Neo spat out fresh water as she dragged herself further up the shore. Getting swept up in a deluge of sewage and freshwater then unceremoniously flushed out into freezing depths of Lake Mead until she was beached by the currents onto the shore—it all made her feel like a de-scaled trout grilling on coals. With the Mojave sun beating down on her back and the coarse gravel cooking her belly, she ended up with the choice of either pushing until she found some shade or slipping back into the water.
"Damn, you actually survived."
She snapped her head up to scowl fiercely at the stranger in a ragged sleeveless duster and tattered crimson mantle sitting on a rock not too far away from her, nibbling on sunflower seeds. A bulging duffel bag leaned next to his leg. The wide brim of his hat shadowed much of his face save for his unkempt bushy goatee that complimented that annoying smirk of his.
"Need some help, miss?"
Of fucking course, you dumbass!
No, wait.
She couldn't trust him.
He looked like a typical wastelander but something was off about him. It was like she had seen him before. Hell, she was starting to recognize that gravelly voice...and that crimson cloak ripped at the edges draped over his shoulders like a poncho...and the corners of a large metallic box-like contraption sticking out of the back of his waist...
Oh shit.
He was a Huntsman. More precisely, he was the Huntsman who harried her for a weeks after the Fall of Beacon like an unreachable vulture that kept circling over its next meal. This son of a bitch who had been relentlessly tailing her all the way from Vale to Mistral...
He snickered. "Say, haven't I seen you before?"
Damn it! Where was her weapon? No, she lost Hush when she got displaced here (damn, she really cherished that extension of hers). And she had already literally broken the rusty service rifle she pilfered from Fort Mead. That left her with the combat knife strapped to her thigh and the nine-millimeter holstered on her hip. Although exhausted, drenched, irradiated, and probably edging closer to getting heat stroke, she managed to whip out the pistol and roll up to her shaky feet.
The Huntsman held up his hands. "Whoa, easy there! Not here to hurt you. Just here to talk, that's all."
She rolled her eyes, cupping the pistol with both her hands to stop the shaking while desperately stilling the trembling in her legs (shit, she was hurting all over).
"You remember me, don't you."
She narrowed her glare (vision blurry).
"Yeah," he huffed. "You do. Alright. Here's how it is then. I'm not going to hurt you."
She trailed the pistol to his face (hands won't stop shaking!).
He slid off the rock and slowly paced closer. "Can't blame you for not believing me. And I'm not going to bother getting you to trust me either. Okay, maybe a little trust would help but point stands: we're going to have to work together if we're going to get what we both want."
She tilted her head with her jaw slightly agape (what?).
"I know, I know. Unbelievable. But really. Look around you, lady. Do you see anyone who's as friendly to you as I am right now?"
Neo grit her teeth. Roman was the only one left! And he was here, she just knew it! She knew it in her gut that he was here. No one was going to stop her from finding him.
The Huntsman kept walking closer, his hands creeping back down to his sides, close enough to quickly draw on either of the two pistols holstered on his hips or the scythe folded behind his back. "Don't make this difficult. You want something, I want something. We can each go our separate ways and do our own thing. But think about it. How much longer can you keep dragging yourself over the Wasteland for whatever it is you're after? All by yourself?"
She would go on for years if she had to. Her glower conveyed that much.
"You're not going to live forever, Miss Neopolitan."
Shut up! She squeezed the trigger. Click.
"Powder's wet," he said.
In a flash, he ripped the gun out of her hands, popped out the magazine, and pulled on the slide. Freshwater flushed the unexpended bullet down onto the sand.
Neo would have followed up with a kick or a jab but she was hurting everywhere and she ended up staggering backwards until she landed hard on her ass.
"Look. I want to help you."
Fuck off. She knew his type.
"But you have to help me. It's a give and take. I promise you, this is much faster and much more effective than hacking it out on your own." He leaned down close to her with those ruby red eyes of his looking deep into hers, his leer blackened by the shadow of the brim of his hat. "Neopolitan, you want to find Roman Torchwick, right?"
She mustered enough strength to flip him the bird.
He chuckled. "I honestly don't know where he is. But I did hear of some fancy-pants schmuck making the waves in California. Running some nice rackets around the Big Circle, a full cabaret in the Hub, ripping off and pissing off way too many people. Including some very, very important people."
No. Do not play with her, asshole.
"Don't know if it's true or not but a lot of the folks coming up from the NCR have the same story. Different versions of it, of course, but same shtick—some smarmy ginger bastard's been swiping fat wads out of the pockets of NCR senators, brahmin barons, and even a few high-ranking army officers. That's poking the bear for you. Won't be long before he might end up in the slammer. Or worse."
Bullshit! He was bullshitting! Neo wanted to scream. No way Roman was all the way deep in California... Then again, wasn't that the reason why she ditched the Imperium? Because Roman could be in California? No. She was sure he might be in Vegas. Or somewhere in NCR territory... Damn it!
"Neopolitan—say, you okay if I just call you Neo?"
She gave him a tired, flat look. The heat was getting to her and it didn't help that she was still drenched from head to toe. And shivering. And starving, too. Hell, she might be getting pneumonia in a few hours. Or cholera. On top off an infection or two since some of her cuts were still being mended by what little Aura she had left.
The Huntsman nodded. "Alright. Neo, I'm going to need your help. In exchange, I'll help you find your buddy Roman."
Neo dragged herself to rest her back on some smaller rocks. Then she folded her arms at him with a peaked brow.
"I'm serious. I know you were on the other side when Beacon fell. But I know you didn't exactly volunteer for it. You and Torchwick. Even though the money was good, you must've had a really bad feeling about the whole thing from the get-go."
She really did. She just didn't want to admit that to this bastard who just wouldn't get the hint to leave her the fuck alone.
He stood up and pulled something out of his duffel bag: one of those medical injectors. It was a medical stimulation package—or 'stimpak' for short—and he offered it to her.
Was this a trick? This had to be. Either this Huntsman was one of those self-righteous types, was really pitching her hard, or was plain stupid. Regardless, the relief to her ails was right there in front of her. All she needed to do was reach out and take it. Grab it, most likely. He might yank his hand back and tease it in front of her face like the torturous bastard he was and—
He let her have it.
Okay.
Neo kept him in her peripheries while she jabbed the needle into her thigh. A few moments later, she was able to pull herself to sit more comfortably on the rock while wringing the water off her clothes. She still had the combat knife strapped to her leg but she doubted she was in the proper condition to get the upper hand on a veteran Huntsman who looked to have had a full meal, was well hydrated, and could probably be jacked up on some chems what with those bags under his eyes.
"I know you found something at Fort Mead and I want to know what it is," he started. "I'm not expecting you to tell me right away. Or probably not for the next several weeks or so..."
Several weeks? Like hell was she spending a day with this prick.
"... So I'm just going to tell you right now that your best lead for getting what you want is Major General James Hsu."
The NCR? She already tried. She just escaped from them. Was this guy really an idiot? Was it not so obvious given how she was still wearing an NCR cuirass?
"You and I are going to be pulling a little op in Freeside. Mainly in and around an old safe haven in the middle of that ghetto called the Old Mormon Fort. That's where Hsu's going to be for the next couple days or so."
This guy was really pushing it. And Neo could tell that he was seriously putting some kind of trust in her. Not that she was willing to do the same. Tickled her though that he kept trying. Not to mention, his plan involved heading right into New Vegas and putting her in close proximity to the Strip where she hoped to find the Vegas Wonder Kids and wrangle some solid answers from them. After all, she was willing to take any leads she could get. The Vegas Wonder Kids, the Three Families running the Strip, and even that ridiculously over-glorified mailman that everyone kept calling 'Courier Six' who was supposed to be the big ringleader of them all...
The Huntsman cleared his throat. "He's going to be meeting with Courier Six, wouldn't you know."
Neo blinked several times.
"Probably might be bringing some of the Vegas Wonder Kids with him, too."
No fucking way.
"They'll be going over some high-clearance stuff, you know how it is. Might get something out of it, the both of us. Or not. Either way, once we're done with that op, you have my word that I'll be dragging my ass for you 'til you find your buddy."
Fucking liar. There was no way he was willing to go that far after what he had been doing back on Remnant.
The Huntsman planted a water canteen next to her. "That's yours now, by the way. Clean water. No rads. Hell, I'd drink it if you won't."
Neo hesitantly took it (good, clean water!).
"So. We help each other out. It's all mutual. I won't blame you for declining and I won't be trying any more than I have to with you. Hell, I even sorta fixed your mess over at the Fort, y'know?"
What mess?
"Who would'a thunk it that there was a whole damn evil lair right under that hill, eh? A shame the only way in and out of that is through the substation where you somehow broke in or the underside of the lake where you got flushed out."
She gave him a flat look. She didn't recall seeing this guy at the Fort when she was slinking around there.
"Let's say that it'll take a good long while for the NCR to even bother unclogging the mess under their Friday poker night clubhouse."
Neo narrowed her eyes at him.
"Again, I completely understand if you don't want in on this. But we're walking down the same highway right now, if you haven't noticed. It's only convenient that we, well, team up. For the time being. So..." He held up his hands again, his lips curling into a smug smile. "What do you say?"
A whole string of colorful words flowed through her mind and the former assassin really wanted to pin it all to his face. Literally. Alas, she was on the bottom half of the scale here and she had to admit that he was right in most regards.
She sighed and took his hand.
He smiled. "By the way, the name's Qrow Branwen and I'm exactly who you think I am, Miss Neo."
Yang wagged her brows at her teammate. "Nervous?"
Weiss sighed and swiveled her chair in her dressing room in the back of the Aces Theater. "Of course not. I've been doing these kinds of performances at far wider venues before."
The blonde folded her arms with a smirk. "Really. So all that leg tapping and finger rapping—which I could literally hear from down the hall—is just you prepping yourself?"
Damn, was she that loud? "It's takes time to adjust to a new venue, that's all."
"Sure. Don't worry, we'll be on the sidelines cheering you on."
"We'll just be having rehearsals later. Nothing but the staff would be around. And shouldn't you be at work, miss 'housekeeping?'"
Yang gracelessly reclined against the settee next to her wardrobe, further creasing her already creased Tops staff (maid dress) uniform. "Meh, I got Blake to cover for me for a while."
Weiss opened her mouth to berate her. Then closed it when she realized that it would be futile. "Fine. Just don't touch anything in here, okay? I don't own everything in this room so if you break something, that'll be coming from your paycheck."
"For real? We're teammates. Can't you cover for me, too?"
"You have fifteen minutes before I tell Mister Torini that you're skipping work hours."
To be fair, later during rehearsals, Weiss did see Yang sandwiched in one of the overhead VIP booths with Blake and Ruby and even Velvet, still wearing their white aprons with their maid sleeves rolled up. On top of Mister Tommy Torini's kind words and the encouragement she received from her fellow performers Mister Bruce Isaac and Mister Lonesome Drifter (whose real name no one really knew) seeing her friends risking their jobs just to cheer her on...
Weiss couldn't stop smiling until she got back to her dressing room where she fished out the folded letter she found on her bed up in the Lucky Thirty-Eight...penned by Six but written as a letter to her from Winter. It felt like a cruel joke at first but the words used, the references to things in her life that Six knew little to nothing about, and the footnotes at the bottom gave her hope that the NCR was at least treating her sister well.
And hopefully, just hopefully, they could see each other again.
"Hey, lady. Spare a cap for me?"
Neo tossed the ghoul beggar a bottle cap.
"You must be new here. I can tell."
She rolled her eyes and was about to walk away when she heard him offer his services as an information broker.
"I don't got much," the ghoul bargained. "But I can tell you that if you're looking for medical attention—which, if you don't mind me saying, you look like you do—I'd recommend heading straight for the Old Mormon Fort. Place is run by the Followers of the Apocalypse and they take anyone. Real charitable angels and I'm not being sarcastic. Treatment's mostly free of charge, too."
She paused in her step and quirked a brow. Digging into her pockets, she tossed him another bottle cap.
The beggar smiled. "Welcome to Freeside, lady. Whole ghetto looks like shit but let me tell you that this place is doing way better than it was years ago. And it's not entirely because of the NCR, to be honest."
Neo, keeping up another disguise as a random wastelander via her Semblance, gestured at him to stay where he was. A few minutes later, she returned with four mutant rat kabobs, two she offered to the surprised ghoul. Thankful for the free food, he proceeded to tell her in detail all about this part of urban Vegas and with an added bonus of some radroach roast, he filled her in on the NCR administration (incompetent), the Three Families of the Vegas Strip (corrupt), the Kings of Freeside (overconfident), the local businesses and shops (overcharging), and finally the widely adored Vegas Wonder Kids (more evidence that they're most definitely from Remnant) alongside their legal guardian (or father as most people believed): the (in)famous Courier Six (who the hell is this guy?). Another ten caps ensured he would keep shut about her taking notes on every single thing he said.
A few hours later, she snuck back to the alleyway where she was supposed to meet Branwen, the Huntsman himself sitting on top of one of the dumpsters with four dead townies heaped in the corner behind him.
She raised a brow at that.
"Tried to mug me," he replied nonchalantly, counting the bottle caps he looted. "Got something?"
Neo handed him her notepad. Branwen whistled as he flipped through it.
After a while, he gave her his own notes. Her 'partner' had done his own sleuthing and found a way to bypass Hsu's guard detail.
"How does playing the part of a refugee sound to you?"
She almost snorted. Please, Branwen, you have no idea of what she has been through.
"Fair enough. How long can you hold up a disguise?"
Far longer than you would expect, Huntsman. Roman and her ran these types of cons to near perfection back on Remnant. Honestly, the security levels of Atlas leading up to that whole fracas at Amity and Beacon was lackluster compared to the eagle-eyed Wasteland veterans in tin cans with fast hands and faster guns who had effectively locked down the entire district surrounding the Old Mormon Fort.
"You remember the plan?"
Of course, she did. What kind of slick and sleek criminal was she if she didn't cover the basics?
"Alright. Better gear up then. Best be prepared in case things go south."
No need to tell her twice. Neo tapped her duffel which carried the disassembled Californian forty-four magnum trail carbine she had 'purchased' from Freeside's local arms dealer Mick before sauntering back out onto the street under a new visage.
"You drink?"
Silence.
"I didn't poison it, if that's what you're thinking."
More silence.
"Your loss."
Flat stare.
"What? I did offer."
Roll eyes.
"Just don't come asking me for my whiskey later."
Shake head.
"You sure you don't want any?"
Annoyed glare.
"Suit yourself." Branwen downed half the bottle before peering back through his binoculars once again, following the NCR convoy as it parked in front of the Old Mormon Fort.
Beside him, Neopolitan was doing maintenance on her Californian carbine, thoroughly taking it apart with a hint of familiarity. Like she had been used to these guns before...
"So... You and Torchwick."
She loudly flicked on the lighter she 'borrowed' from a hobo and held the flame next to the wick of a stick of dynamite. Her companion slowly nodded.
"I was just curious."
He had been way too curious, asking for the fifth time. He then settled back to watching the crowds gathering around the convoy.
"Oh, shit."
Neo saw Branwen sporting a frown while he fumbled through his Pip-Boy, checking for whatever notes he had stored in there.
Glancing from his oversized wrist-computer to their targets, he clicked his tongue. "Wasn't expecting the extra company."
What extra company? She edged closer and pulled out her own binocs to peek through the gaps in the wooden boards they were perched behind. Sure enough, there was an entire platoon of heavily-armed escorts, some in those bulky armored suits, surrounding the general himself. No surprise there. Then she saw the two people trailing after him...
Oh.
Oh, shit indeed.
Freeside reminded Winter so much of Mantle's slums. Specifically, this whole place was not too dissimilar to the abandoned open-pit Dust mine directly underneath Atlas that became the kingdom's poverty heartland. The only differences were the lack of snow, the agonizing heat, and the complete disregard for human life and basic human decency. She loathed to admit that the Imperium's slave pits in Arizona had slightly better living conditions than here. Then again, she never stayed an Imperium slave for long so she couldn't really know.
"I prefer to consider that there are worse places," quipped Glynda.
The elder Schnee strode away from the window of the extensively refortified south tower in the Old Mormon Fort. Their beddings were modest and essentials bare. If anything, the Followers of the Apocalypse were the only truly decent people in this whole Wasteland as far as Winter could tell. Barring their somewhat anarchic tenets, they were very altruistic and looked upon violence only as a last resort.
"I don't feel comfortable leaving behind the others," she remarked.
Glynda thinned her lips at that. "I'm sure they can manage. They are not completely untrained and lacking in experience per se."
Winter nodded. "Well, we are all that's left of...our little uprising."
Both women shuddered at the memories of their chaotic escape from the Imperium. A true tale fit for the annals. And also the bloodiest episode of their lives up to that point, coming on par with the Fall of Beacon. Such a heavy cost for their 'freedom'...
They were interrupted from their musings by General Hsu striding in. "Good evening, ladies. How are you feeling?"
"Better, sir," Winter replied automatically.
He nodded. So much like General Ironwood. "Once again, I apologize for any discomfort this may bring you."
"Apology accepted, sir," Glynda answered. "We understand why this must be done. We are of the same mind here."
He smiled. A little bit like General Ironwood. "Regardless of the outcome of our discussions, know that I have held nothing but utmost respect and concern for your well-being and the well-being of your fellow Remnant companions."
The two women eyed each other, the blinking of their collars reminding them of their handicap.
"You are only doing what you think is right, sir," Winter remarked. "The methods are not always as we want them to be."
He tiredly hung his head. Conversely, General Ironwood would have been glaring holes into the floorboards. "There were no better alternatives."
"If you don't mind me asking," Glynda said. "Has Courier Six made contact since our conversation with him?"
"No. But I doubt he would leave us hanging. He always keeps to his word." A soft chuckle. "I wouldn't be surprised if he was late, though. He loves to take his time."
"And so he is taking his time with us?"
General Hsu shook his head. "Most likely. There's no doubt he knows we've arrived and are waiting on him. The Old Mormon Fort is neutral ground but it is located in the middle of territory that he effectively controls despite what it may appear. New Vegas may be ours in every legal and technical sense but the truth of the matter is that the only reason the people here abide by our laws and pay their taxes to us is because the Courier and his allies told them to."
Winter furrowed her brow. "You're saying they obey him more than you. And if he 'told' them to go against you?"
Again, the commander laughed. "He doesn't have to order anyone to go against us. He just has to tell them when to stop supporting us...and let the boulder roll down the mountain. You see, we made the mistake of relying on him too much to fix our problems. While the end result was fulfilling our national priorities and winning the war against the Imperium, the price—as we've come to see a little too late—was the loyalty of New Vegas and the surrounding territories."
"But Courier Six was working for you."
"He was an external contractor. True, he had held NCR citizenship but that was because his group was absorbed into our forces by treaty over a decade ago. Since then, there have been highs and lows but he was always active somewhere, providing unintended, if not indirect, assistance. When he started actively figuring into the state of affairs here in the Mojave, President Kimball saw fit to bring him back to the fold, at least to work for us as a fully-sanctioned agent."
"And he agreed?"
Another nod. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend, as the saying goes. The Legion was encroaching on our borders and several of our positions had been overrun. Caesar was poised to launch a second, grander offensive while we were worn down, exhausted, and dangerously undersupplied after holding onto Nevada for four years."
Glynda hummed. "Then Courier Six began shifting the balance of power."
"Robert House, the de facto leader of New Vegas proper, saw the Legion with the same lens as ours. So he initially contracted Courier Six as his agent. Courier Six, on the other hand, acted on his own accord to aid us. It soon became clear that he...did not agree with either House's principles...or his manner of governing. Or both; I never got a straight answer from him myself."
"Was it a matter of convenience?"
"It was very convenient for us, yes. Until recently, that is... The same problems we thought we solved have come back with newer problems under the wings all the while we were making the same mistakes we thought we'd never make again." He recomposed himself. "Is there anything you need, ladies? There is not much in way of food but the local delicacies aren't that bad."
"We're fine, thank you, sir."
The two ladies sat in silence long after the general left. Eventually, Winter mustered the courage to ask, "Glynda, I...am not confident in this."
Glynda sighed. "Neither am I. We are already here, however. I only hope whatever scheme Qrow is up to better not undo whatever progress we might make here."
"If we ever make any. From what we've learned so far of Courier Six, we might not make much headway."
"We have room to negotiate ourselves. You heard him during that call. He sounded quite reasonable."
"To an extent," clarified the former Beacon staffer. "Winter, you could tell he was acting only to bolster his assets and maintain his leverage over the NCR. He could be...he could be using the children to..."
"Perhaps we were all a matter of convenience," argued the elder Schnee. "It may sound unpleasant but convenience helped to bring us this far."
"You mean we got lucky."
Winter never liked the concept of luck but now? "Here's hoping we stay lucky then."
Despite a bleeding lip, cuts on his arms, and possibly a minor concussion that might to bite him in the ass later, Six ultimately got the upper hand on his stalker and slammed him against the wall hard enough to send cracks across the brick and mortar. Normally, the amount of force he used would have shattered anyone's ribcage but this was no ordinary prick who had been spying on him for the past several hours now. That honeycomb glow flashing at those moments of contact was all the confirmation he needed.
"I knew something was off about you," the Courier hissed. "You're one of them."
The suspect wheezed out a snicker despite the pressure on his lungs. "Took you long enough."
"Nimble and tough bastard, I'll give him that, Boss," Raul quipped with his twelve-gauge pump-action leveled at the stranger's head a few paces away. "Either that or I'm really getting too old for this."
The Courier snorted. "Still got more years left in us, Raul. Keep an eye out in case this guy's got some back-up."
"I only got two eyes but I'll see if I can open a third one in the back of my head. And maybe grow a third arm to hold a pistol out just in case, eh?"
Sarcasm aside, Six dragged his victim a few more inches above the ground. He might kick out of this but so far, this Huntsman was being suspicious docile. One good thing about giving up on the bottle is that I'm a bit more perceptive and I saw you tailing me from a mile away, buddy.
"Alright, asshole," he started, "I want names. And since there's a lot o' you wacky, super-powered sons o' bitches poppin' up, down, and sideways and all over the Mojave 'causing all sorts of trouble, I got no qualms in whittling you all down."
This prick was still smiling. "I don't have anything really to give you. Honest."
"Sure, you don't," the Courier grunted. This is how you want to play, asshole? "Dunno how much Aura you got but that means I got more time to get creative. Experiment a little here and there, see how much you can bleed until you give me what I want."
"Relax, man. We're all friends here."
"Friends, eh? I wonder who your friend is who'd been rootin' around under Fort Mead?"
The smile vanished and this bastard's face contorted...into confusion? "What?"
The Courier slammed his knee into his stomach, eliciting another flare-up of Aura. After a short coughing fit, he held him up harder against the bricks. "I know you've been slinkin' around the NCR's backyard. You think I wouldn't see your buddy taking a stroll in a place she shouldn't be?"
"She?" rasped the Huntsman. "The fuck are you talking about?"
Don't fucking lie to me, asshole. "You operate in groups. Sure, going solo'd get more results but a smarter man like yourself would team up with someone to get things done, don't you think? And who better than someone who comes from the same place?"
"I'm not that smart, pal."
Bullshit. "Ain't no use in playing dumb, pal."
"Look, I've been to Fort Mead, alright?" the Huntsman grunted. "But I was just paying some friends of mine a visit. I don't know what else to tell you."
"They just let you into Fort Mead. Just like that, huh. No checks, no cuffs. How many friends you got?"
"Boss, I don't think he's lying," Raul said.
"I don't buy it," Six insisted, keeping his attention square on his quarry. Something ain't right here. "You know, I remember you from that one little party we had in the Wrangler. One hell of a party, that one. You still owe me for those drinks, asshole."
"It was just a couple hundred caps."
You turned into a fucking bird and I'm pretty sure the buzz wasn't that hard when I literally saw you turn into a goddamn bird. "Names. Addresses. Now."
"Told you," his stalker coughed. "I got nothing! Honest!"
"Boss," the ghoul called. "I think he ran out of lies minutes ago."
Seriously, Raul? "You sure?"
The look on the mechanic's face was more than enough. That and the fact that the guy he was holding up against a brick wall didn't even take the only window he gave him when he looked away to knee him in the gut and wring free.
So the Six stepped back to let the Huntsman drop to his knees and gasp for air. "You ain't out of the woods yet. Since you're in the dark as you say, why don't you put those Remnant eyes of yours to good use and spot for us, eh?"
"I'm not a faunus."
"Isn't night vision a Semblance, too?"
His stalker coughed out a laugh. "Mine isn't a good one, to be honest with you."
"Uh-huh. Maybe your Semblance is one that makes you piss off the wrong people."
He laughed harder. "Something like that."
"On your feet now," the Courier ordered, his forty-four primed and ready to go off against the Huntsman's temple. "I can put you down faster than you'd trigger that goddamn sword thing on your hip. I know it's some fuck-shit shape-shifting mega-gun-sword or something so don't even bother 'cause my bullets are faster than your hands. So start talking."
The stranger could only grin back. "Fair enough. The name's Qrow Branwen—"
Six blinked. That name... Oh God no.
"—and judging by that look on your face, I think you already know who I am."
The smirk he was getting from this Huntsman was further souring his mood.
"So, Major Vickers, how are my nieces doing?"
Three hours later, the Courier, much to his consternation, headed to the Old Mormon Fort with a 'mutual accomplice' to keep things smooth during his meeting with General Hsu. Well, at least he had an extra body atop Raul who was blending in with the crowd as best as any ghoul could. It helped his odds somewhat but three men and an adobe ghetto militia against a company-sized retinue of tier-one operators was not a gamble Six was willing to make.
And he had made way too many gambles already. With limited supplies, limited bodies, and limited energy, this Branwen guy was a gift horse that he would prefer looking in the mouth.
"Damn. My nieces did that?"
Vickers glanced over his shoulder to see the Huntsman with a Pip-Boy of his own looking up at the charred remains of the apartment that Hyper and Blondie torched during one of their escapades to help fix Freeside.
"I take it Yang was the instigator."
"It was the other one."
"Ruby? Huh. Guess she's learning to take the initiative more often now."
"Yeah, either she sees what's right in front of her or sees through her scope."
Bird-man chuckled. "Uh-huh. I was hoping Beacon would have straightened her out. But then again, you on-board kids in their mid to late teens and you know how they are sometimes."
Six snorted. "No shit. Bet they didn't teach them to pay their taxes or count mortgage costs."
"They didn't make it that far in the curriculum."
Vickers heard the drop in his companion's tone. "Well now they're learning."
"Taking jobs at the Strip, right?"
"You must have a pretty good network of informants."
"I know how to get my intel, buddy." The Huntsman sauntered into his field of view. "You know, little Miss Schnee is going to be having her debut concert tonight."
The Courier stopped walking. "Listen, you damn bird, I'm doing what I do to keep things from going to hell in a hand-basket and those kids right up ended up in that hand-basket. Right now, I'm saving my patience for Hsu so save your questions until after I'm done with him."
The smirk Qrow gave him in response meant he didn't believe him. Not that he expected him to; after all, Six fully suspected that the Huntsman had been holding back. At least for now, he behaved during their long walk through Freeside.
Neo understood the need for keeping clean during certain jobs. Roman made it very clear that too many bodies meant too many complications and a net loss overall, successful heist or no—cleaners don't work for free, after all. So she reined in her more lethal tendencies as best she could. But even then, she had to argue that some people just had to go.
Like this one particular Ranger she had been tracking for half a day now.
Almost the same height, minus the build, but close enough to resemble her physique. The body armor and all the attached equipment would distort her overall body shape. Plus it seemed her quarry didn't talk much.
And it was not like the NCR's accounting was anything to be proud of. Really, her observations at Camp Forlorn Hope and Fort Mead showed how much hassle it was to get troops from point A to point B; that one quartermaster was even having trouble keeping tabs on whole squads. How much more if another soldier went missing?
So Neo waited. And followed. And waited. And followed. Then she struck.
Twenty minutes later, Sergeant Lena Atwater rejoined the security detail of Major General James Hsu and entered the Old Mormon Fort with no hassle. She normally did not say much to her comrades and was often left to her own devices being that she was a bonafide Ranger, albeit one that recently graduated and only had about eighteen months under her belt, but still a tough-as-nails and capable tier-one operator.
For some reason, Atwater could only nod and point in response. Then she started glaring at her fellow Rangers when they tried to hold a conversation for longer than a minute. Must be the stress of being part of a heavy security detail involving some of the best troops the Republic could spare this side of the Mojave.
Atwater never talked much to begin with so there was no point in getting anything from her even if she wanted to speak up.
Then there was a scuffle; some rowdy locals provoked some of the escorts—something about the NCR soldiers pickpocketing the already poor refugees being treated here—and a brawl almost ensued. Thankfully, General Hsu himself diffused the situation, being as diplomatic as he could. All the while, Atwater made her way into the south tower where she encountered Miss Schnee and Miss Goodwitch.
For some reason, she was startled and felt immediately uncomfortable in their presence. Before she could leave, however, she was met by the general who thanked her for taking the initiative in 'providing security' during a potential 'flash point' and ordered her to stay in the room with them as the meeting was imminent.
So she did.
That was when she noticed the sudden silence coming from outside. Then the door opened and she heard footsteps.
Qrow let out a low whistle as he watched the crowd drop into whispers at their arrival. He knew this Courier guy had some influence but this was telling. Flanked by stern-faced Californian Rangers and escorted by a very bedraggled Julie Farkas, the two men made their way through the tent city inside the Old Mormon Fort towards the southeastern tower.
That was where Major General James Hsu was waiting with his own pair of accomplices: Winter Schnee and Glynda Goodwitch, both collared and seated with their backs straight behind him. There was also a short-statured Ranger standing at attention on the right, glancing between them with widening eyes and even lingering on the Huntsman a few seconds longer like she had some kind of history with him or something.
Wait.
Hold on a minute.
That look, that stare... That was not an NCR Ranger. That was...
Qrow could only glare back at Neo who refused to meet his gaze again. When he told her to infiltrate the NCR's ranks to do reconnaissance, he did not mean going this far. Then again, he did not anticipate getting caught by Courier Six and his buddy Raul and getting strong-armed into being his bodyguard. Perhaps his Semblance was acting up again, going into hyperdrive and royally screwing things up like it almost always did.
Well, they were already here. Whoop-de-fucking-doo, what a messed-up coincidence. The Huntsman did his best to keep a straight face while inwardly dreading the fact that the real Sergeant Atwater was probably dead in a ditch somewhere.
General Hsu then stood to welcome Major Vickers with a handshake.
Winter and Glynda went wide-eyed upon seeing Qrow of all people saunter in after the man who allegedly controlled New Vegas from the shadows. While General Hsu and the Courier engaged in the most frigid of courtesies, the two collared ladies furiously glanced over at the Huntsman who only timidly shrugged only to suddenly scowl at Sergeant Atwater for some reason.
Was this part of his scheme?
If so, his notorious Semblance better not act up because Sergeant Atwater looked about as nervous as she was the youngest person in the room. Understandable since she seemed as green as the recruits manning the checkpoints they passed through on their way here.
Out of solidarity for a fellow soldier anxious about her new post, Winter reached over and tapped on Atwater's arm. The Ranger flinched, stared at her, stared at her hand, stared back at her, puckered her lip, and awkwardly nodded back before stiffening up when the Courier turned towards her.
Neo thought the universe was fucking with her because this was just wild.
Here she stood at attention like a trusted and vigilant Californian Ranger, having stolen the disguise from the actual Ranger whose equipment she wore atop her Semblance. She glanced from person to person, keeping as still as a statue while Branwen tried to shrug off the glares from Schnee and Goodwitch. All the while, the two big guys in the room agreed to finally sit down and talk.
On one side was the military commander of all NCR forces in this part of the Mojave Wasteland. About as rigid as Atlas's own General Ironwood but at least more diplomatic. Californian was damn tired and it showed despite how neatly pressed his uniform was or how straight his cap sat on his head. He was trying to call the shots but was constantly rebuffed; he even tried to go for a handshake only to be ignored.
Because the other guy radiated authority. He was one of the people she was after: Courier Six.
And he...he...
What the hell?
Why...why did he...why did he look so...so...familiar...?
That unshaven face with those piercing green eyes, hardened cheeks and a chiseled chin... This guy was tugging on something inside her that it was causing her to lose focus. He looked like he crawled through the desert and tunneled through a mountain to get here with his get-up. Weathered duster, bullet belts wrapped around his abdomen, magnum guns holstered all over his body, satchels and pouches strapped to a harness over his chest, a helmet with an attached gas mask hanging on his hip, and a lot more...
Then he looked at her.
For a few long seconds...
Neo's heart skipped a beat and she didn't know why.
ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: July 1, 2020
LAST EDITED: June 22, 2023
INITIALLY UPLOADED: June 26, 2022
NOTE: Finally managed to get this one done. Had to put this story on the back-burner because of real life commitments but now that my work load has eased up a bit, I was able to get back on this and iron out some previous chapters as well.
Circumstances make for strange bedfellows and this was a scenario I've been tweaking over and over again until they met up. I recall several chapters ago where I posited that Qrow would wipe the floor with the Courier in a straight-up fight and I still believe that. Hence why I had to come up with work-arounds that hopefully made sense.
Anyway, hope you continue to enjoy the read.