Goddamn, I hate doing this. After several agonizing minutes, the Courier found nothing in the public lavatory outside Vault Twenty-One. Ain't the first time I'm on my own doing this. Can't believe Pappas ran out of men to spare 'cause of Swank's unlucky night.
Shuffling.
Six grimaced as he got up from digging in the trash bins and regarded the women huddled against the far wall behind him. "Again, sorry for the inconvenience. Very important internal investigation, you understand."
They shakily nodded their heads—each one of them were tourists though none matched the important descriptors. They were all average height and not really slim. Plus, they talked in hushed whispers.
He tipped his hat at them on his way out. "You all have a good day now."
So much for that lead from the MPs who claimed to see Neopolitan walk in there. If this was just some goddamn sick joke or a stupid fuckin' excuse to get me rummaging for missing panties or used condoms in the goddamn ladies' restroom...
The door to Vault Twenty-One eased open and an elderly couple strode out with their suitcases, waving gleefully back inside.
"Thank you for patronage!" called a familiar voice.
No fucking way. The Courier nodded back at the tourists as they passed him by. Then he immediately walked into establishment right as the person at reception looked up from her terminal.
"Welcome to Vault Twenty...One... Oh, hello, Six," greeted Sparta in a Vault Twenty-One jumpsuit and...was that a Pip-Boy on her arm?
"You workin' here now?"
"Yes. We did go out and get jobs here on the Strip like you wanted, right? Vault Twenty-One was very short-staffed and Miss Weintraub was very eager for us to assist."
He scratched his beard. "Huh. Sounds about right. Just you?"
"Jaune's here as well. I handle reception and he's the porter."
Said porter came strutting out of the vault antechamber, clapping the dust off his hands. "Oh! Hey, Six. Didn't expect to see you here."
"Got done hauling luggage?" grunted the Courier.
"Yeah. These Californians, I tell you. They pack a lot!"
Six did not miss the approving smile from the redhead towards her partner's not-so-muscled arms bulging against the tight blue leather of his Vault suit. "... Right. Seems like you two are doing fine here."
"Oh, they're doing quite well, sir!" chirped Sarah Weintraub, following behind Knight-boy. "I haven't had this much help in ages! Your son and daughter are very hospitable and hardworking."
The Courier again did not miss the awkward chuckles from his 'son' and 'daughter.' "It's just them being smart kids and taking the initiative. Listen, Sarah, I'm doing some checks and I need to see some of your guests."
"Oh, is this about that crackdown on the smugglers? I heard a lot of them managed to sneak into the Tops during the debut concert! Like a real Ocean Daniels crew."
"Yeah... Sure."
"Um, is this going to...disrupt my business?"
Stay out of my way and keep your patrons out of reach, too. "It'll just be quick. Nothing to really bother yourselves with."
It took them awhile to sort through the records. Six settled on the names of those who registered today. The first one on the list was interesting: a lone tourist from the Hub who, according to Sparta, was 'short' and 'mute.'
Didn't have the same eye-color though but...
"...she's good at disguises," he muttered under his breath as they now stood in front of the room of Miss Julia Allegheny. "Miss Weintraub, you go on back to work. Sparta, Knight-boy, stay on my flanks."
With a hesitant nod, Sarah Weintraub dispersed the curious onlookers and headed upstairs to man reception, leaving behind her two assistants who hesitantly prepared themselves for what they were expecting to be a scuffle.
Knight-boy knocked on the door. "Housekeeping."
There was some noise.
"Housekeeping," he called again.
The noise stopped and a moment later the automated door hissed open. And the Courier felt his mechanical heart skip a beat.
Neo had just about snuggled onto her comfy vault bed in a snuggly vault bathrobe after a long vault bath when she heard people talking right outside her vault room. She morphed back into her Julia Allegheny visage—grey eyes, auburn hair undone from the previous ponytail, skin about as fair as her own. Then she heard a particular voice and her gut began hollering. She was unarmed and there was nothing in the room that she could use as a weapon aside from some ornaments or the few books laying around that she could brain someone with.
But still...
"Housekeeping."
There was no escape route out of here aside from the ventilation shafts and they were just big enough for her head. Neo began rummaging through the drawers.
"Housekeeping."
She found a dry pen and a couple pencils. Good enough. Hiding them under her sleeves, she pressed the button on the panel that opened the door. And Neo's resolve left her faster than the air emptying out her lungs.
If there was one word Jaune and Pyrrha could think of to describe what was going on right now, it would be alarming. Their budding Huntsman senses tingled harder by the second. Jaune looked to Pyrrha who looked back and they looked to the Courier who remained frozen in place much like the diminutive woman in front of him. A whole minute passed without nary a sound before the blond cleared his throat.
"Good morning, Miss Allegheny. Um, sorry for the inconvenience but we're, uh, here to, ah..."
"May I come in," Six interjected shakily.
Miss Allegheny surprisingly nodded, a noticeable tremble taking over her while she backed up.
Jaune and Pyrrha shared another glance, hovering behind the open doorway as the Courier strode inside.
Neo was screaming in her head.
Everything was coming back together, piece by agonizing piece. She was getting a headache on top of her inability to command her body to initiate a fight. She quickly realized she wasn't paralyzed; instead, she was having a panic attack (since when had she started getting panic attacks!?) and was trying desperately to not show it.
"What's your name, miss?" drawled the (Desert) man (Ranger) in front of her.
She let out a dry huff, her jaw hanging.
"... You're mute. Aren't you?"
Against her wishes, she nodded, rubbing her shaking and sweaty hands against her bathrobe.
He nodded back, cupping his own hands to stifle that minute trembling. "You, uh... You're..."
She gulped, taking another big step back as he took one towards her.
"I'm not... I'm not here to hurt you, lady... I'm just...here to ask...some...things..."
Neo nodded again.
Those old green eyes, cracked and weighted, dilated. Then, like bouncing balls in a box, they darted around those reddened whites. In an unnatural (inhuman) way. His hands remained cupped over his chest as he continued studying her like a hamster in a cage...
...more like a rat in a trap. Like so many legionaries screaming in the bear traps set up by Ranger Team Echo...
Neo blinked several times, trying and failing to shut out the noise muddling her thoughts. More and more of these disjointed pieces kept coming, digging into her brain like broken pottery shards. She looked away and felt nauseous.
"... Short, slim, mute..."
She staggered, hearing him shuffle closer.
His croaky, rumbly voice rended a crack against something inside of her. "You're not really from California, aren't you?"
Neo struggled not to gasp for air.
"... But you can't just be one of them either. It can't be that simple, right?"
There was an eerie calmness in the way he spoke. As though he was less probing her for truths but instead dictating long-buried facts.
"You're not Julia Allegheny or Lena Atwater or whoever's identity you stole."
No. No, she was not.
"Neopolitan. Even that's an alias, ain't it? Something from...somewhere out there."
Her body went rigid. Back home? Did he know? Did he really know?
"You're a long way from home, woman."
Woman.
Not little girl.
Not (his) precious daughter...
The crack that formed inside of her spread until she felt something break and shatter. Neo felt a million glass pieces rake against her skin—her Semblance was starting to act up, powered by the rollercoaster of unstable emotions about to crash into a wall of packed Dust. The screaming in her head turned to wailing with the deluge of the past now drowning her in the present.
"... It's you. Who the hell are you?"
Then, in a moment of agonizing clarity, the prodigal child of a Desert Ranger eyed the man who used to be one. And Neo moved.
Six saw the woman in front of him go from hesitant to uncomfortable to antsy to now erratically scratching at her bare arms where he could see the rashes. From the holding cells in the police station.
"... It's you," he echoed. "Who the hell are you?"
The woman suddenly raise her head to regard him with a fierce glare. And for a brief moment, he swore the colors of her eyes had changed.
"What in the goddamn—?"
Suddenly V.A.T.S. started to malfunction. The numbers were inconsistent and his vision was plagued with lines of code and godawful overlapping text characters that often preceded a system crash. The longer he kept scanning, the likelier he might induce a paralyzing migraine and potentially cripple his central nervous system.
Amid the blurring in his vision, he caught the rapid movement in his peripheries. His hand caught the fist that was meant for his belly—
Thwack!
And his other arm deflected the kick that was meant for his side.
He heard the kids shouting behind him and he intercepted the lady before she could bolt, grabbing her arm tight and yanking her back inside. He made to throw her against the wall when she...transformed.
Courier Six felt the whole world stop when he was subjected to the splitting image of the late Sergeant Tatiana Averis-Vickers of the Desert Rangers. But it wasn't just the familiar old clothes, the empty bandoliers, or the tin star pinned to her tan leather jacket that stunned him cold.
It was that face...that beautiful, pristine face...hung with sadness, disappointment, hurt...what anyone would rightfully feel when facing a traitor...
I never sold out the Desert Rangers to anyone! It wasn't me!
...complete with the mismatched eyes that were pink and brown...
We had bad intel, we were duped! They lied to us to get out of there so the Legion could swoop in and...
His grip slackened and the woman pulled herself free, staggering back and mimicking his posture.
"No," he breathed, pointing a shaky finger at her. "No, no, no... You... You can't be... This is—"
"Hey!"
"Six!"
Major Vickers disengaged as Jaune and Pyrrha leapt in to subdue the woman. He blinked and Sergeant Averis-Vickers literally shattered into thousands of glass pieces between the tandem.
"What the hell!?"
"She's gone!"
The Courier stood in silence. His mouth was dry, his hands were sweaty, and his heart was racing. The voices in his head were getting louder and louder—too loud to hear the kids yelling or Sarah running downstairs to see what was happening or the hotel patrons that were once again crowding around the open guest room that no longer had its registered guest.
Because Miss Allegheny was gone. Not even the tiny shards were left; each one faded into nothingness within seconds. And he slumped onto the bed, staring blankly at the floor, not responding at all to the hand shaking him or the concerned faces of the two kids from Remnant who were worried that something terrible had happened.
Neo ran.
She stumbled through her Semblance, bouncing from point to point, gracelessly rushing and brushing past other people. Because all she could hear were these voices in her head that wouldn't stop talking, wouldn't stop talking, wouldn't stop talking!
Bounding up the stairs, out of Vault Twenty-One, bursting through the front door to the outside world. The sights, smells, and sounds of the New Vegas Strip was making it hard to focus and she assumed a rapid gate down the sidewalk towards...anywhere but here. She then noticed the looks. Curious looks, cautious looks. Some MPs began tailing her but she kept walking, her heels clacking loudly against the pavement.
"Excuse me, miss—"
Neo avoided the officer reaching out to her.
"Miss!"
"Ma'am, if you please!"
She hurried her pace, nearly jogging past a Securitron.
"Please adhere to the local laws and regulations—"
"Hey, lady!"
Fuck this. Neo ran. She needed to get out of here. There was too much noise and there were people now coming after her. Machines were moving to block her. In broad daylight and in full view of way too many witnesses, she leapt up high and used her Semblance to once again slip through, leaving shards of herself in her wake. Gasps, screams, and curses rang out over the sound of disappearing glass scattering across the pavement.
The Courier shambled out of Vault Twenty-One, shrugging off Jaune and Pyrrha who tried desperately to get him to communicate with them. He remained in fugue throughout his stroll across the Strip. He neither returned the salutes from the MPs nor paid attention to any of the folks who acknowledged him. All the while his Pip-Boy had been vibrating with alerts from transmission that he absently skimmed through:
Raul was asking if something was going on.
Pappas was asking what the hell was going on.
Crocker wanted to ask him something.
In the back of his mind, former Major Theodore Vickers asked why God was making him suffer like this. But Old Green Eyes knew the answer, echoing it back over and over again amid the white noise ringing in his brain while he trudged past the commotion in the Strip towards the Lucky Thirty-Eight.
"Sir! We have a problem—"
"Sir, um, there's a lady—"
"Major Vickers, there is an issue with security—"
Six waved them all off, casting a dry gaze at the Securitrons and MPs going into crowd control, before heading into the tower. Victor greeted him in front of the elevator, cheerfully telling him that Yes Man was done with the scans.
"Hope you don't mind me saying, partner, but you look like you've seen a ghost," the AI remarked before the Courier wordlessly descended down to the X-floors, his hands trembling.
Soon, he was in front of the main console, staring up at Yes Man's migraine-inducing smile on the big screen.
"Hiya there, Major! All scans are complete."
He nodded, cupping his hands tightly together to still the shakes. "Anything else...you got for me?"
"Yep! Multiple documents transmitted directly from McCarran Headquarters."
He nodded again. "Print 'em."
"Roger that."
As Major Vickers waited for the printout of the kids' NCR contracts, he began typing up instructions to send to Raul and Pappas, pausing several times to get his hands to stop violently shaking and briefly staring back at the photographs of Team Echo on display on one of the side terminals. The scans confirmed a lot of similarities which made it all the more difficult for him to accept what he had just found out today. But one thing was for damn certain: Neopolitan mimicked Tatiana down to a tee.
And that woman's goddam magic trick was ruining him.
"Special guests to the Big Man?" asked an MP sergeants standing outside the Lucky Thirty-Eight.
"Let's keep it at that," Mister Tejada replied tersely.
"You got it, sir."
Glynda could not help but remark. "Even they take orders from you?"
The ghoul snorted. "Who do you think cleans up after Boss's messes from time to time?"
"And somehow the NCR preferred Major Vickers over you," Winter added. "Is it because you're a ghoul?"
"Nah. Just didn't want to work for them."
Mister Tejada continued to ignore the commotion along the sidewalks where gestured the NCR's military police were tending to gaggles of tourists who looked like they had witnessed a magic trick gone wrong. Something about a person breaking into little pieces to avoid getting arrested by the authorities.
What other 'normal' oddities did the New Vegas or the Wasteland offer, Glynda wondered. "Is there anyone who will be joining us later?"
"Just Boss and yours truly. And the robots, too."
"More Securitrons?"
"His name is Victor, he can rip you apart, and he's great at cocktails. All in all, the friendliest AI I've ever known since leaving Mexico."
Glynda sighed. "Lovely."
Over the noise of three layers of sliding doors to grate open, she could hear the hushed whispers of the onlookers. True to rumors, entering the Lucky Thirty-Eight was an immense privilege. Major Vickers was the first human being since the Great War to have been granted entry to the tower when it had once been the home of Robert Edwin House—another survivor of the Great War who had somehow kept breathing for the next two centuries thanks to his technologies.
"Don't mind the attention," advised Mister Tejada. "Makes you want to drink yourself silly to forget how rare a species of human you two are."
"And what species are you," the blonde asked.
"The really lucky one."
Soon, they crossed the threshold and strode into the hauntingly empty casino floor of the Lucky Thirty-Eight, the steel doors grinding shut behind them. Dusted lounges, varnished tables, cushioned chairs, and bright neon lights that had, in the distant past, accommodated scores of clientele dotted the cavernous floor. There were clear gaps in the carpets where the slot machines had been. Apparently, the mascot of the Vegas Wonder Kids—a domesticated infant deathclaw—had chewed through most of them.
Winter dragged her finger on the banister and rubbed away the little bit of grime. "How long again have they been living here?"
"About a couple months give or take. Don't really know how long but fairly recent. Boss had them clean up the tower when he was away."
"Before their employment at the other casinos?"
"Pretty much."
"Howdy, folks!" greeted a particular Securitron manning the elevator in the middle of the floor. Unlike the other robots outside, this one sported a cheerful cowboy avatar on its screen. "You ladies must be the new guests Major Vickers was going on about."
Glynda flashed a quick, polite smile. "Indeed we are, ah...sir... Mister...?"
"Victor. Pleased to make your acquaintances, ma'ams. And you two are?"
"Glynda Goodwitch."
"Winter Schnee."
Neither women took the extended pincer for a handshake.
"Well, you ladies must be them special folk they've all been chattin' about a little bit ago," Victor mused. "The Vegas Wonder Kids said so much about you two."
The blonde almost winced. Hopefully it was a good impression, given how advanced this AI was coming across. "I'm sure they have."
"Now I take it the major told you of where you two'll be stayin'? We could squeeze in more in the presidential suite."
"We're fine with the other rooms," the lieutenant interjected. "There are over a hundred rooms here after all."
"Well, all those rooms don't have working plumbing and the electricity isn't really all that evenly distributed. Given how this place was built and modified over the years, it ain't no surprise. Apologies for that."
"It's alright, Mister Victor. We can manage."
"Suit yourselves." The robot turned to the ghoul. "What about you, old pal?"
"Take us to the Boss, first. I won't be staying long, anyway."
"Sure thing. All in the elevator now."
Qrow cursed under his breath upon seeing the door to one of his secret mountain caches was ajar. Easing closer, he could hear voices: NCR. Their scouts were already rummaging through the stuff he was packing in there. His hand ghosted over the handle of one of his spare pistols and he screwed his eyes shut at what he was considering right now.
Did Courier Six give the green light on acceptable casualties? He doubted it. Then again, didn't that mailman kill off a bunch of troopers recently?
Qrow peeked around the corner and spotted four guys decked out in gear atypical of the NCR's vaunted Rangers, equipped with better guns and wearing wide-brimmed hats too. They broke open one of the boxes. One of them whistled as they looked in and they chatted about how this could be related to the missing equipment from McCarran.
The veteran Huntsman eased his hand away from his pistol and was about to sneak back outside when he heard their commanding officer claim that they had enough evidence to link some 'crimes' back to 'that goddamn mailman.' To which another hooted about how the Courier was 'pulling the wool over the brass's eyes for way too damn long.'
Qrow looked back and pressed closer against the rock.
"...is where all that missing equipment went. Probably a lot more in the other hideouts in this godforsaken desert. What say we take on some of this stuff? Top tier gear right here, don't you think, captain?"
The captain shook his head. "Not if you want a court martial and twenty years for treason. Executive orders, remember?"
"Shit. And I thought General Hsu was the best of them."
"I wouldn't put it past him to bend over backwards to that mailman so he could keep this whole place from falling apart. If you ask me, he's been way too lenient. Hell, New Vegas still acts like they don't belong to the NCR."
"So it's true then?" another ranger piped. "What they're saying in intelligence? About what really happened to General Oliver?"
"Everybody knows General Wait-And-See was thrown off the fucking dam," snorted the first.
"Yeah but nobody could prove who ordered it though."
"This'll at least prove who was involved," the captain concluded. "They say Charlie Sixer doesn't play chess and I don't believe it. Now he's got a king in his pocket and nine queens on a leash."
"What about the, uh, secret packages in the Divide?"
"Don't have clearance for that. Not yet, at least."
The veteran Huntsman could see the captain reaching for his communicator. Whether it was his Semblance or the NCR was being duplicitous and acting way too fast for either him or the Courier to stay one step ahead, this was not looking good. But could he really go through with...?
"Please come back."
Fuck it.
Stifling a yawn, he quietly drew his modified Browning, took careful aim at the captain's head, and—
—swiveled around to aim his pistol at the ranger pointing his rifle at his face.
"Whoa, shit, you're quick," the Californian gasped before hardening his glare at him.
"I can be quicker," Qrow rebutted. "Now how about you—"
Click.
"Say that again?" another ranger growled from his right, rifle barrel hovering close to his ear.
The veteran Huntsman grimaced. Either these guys were quieter than he took them for or he shouldn't have taken that vodka from those traveling merchants before coming here. Or he was just being reckless and his Semblance only made it worse.
"Alright, stand down, you slimy son of a bitch! Stand down!"
"Who's there!?"
"Got ourselves a cave rat over here, sir!"
"Gods damn it," Qrow hissed.
Winter nearly lost her composure when, during the long elevator ride up to the penthouse, both Mister Tejada and the robot Victor mentioned that her sister and her friends had been sleeping in the Courier's own bed.
"I beg your pardon?" she harped.
"Not how you'd picture it, teniente," the ghoul advised. "The way I heard, he just walked into his room one night, saw them huddled up under the covers, walked right back out and slept on the couch. Or got drunk at the bar and slept on the couch. Or the floor. Or somewhere on the Strip. I don't think he really bothers so long as they're not sleeping on the streets."
"Or rummage through his storage lockers," chirped Victor.
"Yeah, that too—hold up, he didn't move them out yet?"
"Nope. Keeps slipping his mind, he says."
"Impressive guardianship," commented Glynda.
Winter would have quipped about Qrow being equally inefficient in his stewardship but then again, she never really knew him that much to actually be serious with that jab. Especially now that that drunken bird was doing everything he can to help them...sometimes to his own detriment.
"Anyway, you'll have your rooms ready but Boss wants to discuss something first."
"You don't sound enthused, if I may say so, sir," the lieutenant observed.
He shrugged. "I'm a little surprised, to be honest. Now, Boss is up in the penthouse. That's, how do I put this, ah...a sort of no-go zone. Exclusive territory, exclusive privilege. What I'm saying is that he's usually very protective of who gets up there."
Winter quirked a brow. "It's his personal headquarters then. His main office?"
"In a way. I rarely go up there myself and it's only if he asks."
"That speaks volumes to how much trust he's putting in us then," Glynda said.
"More like he's taking risks. Don't drink and gamble, they say, but hey, he's not drinking anymore." The ghoul turned back to the doors as the elevator finally eased to a stop. "... Least, I hope so."
"Put the gun down!"
"Put the fucking gun down!"
"Put it down or we'll fucking put you down!"
Qrow lowered his pistol. Then he ducked, kicking the man behind him hard enough to send him flying into the rock wall while shooting the other to his right. The whole cave immediately lit up with the rangers opening fire in near unison, their bullets chipping away at the stalagmites that he dove behind. A few grazed him, causing his Aura to flare.
"Holy shit, are you seein' that?"
"Focus and shoot!"
"Shit, I think he shat out some rads!"
Qrow unclasped the stun grenade from his belt, pulled the pin, and tossed it over his shoulder.
"Grenade!"
"Cover!"
Phosphorous brightened up the cave and the veteran Huntsman swung out from behind the rocks, taking in a whole fistful of lead all over his body as he began shooting at the first person he saw.
While the deactivated robot statues and luxurious amenities adorning the penthouse were expected, it was the massive console housing multiple terminals surrounding a massive screen that got their attention. Although everything about it seemed so antiquated compared to what the two Remnant ladies were used to, it was far from unimpressive as it carried the veneer of an all seeing eye for whoever lorded over the New Vegas Strip.
"Quite detailed," Winter breathed, noting the markers on the map of Clark County flashed on the main terminal.
Glynda, on the other hand, followed the security feeds on the side terminals. "Almost nothing goes unnoticed here."
"This way," coaxed Mister Tejada. "Boss! You around?"
They idled in what they thought was the surveillance room for a moment before following the ghoul to the grandiose kitchen.
"Oh, there you are, Boss. You...called?"
The two ladies took in the sight of the man who had so far remained one of the very few people in their lives to genuinely intimidate them to their core. He was seated at the far end of a long table, his head buried in his hands, atop scattered dossiers just across from an uncorked bottle of whiskey.
The ghoul cleared his throat. "Boss?"
The Courier waved lazily, head still bowed. "Pick a seat... Drinks're over there...somewhere..."
"Boss. Something big going on?"
"Just...some fucking paperwork is all..."
"Major Vickers," Winter said. "It's Lieutenant Winter Schnee and Miss Glynda Goodwitch. You wanted to discuss something with us, sir?"
Major Vickers was quiet for a long while. "... How do y'all do it?"
"Pardon, sir?"
He raised his head, his old green eyes bloodshot, the rest of him disheveled. "How the hell do y'all wrangle these goddamn kids with their goddamn superpowers? 'Cause I don't think I'm doin' it right..."
Glynda blinked. This man before them was a far cry from the person who negotiated with General Hsu back at the Old Mormon Fort. Was this a facade or was Major Vickers truly at the end of his rope? His expression was almost foggy, in a sense. Much like Ozpin when he was reminiscing about things far too distant in the past.
The lieutenant furrowed her brow. "Sir, is there a...problem...with...?"
The Courier stared back. His green eyes were glassy now while that noticeable trembling in his hands returned. He kneaded his fingers together as he glanced at the whiskey. "... She looked a lot like her..."
"Boss?"
Major Vickers drawled, taking the bottle in his shaky hand. "They all look a lot like her...a lot like them..."
"Sir?"
He rubbed his thumb over the cork. "Fucking magic tricks..."
"Old Green Eyes?"
Old Green Eyes suddenly glared at Glynda. But she knew what she said. If anything, she got his full attention, dispelling that hazy mist clouding his mind. After all, it was apparent now that he could barely think given some of the nonsensical scribbles adorning the notes next to the dossiers.
"Do you need help with some paperwork?" she asked. "I presume those are the government contracts of teams RWBY and JNPR?"
"Thought you were a teacher," he drawled, setting the whiskey aside.
The blonde pushed up her glasses. "Educating is only part of the job, sir."
Qrow dragged himself over to the crates, blood caking his clothes and more seeping down his side to his legs. His Aura continued to mend his wounds while he dug through the satchels lumped into one of the boxes for some of the spare medical supplies he had hoarded here. By the time he was done wrapping himself up, he began rummaging through the dead.
The first corpse, nearly cleaved in half, yielded a diary with a folded note on top of the most recent entry bearing a list of coordinates of half of Courier Six's hidden supply caches across the Mojave. He then quickly located the body of the commanding officer; the upper half of his body had been impaled on a stalagmite. The lower half was somewhere behind it.
Qrow really did not want this to happen. Alas, these rangers were as stubborn as they were tough. They really lived up to their boasts: quieter than a shadow and as ferocious as a deathclaw. And to think Courier Six used to train these guys years back.
"Holy shit," he mouthed, reading through the officer's bloodied notebook and looking back up in disbelief at the captain's bloodied face. "... 'Executive orders,' huh. What a way to clean house."
Qrow then checked the dog tags before snapping them off, doing the same with the rest of the squadron. He needed to clean this place up fast otherwise more of these 'furloughed' rangers would be coming in. Then they would call in to their superiors that their secret operation had been compromised.
Before beginning his cleanup, he sent out a quick transmission to Major Vickers from his Pip-Boy:
'we have a problem lets meet asap -qrow'
Omake
Rose of Sharon Cassidy, otherwise known by most others as Cass, was halfway through her third bottle of whiskey when she heard the stool next to her grate against the floor. She waited for the bartender to give the man next to her a beer before she downed her shot glass and turned on her seat.
"So what'd they say?"
First Recon Sergeant Craig Boone shook his head, his signature aviators hanging off his shirt collar. "He's been moved to solitary."
Cass sighed. "Shit. So he really did try to escape."
"More like he got dragged into it by his cellmate."
She poured herself another shot. "Hope they still treat him right."
"Yeah."
It took Cass a full minute to properly broach the next thing on her mind. "What about the whole...you know...crazy shit that's been going on lately...over in New Vegas?"
He sighed. "It is what it is. No reason for me to go there."
She nodded. "... Yeah. Guess so. Still hard to believe though. Kids with superpowers and acting like superheroes and doing all that wild shit. And I thought it was all smoke and mirrors 'til I saw the footage and all that and... And they all...they're all working with...or for..."
"Yeah."
Cass grimaced and blinked away the memories. She downed her shot and poured a new one. "You know, I'm thinking of heading back there. To New Vegas. Snagged another deal with the Gun Runners and they want me there to hash out the details."
"Uh-huh."
"You think..." She swallowed hard. "You think Raul's still there? Maybe Veronica popped back on the radar or...?"
Boone was quiet for a long while.
"No buddies in intelligence giving you the slip on stuff going on there?"
"Not unless I need to know what's going on."
Cass nodded dejectedly. "Okay. Okay, yeah. I guess—"
"Raul's been running errands for him," the sniper said in between sips of his beer. "No idea where Veronica is though. Lily's probably still up in Jacobstown."
The caravaneer lit up brighter than the fluorescent lights hanging overhead. "Oh wow. Okay. That's...great. Good to know that old school ghoul's still doing well... I guess. And Lily too. Guess Rex too...wherever the horny little pupper is now. That reminds me: I got to visit the King when I'm there. Catch up on some stuff, ask how or where Rex is since that little son of a bitch up and left to go chase some robo-dog tail."
"Saw ED-E awhile back."
Cass nearly slammed her palms on the bar top as she snapped her head at him. "What?"
"He was following around this ginger girl."
"Veronica?"
"Not Veronica. A lot younger, shorter, and walks with a spring in her step. She has green eyes—"
She narrowed her gaze. "Like him?"
Boone regarded her with a dry stare. "Brighter green eyes. At least, as far as I can tell. Seemed like they got along. They were coming out of Adytum. Girl was hauling a lot of scrap and was chatting up ED-E like it was Christmas or her birthday."
Cass almost scoffed. "Guess that eye-bot finally found a master that actually gave a shit about him. Did you follow them?"
"No. I was only passing by with my unit."
"Oh yeah. Furloughed." She emptied out her whiskey and gestured at the bartender for her fourth one. "How long until you go back?"
"A week."
"Huh. How's Oregon?"
"Cold."
"Snow?"
"Lots of it. More coming soon."
"Damn." She regarded the rest of the bar, finding lesser patrons now and most of them idling around the pool tables or dart boards. "So... I heard some units got redeployed from there to Nevada. Specifically New Vegas."
"Yeah."
Cass eyed him, her voice soft. "Need to know?"
Boone paused. He regarded her, scrutinizing her. Then shrugged. "... A whole ranger detachment was transferred out of our sector. Didn't exactly say where they were headed but I confirmed that some of them went to New Vegas."
"Furloughed?"
Interestingly, he shook his head. "Secret mission more like. I know the looks when we asked, I know the words they used when they answered, and I know that they're not going there to gamble."
Cass hummed and sat back, staring up at the bottles on the shelf in thought. "... Should I be worried?"
To which her old companion during their short-lived days as the vaunted Vegas Nine looked back with a hint of worry in his eyes. "... Yeah."
ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: August, 2023
LAST EDITED: November 28, 2023
INITIALLY UPLOADED: November 28, 2023
NOTE: This chapter was supposed to come out in the later half of September but the fourth quarter workload hit early and it drained my muses. It's usually the fourth quarter of the year where things get really busy for me. I still write when I can though.
This chapter also took several rewrites. Multiple rewrites. There were several scenes here that got jumbled around, rewritten, set aside, and discarded entirely. I had differing ideas of where to go with the characters and their interactions but as the days went on, more and more kept getting added to the point where it was difficult to weave them all together. So I had to take my time with this one and parse the scenes until I was satisfied with what I had.
So here we are with the confrontation. Six is now shaken up and it's going to affect how things are going to go for him and those around him. Additionally, it seems that Qrow just lucked himself into something that's way bigger than he anticipated.