This was not the first time Glynda had to rewrite government contracts—after all, Beacon Academy went through at least one or two potential scandals per year. Interestingly enough, Winter revealed her capability in managing dubious paperwork. It seemed that even textbook Atlas had to burn some of its own books from time to time.
All the while, Major Theodore 'Courier Six' Vickers sat at the far end of the table lost in thought, his hands shaking, and set in a deep frown while grunting in frustration at whatever he was reading off his Pip-Boy. The man was clearly stressed and they were now seeing his vulnerabilities that he often kept hidden from most of the Wasteland.
"Everything alright, Boss?" asked Mister Tejada after he had served them all a tray of mid-afternoon sandwiches.
"Peachy," growled the Courier. "Shouldn't you be busy with somethin' else?"
"I was until you put me on chaperone-duty."
"Right..." He dropped his head into his hands, fingers rolling through his oily hair. "What about the, uh, side-projects?"
"Which one?"
Glynda glanced up from her work, having noticed Lieutenant Schnee pausing to observe the Courier fidget in front of an increasingly interrogative ghoul. Something about Major Vickers ensuring that the Three Families would continue to run some of their illicit black market trades under the NCR's nose. That and he was probably running out of money now.
"...contingency funding? Boss, I didn't start those rackets that you're running," chided Mister Tejada.
"Raul, you know damn well that half those rackets were already in full swing when I..." Six trailed off, seeing the rapt attention from the two ladies. "...when New Vegas transitioned. I'm just making sure to leave only the essential ones going. Keeping order and the money flowing, is all."
The ghoul scoffed. "You're really not very good at administration."
"No shit, Sherlock. And you're not any good with paperwork."
"So that makes the both of us inept in more ways than one, eh, Boss? I never would have guessed! And here I thought shooting at our problems would solve them, eh?"
"Damn it, Raul, just...just go and figure something out about the slave collars while I think."
Mister Tejada scratched the back of his decaying scalp. "Still wrapping my head around that one. One thing's for certain though: they're made of a metal that neither the NCR nor the Legion can reproduce. In the Legion's case, I'm more inclined to believe they sourced these 'indestructible alloys' from some group they either subjugated or made a trade deal with. At least, as far as I know."
The Courier's agitation dissipated at that. "You...might be onto somethin' here. In fact, I think I could get a lead on finding out what type of metals were used to make them."
"Another lead the NCR doesn't know about, eh? Pretty sneaky of you, Boss."
"I don't know if you're being sarcastic with that one."
"Oh, you want me to turn the sass back on? Alright. That was real smart of you, Boss. You sure showed a whole militarized nation that you have more cards in your hand than you actually have, hoping you could keep pulling the wool over their eyes—"
"Shut the fuck up and let me think," snapped the Courier. "And you two get back to revising."
Winter shook her head, muttering under breath, "Please and thank you."
"Please and fucking thank you, lieutenant," he snarled.
At least he tried to be polite, Glynda mused.
Yang knocked on the door to one of the luxury suites of the Tops.
"Housekeeping."
No response. She knocked again.
"Uh, housekeeping."
Again, no response. She looked at Blake and shrugged, unlocking the door with her staff key. She barely pushed their cleaning cart through before they both slowed to a stunned stop.
"What...happened here?" her partner mouthed, jaw agape.
The blonde blinked several times. Then grinned. "I'll tell you what happened. A crazy good time happened."
The cat faunus stared at her deadpan. "Of course, you'd call this disaster a crazy good time."
"Look, I'm just saying that whoever rented this spot could put some of the wild parties over at Junior's club to shame."
"Second only to when you burned that club down to the ground?"
"Hey, it got wild."
Blake put her hands on her hips, her expression flat. She then gestured at the trash littered around the room as well as the battered furniture, the burnt couch, the busted television sets, the broken bottles scattered across the bar, the blood-stained rag next to her foot... Was that a tooth in there? "Yang, we're cleaning this."
Yang deflated. "I know, I know. Damn, I could just imagine what happened here."
Her partner paced around the room and groaned when she pulled something bloated and sticky off her shoe, holding it up against the sunlight beaming through the glass pane window. She then shrieked and tossed it into the bin.
"Nice throw."
"Ew, Yang. Just ew."
"Oh come on. Don't tell me that wasn't your first time handling a used condom."
"Will you shut up and start picking up all this trash!?"
Yang pushed the cart in all the way in and began unpacking their cleaning kit. "Alright, alright. Take a breather, kitty cat. How about you go check the other rooms while I get started here."
"Ugh, I swear some of these tenants..." Blake opened the door to the bathroom and then, with a yelp, quickly closed it just as a fluttering noise filtered through. "Okay! Keeping that thing in there for the time being."
"What is it?"
"It's a cazador."
The blonde nearly dropped the bleach she was carrying. "Shut up. No. Gods, no!"
Her partner dragged a chair to barricade the bathroom door. "It's pretty small though. Looked really small. And...flaky and moist, sort of? Like it just hatched."
The two of them stood in silence, listening to the infant cazador flitter about and make a mess of the bathroom. Then they looked themselves over. Six made them leave all their signature gear behind at the Lucky Thirty-Eight while Swank had a strong policy of keeping newbie staffers like them unarmed until they climbed up the ranks. They were also dressed in the standardized Tops maid attire.
"You use the mop, I use the broom?" Yang raised. "I hit it, you stab it?"
"Check for forks and knives by the sink," Blake offered. "We can hit quickly."
The cazador banged against the door before going back to banging on the walls, the ceiling, and the window.
"I'm going to call Ruby and Velvet," the blonde said. "We're going to need the extra hands."
"Not a word to Nora," her partner ordered. "I don't want her giving Syrup a new sibling."
Weiss tapped her chin as she sat regally on her chair in one of the empty backrooms of the Tops. Before her quivered the three very familiar suspects of the daring raid into her dresser drawer on her debut night, all of whom were held in the grip of a large disembodied Arma Gigas hand originating from the equally large spinning glyph on the wall.
"Let's do this again," she said icily. "Which one of you misfits stole all my undergarments?"
"It wasn't my idea," whinnied Corporal Razor 'Razz' Tibits.
"We were extensively inhibited," reasoned Technical Specialist Timothy Poindexter.
"Again, Miss Schnee, we are so sorry!" apologized Master Sergeant Maggie 'Mags' Stonham.
The heiress scowled. "You didn't answer my question."
"We're just looking for our friend," the three troopers chorused.
Weiss was starting to regret taking over this interrogation from the Chairmen. Then again, she wasn't cutting them open with their rusty torture tools and these were the Misfits of all people. They were war heroes. Well, controversial war heroes according to some people so that made them fair game for whatever pain she planned on inflicting upon them. She really expected better out of their erstwhile friends in the NCR military but alas, sometimes the idiocy shines through especially when coupled with strong drink.
"How about we start from the very beginning, shall we?" she worded. "Since you've been very kind to us back at Red Rock Canyon, I'm not going to be rough on you as long as you cooperate and honestly answer my questions. Have I made myself clear?"
They nodded, squirming uncomfortably in the grasp of her partial summon.
"Uh, could you loosen up a bit?" Razz requested. "I can't feel my legs."
Weiss flicked her wrist and the large hand eased its grip. Slightly. "Now, what in the world were you three doing last night?"
"Four, actually," Poindexter corrected. "You forgot O'Hanrahan."
"Of course. Your tall friend. I didn't take him to be the type to indulge in such debauchery."
"That's because he's a good Christian boy," the ex-Fiend snorted. "Fucking lightweight couldn't even stand on his own two legs after one shot. And, mind you, this is the same guy who could take in a lot of punishment."
"Physical punishment, to be precise," added the technical specialist. "Mentally, he's average. Emotionally, he's...sensitive."
"Sensitive and gullible. Blockhead was drunk enough to actually believe me when I said I had a holy condom."
The heiress blinked several times. "Excuse me?"
"It wasn't really a holy condom. I just filled it with yogurt from the fridge and told his drunk ass it was from God."
Poindexter snickered. "Okay, that was a good one, I'll admit."
Their sergeant hung her head in shame. "Miss Schnee, on behalf of my dumbass squad-mates, I'm very, very sorry. We had just got off of our assignment in Red Rock and since we'd been on call for months, the brass thought to give us a week off here at the Strip. I think they also wanted us to pass their regards to you on your debut night or something or whatever... Anyway, we may have gone overboard with the drinks and we...really don't remember the details."
Weiss was inclined to disbelieve that but seeing how genuinely remorseful the sergeant was, she decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. "Must have been some very strong drinks if you've been that out of it."
"Wasn't just the drinks, that's for sure," Razz muttered, eliciting groans from his fellow squad-mates who now started to recall more details of their night out. "Had to add some spice to 'em to liven up the night."
"You spiked your own drinks?"
"Sort of. Look, Starlet, we just wanted to have some extra fun since we couldn't get into the Theater to watch you live."
The heiress furrowed her brow. "While I appreciate your support, why did you have to steal my undergarments?"
"Like I said, wasn't my idea. Look, what I can remember is that we went to our suite and had some fun. Kinda blacked out after that." Corporal Tibits snickered. "That's how you know you got a damn good product, if you ask me."
"Quite the product, I'd say," Poindexter remarked dryly. "Very potent—about ninety-percent potent—with a high chance of blackouts and morning regrets."
"It's afternoon, by the way," Weiss corrected.
"I swear to God," Mags snarled, her eyes still red from her hangover. "I'm going to skin these fucking idiots..."
Razz rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure, whatever, sarge. Say, who was the 'fucking idiot' who downed two whole bottles after three other 'fucking idiots' said it was a horrible idea?"
"Gee, I don't fucking know nor do I fucking remember, corporal." Sergeant Stonham winced. "Shit, my head..."
Pointdexter loudly cleared his throat. "Assuming we survive Miss Schnee's punishment for almost ruining her most cherished event atop of whatever hell the brass is going to put us through for...whatever it was that we did, I'll still hold you accountable for enablement."
"Bullshit, four-eyes," Tibits sneered. "You're just pulling that shit out of your ass."
"It's an actual legal term."
Mags groaned. "Enablement is for patents, Tim. For fuck's sake, actually read a damn legal book for once..."
Weiss sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose as the Misfits continued to blame each other. Gods, this was going to take more out of her than she initially thought. Maybe she should have enlisted the aid of her teammates...
Corporal Jonah O'Hanrahan had no idea where he was but it was obvious that he was not in a good place. He was tied to a chair with his bindings wound up so tight, he could barely feel his extremities. On the bright side, he was still alive and not in a rougher shape than he was when he first woke up...in a back-alley somewhere in Freeside in nothing but his undershirt, shorts, and socks.
Oh, Ma was going to skin him alive if she ever found out he done gone and did the sin of drunkenness. Probably after Mags was going to skin him alive for going AWOL. Then again, he was technically MIA because he was technically captured by a technical threat. Technical in a sense that this short-statured young lady with the mismatched eyes and pink and brown hair leaning on the mortar across from him had yet to say a word to him, much less lay a finger on him.
O'Hanrahan expected torture or something but he had been sitting here in this dimly-lit room untouched for what felt like hours now. He tried several times to communicate with her but she either ignored him or glared at him. That and she looked like she had been crying the whole night and was taking out her grievances on him.
Eventually, as soon as his hangover went away. With his mind clearer now, he tried a different tactic.
"Uh, if you don't me sayin'... You look kinda pretty, miss."
The scary lady snapped her head up at him.
O'Hanrahan shrugged, hoping this approach would work. "Honest. You're really pretty an'...it's kinda a real shame that you done been involved in some bad things."
She looked confused. Or was it incredulous?
"Look, I just had too much to drink an' I... I'm really sorry if I done did you wrong when I was doin' the Devil's work. At least... I hope I didn't do somethin' too bad..."
Her confusion turned into amusement. Or bemusement? He wasn't good with words.
"Miss, is there somethin' you might need some help with? 'Cause I know you ain't gonna let me go. So...maybe I might help you? Hopefully not to break the law though."
She put her hands on her hips, looking at him like he was the dunce in the classroom.
"I don't want no trouble is all."
Her expression fell flat and she pulled out something from the metal ammo box from the corner of the room: a pair of silken white lady's underwear. One of many, it looked like, because there were other pieces of sensitive clothing in the box.
O'Hanrahan gulped. "Did I... Was that yours, miss? Did I, uh, steal that from you? Oh Lord, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to!"
She shook her head.
"What? That's not yours?"
She shook her head again.
"Really? So...what did I do?"
She pantomimed chugging down a bottle, swaying, then sprawling flat on the ground, before getting back up again with an expectant expression.
"Huh. Yeah, I kinda got that. Was that... You saw me do that?"
She shrugged.
"Okay... So what now?"
The lady turned away, hugging herself. She seemed lost in thought. Or just lost in general.
O'Hanrahan had no idea it was possible to be kidnapped by a kidnapper who didn't know what they were doing yet here he was. Truly, the Lord was being merciful to him by giving him a clueless criminal. He could turn this around and set himself free and find his friends and get some help!
"Um... Are you okay, miss?"
She regarded him in disbelief. Her jaw hung slack as though asking him if he was being serious.
"I don't think I got anywhere else to be since you done tied me down like this. So... Are you okay? Do you... Did you just need somebody to talk to?"
Her frown shifted into an uncertain gaze at the floor.
"I can be your ear."
She bit her lip. Then looked up at him with the face of a girl who had been kicked into the ground more times than anyone ever should in their lifetime.
O'Hanrahan slowly nodded. "Okay then. Um, what... What do you want to talk about?"
She opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then motioned at her throat.
"You can't talk? Uh, alright. We can...we can work with that. How about introductions then? My name's Jonah O'Hanrahan. I'm a corporal in the NCR army. I'm on vacation right now for about a week with my friends. What about you, miss?"
She pulled out a pencil and a piece of paper and, after some hesitation, scribbled something on it: I'm Neo
"Well, hello, Miss Neo. What do you want to talk about?"
Miss Neo looked down, nibbling on her pencil. After a long moment, and several deep breaths, she wrote something down: I'm looking for my friend
"I see. Um... How's that goin' for you?"
still looking
"Oh. What about...your other friends? Maybe they can help you?"
only have 1
Jonah gulped; okay, he almost stepped on a mine there. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to assume. He might still be out there, though."
She cupped her face as her shoulders shook. With a shaky hand, she continued: I don't want to think he's dead
O'Hanrahan grimaced. "I didn't mean to say he was, miss."
Her cheeks were wet now as she nodded. he might be here in Vegas or west in NCR
"He might as well could be. You think he's NCR?"
She shook her head. hiding in NCR
Jonah almost said that her friend could have been a criminal like her but she had a very sharp blade within reach and she could very well cut him because she seemed emotionally not in control. So he parsed his words: "You, uh, are heading back west then?"
Miss Neo appeared unsure. She tapped her pencil against her lip before writing down: not yet. I found someone else here
"You found a new friend?"
Her breathing became ragged for a moment and her grip on the pencil tightened. It took her another long moment to calm down. Then she shoved her answer in his face: I found my real dad
"Your real dad?"
biological
"Okay?"
he's here in Vegas
"Well, that's a blessing, I s'ppose. You must'a spent your whole life searchin' for him and the Lord done blessed you with His divine serendipity. Mind tellin' me who he is?"
She silently laughed with a bittersweet mien that rapidly twisted into an ugly scowl; her teeth were bared like a feral animal. The paper almost crumpled in her grip when she held it up again: COURIER 6
Corporal Jonah O'Hanrahan had to read that three times. Then he gulped as the implications hit him. "Dear sweet Lord Jesus Almighty above... Congratulations?"
Miss Neo nodded vigorously while tears ran down her cheeks, giving an uncomfortable shine to her angry, manic grin.
After a long day of cleaning out one of the biggest housekeeping messes in Tops history (as well as trying to discreetly locate Weiss's missing underwear to no avail), Team RWBY-V trudged tiredly into the Lucky Thirty-Eight and were greeted by Team JNPR-S huddled by the bar on the right side area of the main floor. They all looked like they had been having a serious conversation while Syrup gnawed blissfully on a long, metal bar.
"Yo," Yang waved, "what's going on? You look like you guys got chewed out."
Their sister team exchanged nervous looks.
"Jaune?" Ruby nudged. "Is everything alright?"
Jaune took a moment to answer. "... Something happened with Six at Vault Twenty-One. It didn't look good."
"It wasn't good," Pyrrha corrected. "There was a guest who...got into a scuffle with Six and... I don't know what she did but he must have been affected severely."
"What do you mean?" Weiss pressed.
"He went into a fugue state by the sound of it," Ren said. "Apparently, he had been unresponsive."
"Something's going on," Nora added. "And we're not allowed upstairs. Or anywhere above the presidential suite. Well, not yet."
"Why?" Velvet asked.
"Because Six is up there," Jaune replied, gesturing at pair of Securitrons guarding the elevator. "He's up there with Mister Tejada, Miss Goodwitch, and Lieutenant Schnee. Victor said they were busy with some accounting stuff. Uh, they'll be staying with us in the Tower, though, I guess. Don't know if we'll be sharing the presidential with them since we've pretty much used up all the beds there and—"
The heiress waved her hands. "Wait, wait, wait! As much as I would like to discuss the logistics of having my sister and Miss Goodwitch lodging with us, I think we should first discuss the guest at Vault Twenty-One. You said Six got into a scuffle with them?"
"Her, actually. It was this lady, about as tall as you. Looked kinda...off. Suspicious, I guess. She wasn't saying anything no matter how many times Six kept asking her questions. Literally, not a single word. Like she was mute."
Weiss and Yang glanced at each other, recalling a certain individual from an encounter during an old training mission back in Remnant.
"She was short?" the former asked.
"And mute?" the latter added.
Jaune nodded with Pyrrha continuing, "She was very acrobatic and was able to beat us back so she could escape."
"But Six was there, right?" raised Ruby.
"That was the weird part," the blond said. "You see, this lady? She transformed. I suspect a Semblance because she literally just changed her appearance in front of him. In front of us! And that, I think, sort of freaked him out? Or, I don't know... He just stopped and stared and...just sat down and did nothing."
"Again," interrupted Ren, "sounds more like an induced fugue state."
"What else happened?" Yang demanded. "How did she escape?"
"She...used her Semblance, I think?" Pyrrha mused. "She just shattered into glass pieces."
Ruby furrowed her brow. Glass pieces? Like how a glass jar was thrown onto the ground and...broke apart...into little jagged pieces... Her eyes went wide at the same time saw her sister's eyes flash red. "Yang?"
"Sounds familiar," Weiss uttered.
"Very familiar," Blake added.
"Oh, definitely someone familiar," growled the Y of team RWBY-V who then stomped over to the elevator. "We need to talk to Six now. Victor! Victor, open the elevator!"
Her partner hurried after her. "Yang, wait!"
"Victor!"
One of the Securitrons turned to her with its visor shifting to the avatar of their cowboy valet. "Howdy, missy! You called?"
"Victor, we need to talk to Six now." Yang ignored her partner's tugging at her arm. "It's important."
"I reckon it is. But the major's busy with some work upstairs."
"I doubt he wouldn't be as annoyed when he'll find out why we're disturbing him," Weiss intruded. "Call him. Let him know that we have something very urgent to discuss."
"Care to share what it is?"
Yang folded her arms. "It's about a guest at Vault Twenty-One. The one that...what was it again, Jaune?"
He walked up to the Securitron. "Victor, an NCR tourist attacked Six at one of the hotels. It's affected him in a very unusual way and we need to talk to him."
"Is that so? Even then, I just can't bring y'all up there willy-nilly. Like I said, he's real busy right now."
"Isn't getting psychologically blocked by somebody not important enough?" screeched the heiress. "What other reason could we—"
"Fine! How 'bout this then!?" Yang hollered. "Weiss got her underwear stolen and needs help getting them back!"
Victor flashed an inquisitive image on its screen as Team JNPR-S (including Syrup who looked up from its chew toy) rounded on the very red-faced and indignant heiress. "... Sounds relevant enough. You wait here; I'll let him know."
It had been an hour after the sun set when Glynda and Winter presented Major Vickers with a rough first draft of the new contracts. As the details of the original contracts were never made public, they did not have to be too intensive with their revisions (barring their ignorance of NCR law but neither Major Vickers nor Mister Tejada particularly cared). What was important was that Courier Six was recognized by the contracts as the sole conservator of teams RWBY-V and JNPR-S and thus effectively had legal power over all affairs concurrently and soon-to-be conducted with them.
"Nice work, ladies," commended the Courier. "As soon as I can get this rubber-stamped by some folks in the Hub, the NCR won't be able to legally touch any of y'all without going through me first."
"Thank you, sir," Winter replied. "We hope it is sufficient enough to deceive the NCR."
"Crocker and some of his bean counters will see through this but this'll fly over the rest." He bundled up the drafts into a marked envelope. "You two are good at this."
"Fraudulent accounting?" snarked Glynda. "Yes. Yes, we are."
He snorted. "Good. You'll be taking charge of all the paperwork from now on."
"I suppose we shouldn't be surprised. This is a fair enough arrangement for having us lodge with you while you work to help us."
"Not askin' for much from you at the moment but I might be later on. We'll see how things go." He folded the envelope and tucked it in one of his larger pouches. "Crocker can wheeze and whine but he and I share the same friends. Just so happened those friends like me more than him."
She folded her arms, her chin raised with that authoritative scrutiny that was not diminished by the blinking slave collar around her neck. "You have a lot of connections for someone who's being actively stifled by the military."
"Kansas, this is still technically the frontier. Ain't that much law being enforced."
The ghoul chuckled. "Because Boss has half the enforcers in his pocket."
"If I may," raised Lieutenant Schnee. "You both either don't seem suited to the minute details of administration much less have anyone to handle these duties outside of policing your...zones of influence."
Major Vickers and Mister Tejada shared a look then shrugged.
"Boss and I are just simple men thrown into complicated situations more times than we'd like," the latter reasoned. "Right, Boss?"
The former grunted. "Sure, we'll go with that. Me? I usually go on hunts—"
"I just like to repair—"
"I sometimes tend to fix up whatever mess the NCR makes—"
"I try to clean up Boss's messes sometimes—"
"Not that I was asking you to, Raul—"
"Boss, you usually shoot the people the NCR wants alive—"
"Clearly," Winter interjected, "you two prefer to handle things more personally and with more force than tact."
The Courier shrugged. "Some things you gotta do yourself if you want it done right, Snowstorm."
"Uh-huh, doing things your way, Boss," dryly droned the ghoul. "You do things right 'til there's nothing left. No wonder almost nobody complains, eh? Well, nobody who's in Nevada right now."
"How effective," scoffed Glynda.
The lieutenant shook her head. "Heavy-handed rather."
"He spends more time out in the wastes than in anything bigger than a town, teniente," snickered the ghoul. "That is...up until recently. With the little diablos around, though, he hasn't been out as often."
Major Vickers groaned. "That's because the little shits might blow up the fucking Strip if I left 'em there."
The blonde folded her arms. "You're not very trusting, either, sir."
"Not with those kids...with superpowers. Hyper's too reckless with guns and Blondie's an instigator. Then there's Pancake who likes to blow shit up with her fucking pet deathclaw."
"I believe they have partners who keep their proclivities in check. Young Miss Schnee keeps Miss Rose grounded, for one. Likewise, Miss Belladonna is capable of reining in Miss Xiao-Long."
"Kansas, those four girls don't know when to stop acting like comic book heroes."
Glynda hardened her expression. "With all due respect, major, you need to clear your lenses. Those children may be immature at times but they are growing and adapting."
"Taking them way too damn long to grow up and adapt."
Winter interjected. "Perhaps because you stifle them."
The Courier growled. "I beg your pardon, Lieutenant Snowstorm?"
Before anyone could get a word in, the elevator dinged and Victor rolled out. "Pardon the interruption, folks, but the kids are back! And they really want to talk to you, major. Said it was real important."
"How important?"
"One of them got their underwear stolen."
The major stilled. Then frowned. Then brought his hand up to his face as he let out a long, exasperated sigh. "Son of a... Fine. Bring 'em up to the presidential. We'll be heading down in a bit. I swear this city just keeps bringing in these goddamn freaks with their goddamn panty raids..."
"Sounds like we're going to have quite the dinner," quipped Mister Tejada. "Like an extended family coming together, eh?"
The two women almost disagreed.
It was late in the evening when Imperator Vulpes Inculta entered the Temple of Mars and Mercury behind the Palace of Mars and Mercury in the Flagstaff forum. His visits were infrequent though his stays were longer. While publicly keeping to the Cult of Mars and Mercury, as restored by the late Caesar and maintained by the current Pontifex Maximus with the recent manifestation of the 'living god' himself, Vulpes also knew the pragmatism that came with 'ensuring' positive omens for the people of the Imperium.
For tonight, however, Vulpes met with the Pontifex Maximus not for omens but for a specific channel to a powerful outside asset to the Imperium. Such an asset was currently inaccessible by any physical means save for those as fortunate as the legendary frumentarius Ulysses. After all, part of that man's legend was that it was he who first discovered the hidden academic city that was Big Mountain.
"It is ready for you, Imperator," reported the Pontifex Maximus as he escorted the Imperator to the underground chamber housing the long-range communication systems of the Legion. "Artorius Vateus Captiosus is awake and awaiting your communion."
"Very well. Leave me."
The Pontifex Maximus bowed and departed, leaving Vulpes to seal himself in the chamber. He turned on the feed and was greeted by the bushy face of Artorius Vateus Captiosus, proven friend of the Legion and sole provider of much crucial aid manufactured with the resources of the elusive Big Mountain territory, rumored within countless Imperium collegia to be Monte Olympos reforged by Jupiter and Terra Mater on the North American continent.
"Ave, Artorius. What news have you for me?"
"Greetings to you as well, Imperator," Artorius returned. "I've completed the latest batch of your requested specialized nullification collars. Likewise, work on the newer models of your praetorian weapons is on-going and I'm confident we will meet the readjusted deadlines."
"Good. Is there anything else?"
"There is, of course, the matter of my curiosity." The man on the screen chuckled, stoking his dark bushy mustache. "As always, Imperator. Pray tell you may now entertain my queries?"
"Your continued service merits it. For tonight. What do you wish to know?"
"Wonderful! Is it true that there was a slave revolt and that a significant number of Remnant slaves had escaped into the desert?"
The Imperator supposed he could not withhold the truth here given who he was talking to. "That is true. It is an unfortunate chapter in our history but we have hunted down some of those errant slaves and made an example out of them. The rest, however, have gone on to shelter amongst the western profligates."
"And I take it that among those escapees were Winter Schnee and Glynda Goodwitch?"
"Yes. Your vested interest in them is not ignored."
"I hail from the same realms as them, remember?" echoed Artorius. "It is because of my familiarity with them as a true son of Remnant that I alone can manufacture the tools you need to discipline them. And yet, despite this boon, they have managed to escape."
Vulpes showed no emotion at the veiled retort. "As I have said: it is an unfortunate chapter in the history of the Imperium. Alas, we can do better now that we have learned from our shortcomings."
"Of course, of course. I take it His Holiness was not so pleased by this?"
"His Holiness expresses disappointment but is forgiving of this particular incident."
"Forgiving? His Holiness was merciful to this...bold slight towards the Legion?"
The one-eyed Imperator readjusted his purple mantle to hide more of his prosthetic leg. "We cannot fathom the minds of gods. Though I am free to hypothesize that His Holiness was...wary of the degenerate whores leading the rabble. Perhaps he was saving his strength to punish them at a more convenient time than expend the strength of the Legion on a foregone conclusion."
"A foregone conclusion, eh? Never one to admit defeat?"
"Victory is not always immediate and the Legion learns quickly from setbacks. It is only a matter of time."
"Truly. But it seems to me that His Holiness has opted to preserve the Legion's strength for more serious matters than a seemingly significant slave revolt, is it not?"
Vulpes considered his next answer and realized that Artorius could never really influence the direction of the Imperium with his toys. "For a man of science, you seem fond of conjecture, Artorius."
Artorius Vateus Captiosus laughed. "I don't often have a chance at engaging with those of superior acumen, if you don't mind me saying, Imperator."
The Imperator suppressed a smirk. But he did appreciate the subtle praise. "His Holiness is not troubled by worthless dregs that will wither and die in the desert regardless of the efforts of the profligates they flee to."
"Oh? What concerns him more then?"
"His Holiness is still bothered by the betrayal of his former quaestor Niapolita Tacenta. She, already given grace by virtue of His Holiness, has betrayed his trust, absconded from our treasuries, slain many legionaries, wrought carnage across the domains of our magistrates, and fled westwards in the heels of those slaves. She is now in damnatio memoriae. Her head is a most lucrative trophy."
"Ah. How...unfortunate."
"Is there anything else you would like to know?"
Artorius once again stoked his mustache. "Yes, there is. What more can you tell me of this 'Courier Six' and his progeny. I've come to know that his youthful accomplices have taken to calling themselves the Vegas Wonder Kids."
Vulpes chuckled. "Ah, yes. Him. Our most hated enemy alongside the profligate champions of the NCR. He has done nothing but fester in his capital of sin, struggling to so much as maintain his hold over the degenerates that regularly scramble to find their fortune in his dens of vice. Many of his more stalwart followers have abandoned him due to his reckless imprudence. Rest assured, time is bringing him closer to his pitiful fate."
"So it may seem. I have heard otherwise, though."
"Oh? From whom?"
"Imperator, allow me to do my due diligence and inform you that I have upgraded the long-range communication capabilities of Big Mountain to allow for interception of radio traffic from several hundred miles away. That puts me within listening range of New Vegas up to Shady Sands in the NCR heartlands...as well as your core holdings there in Flagstaff."
The Imperator's brows rose in surprise. "That is...impressive of you."
The man on the screen preened. "I have also listened in on many a traitorous channel within your empire. I have recorded the names and dates alongside transcripts that are stuffing my envelopes here in my dome."
"Then we shall have another transaction then," huffed Vulpes. "What would you wish in exchange for such incriminating information?"
"Nothing at the moment. As in our previous correspondence, I am 'saving my chips' for later."
"Ah. How shrewd. Very well. Your generosity will be rewarded in time."
"Perhaps one day, I will be present to personally deliver my many gifts to you and enjoy my compounded rewards."
Vulpes Inculta struggled not to grin at that notion—such great rewards were indeed in store for this man. "Oh, what a day that will be, Artorius."
The transaction ended as ingloriously as the last.
Arthur Watts, otherwise known by the Imperium Americana in their native tongue as Arthur the Gifted, withdrew from his terminal to stretch his limbs. Popping a Mentat, he stepped outside of his office to take a stroll around the dome of Doctor Mobius—the aging brain in a jar was currently obsessing over an equation he had scribbled on a section of wall, overwriting whatever formulae were scraped onto it not too long ago.
The disgraced Atlesian scientist greeted his fellow disgraced Wasteland scientist with a wave.
"Oh! Arthur, how nice of you to visit!" shakily yammered Doctor Mobius. "Would you like a Mentat?"
"No thank you, doctor. I've simply gone out for a spell. Been cooped up too long."
"Ah, yes, of course. Exer-size is good for the... What again is exer-size?"
"Another study for another day, old chap." Arthur playfully tapped Doctor Mobius's broken eye monitor. "Have fun deciphering your own forgotten hypotheses."
"Why, yes, I truly am! Oh, what was it again?"
Watts stepped back to allow his only decent companion in this crater to mutter incoherencies over another set of equations scribbled on a chair. Such was the tragic fate of many an untamed mind. And to think this was going to be his own fate had he not taken a critical review of himself in light of his new life here in the Wasteland.
Remnant can burn and fester under the wrath of Salem for all he cared. Because now he was here in a world, free from any and all that shackled him before. A new beginning. A new life! A new start, a new slate, a new foundation upon which to build his legacy—the legacy he was denied, the legacy he so rightfully deserved! And Big Mountain was the perfect playground with all its intricacies, its immense potential, and its buried technologies that could shape a world...
...a world to his liking.
Arthur meandered over to the main control panel showcasing the map of this centuries-old city of sciences. Beyond this crater, beyond the mind-frying electromagnetic fields, beyond the sea of radiation...was a Wasteland worth claiming...
...worth reshaping.
The other brains in this city—the so-called 'Think Tank'—were too busy indulging in their own limited research to pursue anything beyond the walls they themselves had set up. Deceived by this 'Courier Six' who claimed that they were doing a service to mankind by confining themselves within their own parameters.
As if true scientific discovery were to be made inside an empty fucking bucket.
No.
This Courier Six had abused his privilege, collared the Think Tank's combined genius, twisted Doctor Mobius to repeat this cycle of self-indulgence; this mailman was limiting progress! He was limiting science! He was limiting the potential for his own gain. For his own purposes of keeping his own version of order. For keeping his authority. That man had amassed an arsenal of advanced weapons and prototype technologies—dismantling the most promising projects and hoarding the rest to be used to enforce his will whenever and wherever he saw fit.
That would soon change.
Arthur would use all that Courier Six had gathered, brush the dust off the gifts he kept hidden, and expand the borders of science with himself at the helm. Doctor Mobius was easy to steer and if such drug-induced mental instability was prevalent of his ilk, then there was no doubt the Think Tank suffered the same.
The Atlesian withdrew the readout from one of the printers running under the massive wall of consoles that stretched across half the dome.
Good. The supply cache of advanced weaponry he designed for the Imperium's Praetorian Guard were being loaded onto the teleportation platform. From there, it would be dissected into molecules that would be suctioned into a controlled beam of energy which would then be shot up into the atmosphere, concentrate into a packaged form with the aid of satellites, and then descend like lightning upon a predetermined point out in the Wasteland, molecules reforming in milliseconds.
In this case, it was a set of coordinates provided by Imperator Vulpes Inculta. A drop-off point from which his legionaries would collect the goods and deposit the necessary payment which varied from time-to-time: usually either pieces of salvaged Wasteland technology or basic supplies such as food, water, and medicine or even the more mundane items that the Legion deemed useless such as books of the Old World or metal scraps favored by craftsmen.
All in all, it was a good business deal.
Arthur heard the hum of Doctor Mobius's hover-jets and set the readout aside. "Yes, doctor?"
"Arthur, it has occurred to me that...that you are, uh, what was it again? Ah, yes! You were suggesting an upgrade to my, uh, to my robo-scorpions!"
"Yes, I have. I have been studying their designs and I see room for improvement." So much room for so much improvement.
"Yes, yes! And what improvements have you done?"
"I'm currently working on increasing their combat efficiency."
"Why, yes, of course. Hmm, making them more formidable! Ah, why again is that?"
The Atlesian smiled. "To enhance security of course. Who knows how many errant rejects are wandering about out there, ruining your work with their ignorance? We are simply mitigating any more untoward disasters would come about from some mishap involving some wayward lobotomite."
Doctor Mobius grunted in thought. "That is...that is quite...that is correct, ah... You are not wrong there. What about, ah, what about your dust particles?"
Ah, yes. The mystery of the Dust crystals randomly appearing within the mines in, around, and directly under Mobius's dome. It was not a constant source as there was no telling when or how often such a boon from Remnant came about. So many robots had been lost in the process of extracting them but what mattered is that they had Dust—the most critical components in the manufacture of those specialized slave collars the Legion needed to subjugate its Remnant slaves. The collection of images sent to him by Vulpes showing Winter Schnee and Glynda Goodwitch being deprived of their capabilities was a joy. He had since kept that in his files to remind himself of his first true success here in the Wasteland.
"I have enough Dust at the moment to produce more experimental pieces of equipment for our clients."
"Oh, yes, yes. That is good. Progress! For some reason, progress constantly eludes me..."
"If you look over to that chalkboard, you might find it."
With that, Doctor Mobius excitedly floated to said chalkboard, filled to the brim with redundant notes. Arthur almost laughed to himself. He had so many long-term goals but for now, he would settle with what he can accomplish in the moment. And that was providing the Imperium Americana with more powerful weapons than their crude machetes and bulky thermic lances.
At least before the limited supply of Dust in the caves under Big Mountain either depletes for good or they would find another cache out there, dropped from the sky by the 'gods.' He had his more grounded theories of these displacements from Remnant but for now, it was just a phenomenon—one of many he had come to understand—of the Wasteland.
Omake 1
The Courier becoming a little anxious after getting that message from Birdman on his Pip-Boy. What the hell kind of problem popped up now? He was starting to believe that that smarmy birdbrain son of a bitch was a magnet for all sorts of bad luck. What was it that folks said about birds and Little Miss Fortune?
"Major," Lieutenant Snowstorm called. "Could you please explain some of the stipulations outlined here. There are references to republic acts that we are unaware of—"
Six leaned back on his chair. "Don't know much about NCR laws but I heard ain't a lot of 'em changed since Baja."
Kansas looked up from her notes. "The Baja Insurrection, sir?"
The Courier swallowed the lump in his throat. Goddamn it, you just had to bring that up in front of these folks, eh? Shit, I need a drink. "... Yeah. That."
Snowball's older sister leaned back on her seat. "I've heard of that. So many of the NCR's elite forces were tied down in the southern region of Baja because of that."
Sharper than her little sister, this one. "So much hell was raised that...them black-coat rangers were done still chasin' ghosts for years...even as Caesar was mustering his legions for another round at the dam."
She tilted her head, brows furrowed in thought. "... You were there, weren't you, sir. You saw what happened in Baja. We heard so much about how the NCR committed so many grave mistakes that led up to that...incident...that cost them so much—"
He eyed her. No wonder Snowball's so damn curious. "Nearly cost them the whole damn Mojave."
"If you don't mind me asking, sir, what happened in—"
"Baja was our sword in the sunset, lieutenant."
Snowstorm blinked, mouth agape like a two-headed trout yanked out of Lake Mead. "... You survived Baja... Why did you...how did you...?"
The Courier almost snorted back. "The old guard wanted to things to change. They thought we could force a change by going to the extra mile. They didn't anticipate the NCR to double down though. They sure as hell doubled down... And they went in hard."
Kansas leaned over from her spot on the table. "... What transpired after?"
Can't believe I'm telling you this, woman. Six laughed bitterly as he absently drew circles on the varnish. "... The sun set. On us. On our history, on our identity... And those of us who survived..."
"Boss trickled down to Mexico," Raul interjected somberly, carrying a tray laden with sandwiches into the dining hall. "Killed the gangs in Sonora then did bounties for the Nuevas Rurales."
"Raul was my competition in the headhunting business," the Courier continued. "Racked up the body count 'til the locals ran out of money to pay us. Or the place ran out of assholes to kill... Then I left."
"For Vegas, I presume," Snowstorm said.
"Texas. Was a rough migration..." He stared absently at the floor. "Snuck into Legion territory 'cause there was nowhere else to go that wasn't them. Roman wannabes burned everything that wasn't a part of them."
"Did you forage?"
"Woman, there wasn't much of anything to forage 'cause the legionaries salted the earth. Had to cross the Imperium border from time to time to get some food. And...ended up doing way more than I should've."
The blonde gaped. "You...worked for the Legion?"
"Never took a single job from 'em," he countered sternly. "Every foray into Caesar's land was planned so I could get out in one piece once I had what I needed. I couldn't fuckin' liberate towns. Couldn't do that anymore. I also wasn't so stupid either to go on a killing spree. Done that before... Paid for it...'
"Boss went on a vendetta ride a long time ago," the ghoul explained. "Lot of heads rolled. Even ones that weren't supposed to roll. Didn't really work out well for him in the end."
Kansas and Snowstorm were giving him the stink-eye now but Six could care less about it. Vargas nearly shot me for that one. "Look, just...you two just focus on the contracts. I... I need to go and stretch my legs a bit."
"You headin' out, Boss?"
The Courier stood up. "Nah, just... I'll be walkin' around. Pro'lly be at the workshop for a minute. Just need to...not think of Baja or Sonora or Texas right now."
"Boss?"
He waved him away while he lethargically made his way to the penthouse workshop. "You keep an eye on 'em, Raul." Stop thinking about Arizona, stop thinking about Flagstaff. "I'll be back anyway. I just... I just need to think...about something better than this..."
Omake 2
Alex DeLarge tips his hat and leans on his crooked cane. "So, pops, what came after the End?"
Ranger Captain Theodore Vickers shrugs as he continues feeding more wood into the campfire. "The General didn't know. And, apparently, neither did they."
Ellie Belle, hugging her knees to her chest, stammers. "Wh-who were they?"
Captain Vickers smiles. "Us. Or the people before us. The original Desert Rangers. Back then, they were a military engineer battalion building roads and bridges smack dab in middle-of-nowhere Arizona. Half of them didn't really know why the bombs finally fell but they'd heard chatter on the radios about lights in the sky and then...well...mushroom clouds popping up all across the United States Commonwealth."
Alex leans close, his curious eyes bulging wide. "Whoa. It just happened like that?"
"Just like that."
Ellie gulps and twiddles a lock of her dark hair. "How did...how did they, um...how did they become...you?"
"The way I heard it, at least from General Vargas and most of the old guard, was that the engineers quickly figured out that the Old World died then and there. So then, they took over a prison. Expelled the convicts. Got busy starting from scratch. Turned the prison into a fort."
Alex blinks. "They kicked out the prisoners?"
Ellie tilts her head. "Why...did they do that?"
Captain Vickers sighs. "Mercy. Perhaps they knew the convicts wouldn't last out there in the wastes. Whichever it was... It came back to bite the engineers in the ass."
"Karma, sounds more like," Alex grunts.
"M-maybe," Ellie echoes nervously, "Maybe th-they had no choice?"
"Who knows?" the Captain answers with another shrug. "But good people were out there, too. Surviving in the harsh new world. They called for help in the night. And those engineers...those common soldiers... They couldn't stand by and see them die."
Alex and Ellie huddle closer to the glowing fire, their eager stares begging the grizzled Desert Ranger to continue.
"... So they came out of their fort and helped the survivors defend their homes. And for that, they earned a new name. A proud name..."
Finally, little Nia Polis Vickers finishes scribbling on the blank page of her scrapbook. She stands up and tugs at her father who smiles down at her. He brings up what she wrote to the light of the fire:
'desert rangers'
Neo gasped awake from the dream. She heaved and hawed until she coughed out the saliva in her throat. By the time she came to, she had to crawl back onto the cot in this little empty corner of Freeside. She had been so tired from running that she needed to take a short nap. And her brain had to take her so far back...
She cupped her face in her hands, rubbing away her sweat and some of her own tears. She wanted to cry again. Gods damn, she wanted to cry again...
"Excuse me, uh, miss?"
Neo jumped at the large intoxicated man in a shirt, shorts, and socks carrying a large metal box partially wrapped in paper. She whipped out a pilfered shiv and pressed the edge against his jugular.
"Whoa, there," he slurred, amused. "Was you... Was gonna be using that bed right there?"
She kicked his legs from under him, shifting quickly to straddle him on the chest while she kept her blade against his skin.
"Ouch! You hurt me, missy! Was just askin' if you was gonna use that bed..."
Just for tonight, you bum. The shiv spun in her grasp and she was about ready to plunge it into his heart when he suddenly heaved and—
Neo leapt away a second before the guy twisted onto his side and upchucked his dinner onto the floor. She waited for him to finish emptying his stomach before she would go in for the kill.
"Ugh," he groaned, turning to lay flat on his back. "Ma gonna kill me for this..."
Ma...
Kill...
Neo almost hesitated stabbing him right then and there.
"Say, miss...? You look kinda familiar..."
She raised her brow.
"You related to...to the big man?" he slurred. "Y'know, Courier Six? You kinda...you kinda look like him."
She blinked. Then noticed her reflection on a large shard of glass on the floor; she had transformed in the moment without thinking. She was looking at...herself. A disheveled girl with dark green eyes, ash brown hair, and pronounced cheeks...
...the combination of the faces of her biological parents.
"Are you...one of his kids? Them Wonder Kids? That can fly and stuff?"
Neo staggered back, changing her appearance.
"Whoa. Did you just... You did!" He pointed lamely at her, a stupid smile on his face. "You're one of 'em Wonder Kids! You got that, that, that magic powers an' stuff, right? Wow, your Pa must'a be really proud o' you. Hey... Does that mean that Courier Six has magic powers too? 'Cause that might explain why he's so tough and stuff..."
No. That was... Neo shook her head, reconciling her memories. That was her mother. Her biological mother. Her biological father was just...some guy...who didn't even remember her...who probably thought she was a threat...
...who sold out the Desert Rangers to the Legion...
Neo shut her eyes and pulled on her hair.
"Say, I know Courier Six, too." The drunk hiccuped and tried to sit up. "Not really a bad guy... He's just...he's just rough... But I can tell...he really loves his kids—"
She kicked him in the side of the head, knocking him out.
Meanwhile, in the Atomic Wrangler, James Garret rasped his fingers against the bar. He checked the clock for the dozenth time and groaned.
"It's been hours already. He's not coming back," his sister droned, wiping some of the cups clean.
"Maybe it's for the best that he didn't."
Francine snickered. "Yeah, I'd rather not be caught with an ammo container stuffed with Weiss Schnee's underwear."
"After all the free booze we pumped into that guy just to get him to give us that box?" James shrugged. "Eh, good enough price to pay not to get buried alive. If only we could've just offed him right here and gave it all back to Miss Starlet..."
"Nope. Not with the NCR riled up looking for their dead ranger, I don't think even the King would approve of another NCR grunt 'disappearing' in Freeside. Still, how the hell did that guy get his hands on all that?"
"Either really lucky or really daring." James chuckled. "For being that deep in the bottle, guy was smart and ballsy. Used the Mojave Express to mail the package to himself. 'To Freeside from the Strip.' What a classic move."
"No one ever checks what the Mojave Express ships, eh?"
"Not usually."
"Ah, well. If Miss Schnee comes here looking for her goods, at least we'll be cooperative."
"Extra points on her good side mean extra points to the big man," Francine said, heading to the back to get more liquor to fill up the shelves.
ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: August, 2023
LAST EDITED: December 29, 2023
INITIALLY UPLOADED: December 29, 2023
NOTE: Finally got this chapter done! Half of this was already finished with the rest incrementally added on as December progressed. Been a busy month as I had to double-time work before the Holiday break. And then after the company sprint was over, I had to finish another project from another job. On top of that, there were Holiday events that were fun but draining and, lately, a wedding that I wanted to attend but decided to sit out because I just felt...tired.
Anyway, this chapter was supposed to be more melodramatic with Pyrrha or Weiss walking in on Six at a low moment and then it turns into a scene from a telenovela. I had a hard time going anywhere with that so I changed it to business between the adults: Six, Raul, Glynda, and Winter.
I also borrowed from The Hangover (2009) to add more spice. The blurb on the second omake, on other hand, was incorporated from the intro of Wasteland II.
So yeah: Six is getting some much needed assistance from Glynda and Winter while the kids deal with how wild Vegas can get. However, it appears that there are layers underneath both the NCR and the Legion with the latter having had a very staunch ally this whole time - an ally who has access to resources that are somehow ending up in places they shouldn't.