorted. Be careful with those questions, kitty. Certain secrets are best left buried. "Where'd you hear that horseshit?"
"What's horseshit is that you're a crooked, lying mass murderer!" Blondie snapped. "People say you got a lot of dirt on you. Didn't really believe it 'til I saw it, Major. That's right. Major Theodore Vickers, ex-Ranger. Did a lot of good in your day."
For some reason, he found that funny. Try as he might, he let out a snicker loud enough to make Syrup growl.
"What's so funny!?"
"Yeah, had quite the service record." He bowed a gentleman's bow, magnum still in hand, his tone mocking. "I'm flattered by your praise, my dear dumb blonde bimbo."
"Oh fuck you!"
"Yang, keep it together!"
The Courier shook his head. "Never trust your sources, kids. They may be the best around but that doesn't mean they can skewer the details to get what they want out of you. Ain't that the truth, Cat-girl?"
"Honestly, I don't trust the Republic too much because they're not too different from what we had to deal with back in Remnant," Blake admitted. "But so far, there have been more truths than lies when they briefed us on you."
"None of us are strangers to deception, Major," Snowball interjected. "Even then, given our circumstances, I would rather take the word of a functioning state over petty street gossip."
"I don't entirely believe them," Yang said, calming down after Ruby tugged at her arm. "Until you admit that you're guilty, of course, which you obviously are."
Six chuckled. Folly is rich in the young, they said. Ain't truer than this. "Do you really think the truth would help?"
Hyper stepped forward, those silvery orbs of hers pleading for reason. "Six, please. You need help."
Do I look like a loose cannon to you? He tilted his head. "So this is some kind of intervention then. Ditch the man who gave you a roof over your heads to go stick your fingers in places that'd get them chopped off."
"The NCR said—"
"James is a damn fool." The Courier paced towards them. Syrup bared its teeth at his approach; the little shit could smell trouble from a mile away. Funnily enough, his gut agreed with it. Things between were going south quick. "The NCR looks after its own interests. Always have, always will."
"They annexed New Vegas," argued Jaune as he and Ren wearily shouldered a crippled Pyrrha away from him. "They have every right, every jurisdiction—"
"Jurisdiction that I gave!" Six roared. "My blood was spilled on this very soil decades before that greenhorn Republic waltzed in! Bled for them on the West Coast all the way to the goddamn Midwest. How fucking gullible are you that I have to spell it out for you!? Do you honestly fucking believe the shit the Republic says about me? Or what anyone says for that matter!"
Ruby, wincing, tried again. "Six, you're angry. We know how much you've sacrificed for this. But you don't have to go this far."
Sacrifice? A scoff. "Look at you, Hyper. Talking about sacrifice. As if you've ever truly felt sacrifice. No. You don't know what it's like to give up something you care about for something that wasn't even worth a damn thing in the end."
She deflated. "But Six...you...this... This isn't how it's supposed to go. You're smarter than this! I know you are! I believe in you—"
Enough! He snapped his finger at her. "Listen to me, you stupid little shit—"
"Hey!" Yang hollered.
"Same goes for the rest of you goddamn troublemakers." Turning his eyes back at the little reaper, he could see the green glimmer of his visor reflecting off her wide silvery pupils. "You know nothing. Who the fuck do you think you are? Strutting around in your goddamn rainbow suits, playing hero to people who don't need goddamn heroes? We never asked for your help. I never asked for your help. And I damn well never wanted any of your help! All you ever were was a liability. A goddamn patronizing liability that never stops fucking things up!"
"S-six," whimpered the little reaper, her silver pupils going glassy.
His chin locked up for a moment. Where the hell did those words come from? O' course, they came from you, you stubborn old son of a bitch. These pieces o' shit were never your flesh and blood. Just a bunch of troublesome brats that got dropped out o' the sky onto your lap so God could laugh at you.
"Get out of here," he hissed. "Go back to the Strip. This place isn't for you."
Her response struck him. "No."
What. "Hyper."
She stomped her boot. "No! You're wrong! You're wrong! I don't care if you think we can't be heroes but we are going to make something good out of what's here whether you like it or not! We're going to stop you from hurting other people!"
Six felt his blood boil. Then simmer. And then the cold bitterness he had been burying under years of drinking and denial once more resurfaced. So be it. "You...are too fucking naive."
He took a solid step forward. She took one back. Everyone else flinched.
"If the world's got to burn, then so be it. Even if I have to do it, then so be it. Innocent an' the guilty be damned, humanity can always start over," echoed former Major Theodore 'Old Green Eyes' Vickers.
"Desert Ranger," Pyrrha sneered between gasps while Ren silently worked on stopping the blood from draining out of her shattered ankle. "You...you were a guardian...used to be a protector...earned your commission through blood, sweat, tears..."
Earned on the bodies of a hundred others.
"You were the guys who stood up for the weak. Took out raider gangs, cleared mutant lairs, fed the hungry, clothed the sick, the whole nine yards," Jaune listed off indignantly. "You were just like Huntsmen. Guardians who had a duty to fulfill."
'Guardians.' What a word.
"You hunted down the worst of the worst, made sure they'd never hurt anyone ever again," Nora added, her normally bubbly demeanor darkened. Her knuckles were white from gripping her oversized super-sledge. "You brought families together...built communities full of hope...helped raise the next generation..."
A pathetic next generation.
"Yet you turned your back on all of it," Weiss intoned. She had her foot planted in front of her with her rapier leveled at his head. "Bribes, dissension, terrorizing those you were sworn to protect. You inspired an insurrection that cost countless innocents their lives! You're corrupt! A war criminal!"
Ain't we all guilty o' somethin'?
"We really looked up to you," Yang hissed, her boots pounding against the asphalt as she got closer, her fists clenched and rising above her waist. "You were someone we thought we could trust. Someone who helped rebuild this whole messed up Wasteland. Guess you're no different than Mister House, you heartless bastard."
Mister House, huh. Did y'all ever know the real Robert Edwin House? The genius bastard o' the Old World who played me—us, the NCR, the Legion, everyone!—all like cards in a poker game until we done picked ourselves apart? "And what does that make you?" the Courier countered. "Self-righteous brats with an inflated morality compass?"
"At least we choose to do what's right," Cat-girl sneered, expecting a fight with the way she was standing.
Give me a fucking break. "Really now. D'you think it was right to kill those men back there? Or maybe you thought it was right to save your hides by puttin' 'em down like that—"
"They attacked us! We..." Blondie stuttered, her outburst faltering as her conscience caught up with her. "We had t-to defend ourselves. Things happened! W-we c-couldn't control the fight."
Old Green Eyes stared at her. Then chuckled mirthlessly. 'Control the fight' my ass. No plan ever survives contact with the enemy. "And you done killed them. This is the Wasteland, kids. Ain't that one hell of a welcome, don't y'all think. No drinks, no parties. Just poof; snuffin' out one's life like that. That's how greenhorns survive in this hellhole."
"No!" echoed the resounding protests.
"We're not like you—never be like you!"
"You're the monster!"
"Shut up, Six!"
He straightened himself. "Don't deny it. You killed them. You're killers now. Killers, looters, and thieves like the rest of us. Quit calling yourselves heroes 'cause there ain't no such thing. Doesn't matter what you do. In the end, you're just like us. Take it or leave it. The whole lot of you. Killers, liars, thieves, war criminals—"
The Courier caught the spark in Blake's amber irises; he struck a strong cord. Alas, they were predictable when they came at him.
Yang leapt at him. Left hook. He shifted right. Follow up. He caught her forearm and thumbed the trigger that ejected every single buckshot casing—used and unused—from Ember Celica. My turn. And he slammed his knuckles into her belly with enough force to send her flying back into the group. Her body flickered mid-flight. Goodbye, Aura.
Red flashed to his side. He slid back, watching Hyper miss him spectacularly with Crescent Rose. She tripped on her own momentum and tumbled. Up. He caught Pancake coming down on top of him from the sky and swept to the side while Magnhild blasted another crater in the street. Before the dust settled, he had already maneuvered behind her and landed a quick chop to the back of her neck. Right on the spot. She was out cold by the time she hit the ground. Goodnight, ginger.
"Nora!"
Shaolin was quick. His palms connected with his chin, knocking him back. Good one, Bruce Lee. Six held his ground, ignoring the debilitating pain in his jaw, and raised his arms to meet the connecting blows that coming from both Shaolin and Knight-boy. Left. Right. Up. Mid. Then the opening presented itself.
A boot to the gut sent Jaune tumbling onto the sidewalk. Ren tried to tackle him from behind, wrapping his legs around his chest so he could rain his blows from above. In response, Six reached up and, taking a step back with a solid grip on his opponent's shoulders, hurled him violently against the concrete. White blurred past his vision almost immediately.
"Wha—?" was all Snowball could utter before he gripped her arm, twisted her wrist, and threw her to the side, Myrtenaster clattering to the ground.
The Courier kicked it into the crater then made his way towards her. Of course, that left Sparta who, despite her handicap, managed to plant herself in front of him like a stubborn wounded hoplite, Syrup quickly coming to her side and baring its budding claws and teeth. No use in beating down a crippled horse.
"That's enough!" he hollered.
Stubbornly, the other kids got back to their feet. Or tried to.
Idiots. "Stubborn little shits."
"No..." huffed Hyper. "We won't let you activate Samson."
Samson. He let out a dry laugh. So this is how it's going to be. Congratulations, James. You have successfully turned my kids against me. "You see these ruins around you? You see all these?"
They did while they recovered and regrouped. The glares they threw back at him was strangely tickling.
"Ten years ago, this was a paradise. A rare jewel in the desert that made the Strip jealous. A model city rising out of the ashes of the old one, living off the caravan trade, a ripe fruit for hungry, desperate powerhouses." Six gestured at the corpses of the Marked Men. "These bastards? Two whole NCR regiments raised to secure Hopeville. Then Hoover Dam happened. Five Legion cohorts skirted north of the Mojave, broke into the canyon, made it here. Like two wild animals fighting over a plump apple. So what do you do to put an end to the duel?"
The two teams were silent. Apprehensive. Curious.
The Courier grunted. "You spoil the apple."
Cat-girl got the hint first. "You... Th-this was the work of Samson?"
He grinned beneath his gas mask. "Samson was here the whole time. From the very beginning. All he needed was a trigger. And boy, it was an easy switch to flip."
"You..." Hyper seethed. Her knuckles went white over the shaft of her scythe.
He paced around them, noting their sloppy adjustments as they tried to keep tabs on his every move. "Remember everything the NCR said about me? Hero? Turncoat? Mass murderer? Terrorist? Dirty thug? Can't say they're wrong on that. Congratulations, kids. You get a passing grade on your homework."
Shaking away regretful tears, Ruby declared, "No! We're not going to let you do this again!"
If I have to, I will. "You're all so stupidly naive." And Old Green Eyes turned around the second he tossed the active stun grenade into their midst.
The canister clattered, rolled, and bounced off the tip of her boots. Yang chanced a glance at it before everything flashed painfully and deafeningly white.
"Shit!"
"I'm blind!"
"My ears!"
"Gah! C-can't see!"
She swung wildly, hoping to connect with something. But her senses were thrown for a loop. Her eyes hurt and her rings were ringing. She fell onto her knees, vulnerable. This was the perfect opportunity for the coup de grace; she was too debilitated to fight back. She knew it was coming and there was nothing she could do to block it.
Tears welled up inside her eyelids as she held them shut to block out as much of the mind-splitting pain as she could. This was it. This was her end. Snuffed in a desert wasteland worlds away from home via a bullet to the back of her head. Was Six this cruel? She trusted him, looked up to him, cared for him as much as she had her father and uncle. A man flawed yet concerned, tender...loving...
This can't be happening!
"Rabbit ears? What the hell—" Then the air suddenly left Six's lungs.
Yang rubbed her eyes and staggered to her feet. The blur cleared and she almost stumbled back onto her behind. "... Velvet!?"
"Get to safety! I'll handle him!" the rabbit faunus ordered as her leg swept against his shins, knocking him back down onto the ground.
The brawler's movements were disjointed, sluggish, but she managed to get some bearing on her surroundings. She grabbed Ruby and dragged her disoriented sister away. Blake was wobbling to her right with a dizzy Weiss hanging off her shoulder. Team JNPR had already vacated the area. Pyrrha's blood trail led into an opening in the rubble. Ren was sticking out between a pair of collapsed pillars, waving them through.
Yang hobbled as fast as she could until team RWBY funneled through the crack. She paused to check behind her. Velvet had already exhausted her element of surprise had fallen back to catch her breath, while Six recovered fast, regaining the upper hand. The blonde itched to help.
Before she could run back out there, Ren grabbed both her and Ruby and pulled them deeper into the tunnel of ruined highways. They did not stop fleeing. Even in the dark and dimly-lit caverns, squeezing through tight corners, scraping themselves against rebar and concrete, through the halls of an apartment that collapsed into the earth, they kept moving and moving until they collapsed onto their knees on the other side of what felt like an endless underground maze.
They took a moment to savor the dry air and suffocating walls of the canyon that squeezed this valley tighter and tighter. That was when they noticed a single road winding through the crevasse, ultimately leading up to an obtuse path that concluded before another military bunker carved into the side of the mountain.
Perhaps it was the unsettling noise that they heard behind them or the speed at which the skin-shearing sandstorm was seeping down into the valley. Winded as they were, they pushed on, past more collapsed buildings and broken settlement remains, following a marked trail that led to the entrance of another bunker. Without much thought, the teens crashed through the hydraulic doors, breaking into the relative safety of the underground complex.
Blake was thunderstruck.
Six had never displayed such agility since their first encounter. Even with what little she knew of his combat prowess, it was clear that his reactions were too perfect for a man his age: sharp accuracy, quick tactical wit, ridiculous damage threshold. Yet all these with no Aura, no Semblance, not even any kind of Dust. And somehow, he was able to not only intercept Semblance-based attacks before they landed but also shatter their Aura in single solid hits.
The way his head snapped to meet every threat, his body twisting away from a strike with flawless dexterity, his hands jetting outward to block and grapple...
By Remnant terms, he would have easily been considered an elite combat specialist with extensive training and experience. He moved with the speed of a veteran Huntsman yet operated with the mindset of a coldblooded killer. He was almost...superhuman. Yet, he wasn't. In essence, he embodied every monicker bestowed him by allies and enemies alike.
"How...?" she whispered to no one in particular.
Courier Six, popular alias for former Major Theodore Vickers of the now non-existent Desert Rangers, had proven himself to be the most terrifying man she had ever met. He had so casually admitted to what she refused to believe he was guilty of. While she held little faith in the Republic or the veracity of their information, she found it difficult to ignore it. Most of the data they could glean from the heavily-redacted records confirmed the rumors and hearsay they squeezed out of Swank and every other connection to Six in New Vegas.
Vickers was the joker in the Wasteland's deck of cards.
He knew it. And exploited it to the fullest. The man tore a warpath through the Mojave, imbalanced the status quo, twisted the political landscape, broke the leadership of the Imperium Americana, and gave New Vegas to the NCR at the cost of so many unneeded losses. Blake was apprehensive to these claims. She was sure Weiss, Pyrrha, and even Ren shared her sentiments. Out of the eight of them, Ruby seemed the most painfully optimistic and gullible enough to rake in every word.
The faunus slumped against the cold, steel wall of the second military bunker they had been in since coming to the Divide. Had they fled that far? It was hard to tell. She recalled racing through underground tunnels, traversing collapsed buildings, and walking through a twisted canyon of debris until they took shelter in here in fear of a dust storm brewing. Heat pulsed up and down her pained legs while sweat continued to dampen her clothes.
Her team fared almost the same with Ruby having exhausted her Aura from dashing back and forth to clear traps, gather supplies, and ensure that they were safe from threats like the skinless men, Wasteland mutants, or their very angry guardian. Heh, guardian. What an ironic monicker. The bastard almost broke Yang's ribs and nearly snapped Weiss's wrist. To her right, Jaune helped Pyrrha onto a metal bench, her ankle cocooned in bandages while Syrup lapped at a visibly shaken Nora who held onto a stone-faced Ren.
"Guys," Yang intoned. "Any idea what we just got ourselves into again?"
Weiss looked up from massaging her arm. In their haste, they neglected to pay careful attention to their surroundings. Much like the Hopeville Ballistic Defense Station, this underground complex came complete with pipes running overhead and a faint humming that resonated from both above and underneath them.
Yang hesitated to push the button next to another set of hydraulic doors. "Should I...?"
"Can't say if this place is empty," Blake warned, her hand dropping onto the hilt of Gambol Shroud. "Though, we can't stay in this antechamber forever."
Seeing the others nod back, she took her chances. The doors hissed and ground its gears before opening to reveal a wider room filled with broken up crates and lined with shattered terminal screens, broken control panels, and a sigil of stars and stripes stenciled overhead. Importantly, there seemed to be nothing hostile within. So far, at least.
"Elevator," Yang called.
The two teams huddled over.
"Should we?"
"Call it," Ruby ordered. "There's not a lot for us here."
"You sure? What about—"
"JNPR's coming along," Jaune said, Pyrrha still hanging off his shoulder. "No sense getting separated in here."
Hesitantly, they filed into the elevator and rode the trip further up where they deposited into an antechamber leading to what appeared to be the command room.
"This appears to more functional than the last one," Weiss mused. Then she pointed to the bright orange telemetric screen the size of a mural. "Look! That's a map of the Mojave."
"I don't think it's just the Mojave," Blake muttered as she approached the console she thought was connected to the display. This whole place was as much electrically alive as Hopeville, perhaps even more so. Given the amount of automated activity still going on around them, there was no other conclusion other than the bunker they were in was fully operational. Which probably meant...
The faunus pressed a button and the map zoomed out to display the entire continent from the western seashores to the eastern shorelines along with the names that she recognized from the Old World books she had been reading.
Nevada. Arizona. California. Oregon. Texas. Utah. Colorado. Once the constituent states of the country that had been described as a world superpower long, long ago.
Weiss was over the console now, fiddling with the controls. And the map was bathed in a layer of shapes and diagrams. Cities and settlements across thousands of miles of sprawling landmass were marked. Highlighted. Targeted. And the numbers displayed on the screen drove her up the wall: projected casualties and estimated potential damage costs.
They ran from the thousands to millions. It appeared outdated but considering the booming population of the NCR and other known independent city-states like New Vegas, the data was not irrelevant. So many 'projected casualties,' a hypothetical apocalypse—no, genocide—waiting to happen.
"Guys," Ruby piped from the very end of the command center. "I...I think we might've found Samson."
Both teams scrambled over, past a wide arch, to where the reaper stood. They gathered on a balcony overlooking a...wide...cavernous...hall...
"Whoa."
"Look at this..."
"Is this...?"
Blake recognized the tattered flag hanging off the beams on the other side of the massive lair. United States of America. The country that used to exist before the 'Great War' destroyed everything and reset civilization on this planet two hundred years ago. She shifted her gaze to the smooth pillars of steel resting in long rows lining both flanks. Each were marked with the same flag, each were stenciled with the same name. It was all coming together now.
"Samson," she breathed. "Samson is an active nuclear missile silo."
Yang looked confused. "A what?"
Blake glanced around her. Weiss caught on. Amazing how her skin blanched more than her hair. "Intercontinental ballistic missiles. Long-range rockets tipped with atomic warheads. Oh, no..."
Steam and smoke plumed out of the pits where the missiles were resting which meant another thing. Ren approached the bannister and looked down to where pipes and wires snaked across the corners of the floor.
"Everyone," he called. "We should be careful. This place has been well-maintained. No molds, minimal residue, even the floors look to have been swept clean."
"Refueled and awaiting launch," the cat faunus added. "They've been maintained all this time...they're active."
Yang knocked on the railing. "Um, translation?"
Blake had to stop herself from grabbing her partner by her collar and screaming the obvious into her face. "These are the weapons of mass destruction the NCR warned us about!"
"What!?"
"Are you serious?"
"Whoa, hold on!"
Now she screamed. "These are the same weapons that created this Wasteland in the first place!"
…
The cat faunus was sure all her friends' minds were collectively going 'Oh, shit.'
Old Green Eyes maneuvered around the ruins of Hopeville with renewed vigor. And pain pulsing throughout his aging body. Got to hand it to Bunny-girl. She sure as hell got a solid kick. Haven't had something hit me hard like that in a long while.
"Don't make this hard on yourself, kid."
He caught a shape bouncing off a concrete slab. Quick aim. Fire. It was meant as a warning shot. The impact of the bullet cracking into the cement elicited a yelp. Her furry appendages straightened out of cover before folding back down.
"Come on out, Bunny-girl. I won't kill you."
You sure about that?
Shut up.
The Courier rounded the corner. He raised a hidden brow. "Really?"
The pistol shook in her grip. She was nervous. Sure, she kicked like a damn horse but she lacked the nerve to pull the trigger. Fatal flaw right there.
Her voice was shaking too. "Th-that's enough, Six."
He let his reflexes work, hand darting to the grab the barrel of the automatic, ripping it from her grasp, and reversing his grip to point it back at her face. Only...in the same moment, her knee came up to meet him right in the baby maker.
Oh you bitch...
Six backpedaled with his thighs pressed together. "Good...one...kid..."
By the time he recovered, she had already disappeared into the collapsed highway underpass. Which led to the silo itself. Shouldn't have ditched those crotch cups. Knew she would've pulled something like that. You share a bed with someone and they sock you right back in the nuts.
The Courier pulled himself to stand despite the pain.
Technically, you done did slept with her, snickered Old Green Eyes.
Vickers grimaced at himself. Technically, I slept on the same bed as hers. Was drunk. Faculties out the window.
Yeah, sure. Somethin' more nefarious could'a done happened.
I didn't touch her.
You still got into her bed without her consent.
Shut up, me.
ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: May 10, 2018
LAST EDITED: July 10, 2023
INITIALLY UPLOADED: May 19, 2018
NOTE (May 19, 2018): Alright. This is how I view things. The Courier, in a straight up fight, has low chances of winning against Huntsmen and Huntresses with Auras, Semblances, and Dust, much less to those in training. So I tweaked him up a bit, gave him some extra plot armor. It's bad enough he's got stitches in his ass to worry about so I can't have him hobbling around with a broken leg; complicates the story and makes it difficult to write the narrative.
Additionally, I admit the dialogue is not the best, probably has some obvious cliches in there. For now, I'm sticking with it because I honestly don't know how else to go about it. That and I try again to keep the fight scenes quick, simple, and straightforward. So I hope you guys like it so far and let me know what you think because it's pretty damn hard writing from V2 Blake's perspective.
Why Blake's perspective?
Because I find that Blake relates more to Six with her history as a White Fang operative and the conflict is fun to play with (albeit frustrating sometimes to flesh out).
Feel free to point out corrections, inconsistencies, or anything that I may have missed so I can pull my head out of my ass and make the appropriate edits.