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Long horizontal lines indicate significant time skips.
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Cross posted to Archive of Our Own.
Millions of tan grains had devoured the district, seeping into every street corner and crack of the abandoned buildings. The run-down streets were empty, sand filling the potholes and flowing into the cracks like water. Piles of the course material lined the gutters, flowing down from the sidewalks which were overflowing with miniature dunes. There was always a thin coat of it somewhere, even in the cleaner parts of the district. For the inhabitants of Abydos, sand was merely another facet of life. It was more common than the Kaiser Corporation or the delinquents. It was ubiquitous, as common as water, if not more so.
Hoshino walked through the silent streets, eyes alert and head on a swivel. Abydos seemed more like a wasteland than a school on such calm nights. The academy's ever-lowering population and already quiet nightlife made the silence more and more common. Even the delinquents were beginning to pipe down. There simply weren't enough targets out and about to be worth it, to say nothing of how Hoshino's patrols affected their decision-making.
Her finger idly tapped the trigger guard of her shotgun, each step forward leaving a trail of disturbed sand behind her. The terrain was more difficult than the last time she was here. She had to switch between watching her steps and searching for troublemakers, all the while ensuring that she wouldn't be ambushed. The waving of the dunes on the sidewalk made for inconsistent steps, so she had to settle for the slightly less hazardous street. The continued degradation of this part of the district meant that it had likely been abandoned.
Yet more people running away; choosing greener grass over whatever grew in the desert.
While the knowledge of such flights frustrated Hoshino, she could hardly blame them. Despite everything piled onto the Foreclosure Task Force, the students weren't the only ones who had it rough. With the Kaiser Corporation owning every slice of land — save for Abydos's tiny annex — an already failing economy that never stopped getting worse, and the ever-encroaching desert, there weren't a whole lot of reasons to stick around. But it still hurt to know that, even with the Foreclosure Task Force's work, it was better to leave than stay.
…
The wind was picking up, blowing harder and harder with each passing minute. It caught sand, garbage, and whatever debris that was loose and light enough, flinging it all down the street. The tell-tale signs of a sandstorm, and Hoshino could see the looming clouds in the distance. It was a smaller one, thankfully. Nothing like the devastating storms of years past. But these sorts of things were usually predicted, and neither forecast nor warning had mentioned the storm.
Hoshino checked her phone. No alert, even now.
Was there some error in the weather prediction, an issue with relaying the information? Or maybe the weather station had suddenly been abandoned. All of these possibilities were equally likely due to the degradation of Abydos's infrastructure, but the latter was especially concerning. In any case, Hoshino needed to find shelter. It would be foolish to continue her patrol in the middle of the storm. She doubted it would be too much of an interruption, given its size, but it was a hazard nonetheless.
She was too far into the city to return home, and the school was even farther, so she made for the nearest building. It was certainly abandoned, judging by the gratified walls and boarded windows. There were a few footprints on the door, near the door nob. It was unlocked, but the closing mechanism had been snapped off and the door was loose on its hinges. There was a deadbolt placed high on the door which Hoshino latched shut after entering. With the door — relatively — secured, she got to checking her surroundings.
It was a small one-room store, likely a bakery considering the layout of it. Near the far wall was a row of display cases and a small counter for the cashier to work. Some of the glass cases had been shattered, others had been simply opened. Graffiti was everywhere; floor, walls, and ceiling. Even on the fridges and cabinets that lined the side walls. Behind the cashier's spot was an open door, leading to an empty kitchen.
Hoshino ignored it for now, opting instead to walk behind the counter and sit down, leaning against it. She laid her folded shield on the floor beside her and placed the shotgun on top of it. Adjusting herself into being somewhat comfortable, Hoshino crossed her arms and closed her eyes.
The storm had since passed and the moon hung lower in the sky, but the wind was still harsh. Neither constant nor hard enough to rip up the sand, but just enough to make Hoshino squint. She continued her patrol, walking down the street at a constant pace; head still swiveling, and finger once more tapping the trigger guard.
A mound of sand halfway down an alleyway caught her eye. It was off-putting and strange, not so much in form, but rather as to how it got there. The sidewalk and gutter just outside the alley weren't any cleaner than the rest of the street, it was as if someone had taken a giant bucket and dumped it there. It wasn't a small mound either, easily being the size of a car. And then there were the rocks. The farther you went into the Abydos Desert, the rockier it became, but the opposite was true as well. Sandstorms that brought rocks into the city weren't uncommon, usually little more than pebbles, but these were significantly larger. The smallest rock was about the size of Hoshino's fist.
She approached the mound slowly, as if a Helmet Gangster would suddenly pop out and start shooting. Her finger no longer tapped the trigger guard, it was firmly placed on the trigger now. As Hoshino got closer, she could make out more details, none of which she wanted to see.
First was the toe cap of a boot, sticking out of the rocky sand at the base of the mound. Two knees were visible, the left one less buried than the right, both covered by a pair of horribly damaged khaki pants. Further up was a gloved hand sticking from the sand at the wrist. The hand was open, grasping towards the sky. Hoshino stared at the shallow grave and the exposed body within.
…
She placed her shotgun down, grabbed the reaching hand with both of hers, and pulled. The upper torso of the body emerged from the sand, head, shoulders, and all. The man began coughing, spitting up globs of wet sand and the occasional rock. Hoshino turned him over on his side, unearthing his legs as he flipped over. He ended up on his stomach, face half buried in the sand. Eventually, the coughing turned to gasping, the man sucking in greedy gulps of air, flipped himself onto his back. His head slowly swiveled around, brown eyes dazed and unfocused underneath his crooked glasses as he looked up at the starry sky. He tried to lift his head, but it dropped to the sand with a soft thud as he drifted into unconsciousness.
Hoshino dropped to her knees and began hurriedly checking over the man. His chest was covered by a desert-camouflaged armor vest, so she went for his wrist. But his forearms were covered by leather arm guards haphazardly strapped to an olive green duster and a pair of black gloves both blocked access to his wrist. It seemed the neck was the only place to check his pulse, being the only skin showing other than his face. Pressing down lightly on the carotid artery, she found a slow but steady pulse. Moving to the man's nose, her hand felt long and drawn-out, but shallow breaths. Hoshino let out a sigh of relief.
The man's face seemed calm, if a bit rough. Then again, he wasn't awake and couldn't be anything but calm. He was dirty and he smelled as if bathing was a foreign concept, the stench of cigarettes was most prevalent. Being buried alive certainly didn't do him any favors. Sand clung to strands of short brown hair, the grease practically shining in the moonlight. His hairline was uneven along his forehead due to an eye-sized scar. It had healed rather poorly, and the skin on and around it seemed very rough. There was another scar along his neck. It had healed much better and was less prominent, but covered an entire ring around his neck, as if it was caused by wearing a tight collar.
Hoshino wasn't sure how long the man had been buried, but going off his condition, it was nothing short of a miracle that he was alive. She couldn't do anything for him here, she had neither the skills nor the equipment. But she knew someone who did…
The thought was almost sour, burdening him with yet another problem. He was the only adult to help them, when even SCHALE had joined the General Student Council and the other academies in ignoring their pleas for aid. He did it without expecting anything grand in return, only a room in the school and whatever leftover food they could give. It wasn't like she could do anything else, the nearest hospital was several hours away but the school was much closer. Hoshino hoisted the man onto her back, suppressing a comment about her 'old bones.'
Hopefully Doc Mitchell wouldn't mind the late-night visit.
His whole body ached, lungs on fire and arms made of lead, as The Courier stirred from slumber. His eyes were firmly shut, but that didn't stop a bright light from reddening his eyelids. Phosphenes danced across his vision as he tried and failed to open his eyes. He couldn't see, but he had the rest of his senses. He was lying on a mattress with blankets pulled over him, reaching up to his chest. His right arm rested atop the blankets. He could feel something inside of his skin, along the inside of his elbow. A needle, maybe. There was a tube in his nose as well, running far down his throat. His upper body was raised at a shallow angle with his head resting on a pillow.
He could hear talking in the distance. It was faint, likely coming from outside the room. The Courier could just barely make out what was being said.
"A few more days at most. I reckon he'll be eager to get up and moving again, he certainly was the last time." The speaker was an old man, very gentle sounding. Familiar as well, but The Courier couldn't put his finger on who.
…
"I'm just worried. Our supplies are running out faster than I thought — even with rationing — and the Helmet Gang's attacks have been getting more frequent. If we spend any more money on ammunition this month, we might not even be able to make the debt payment." A girl replied, didn't sound older than a teenager. It was clear as day that she was nervous, even with her stating as much. Her voice was a bit shaky and The Courier could imagine her having trouble looking the old man in the eye.
"I'll put in a word with our new friend, see if he can help out. If it weren't for my leg, I'd be putting in work myself."
"I… Thank you, Doc. You don't know how much this means — to all of us. We'll pay you back someday. Really!"
Doc simply chuckled. "You've already done more than enough. Don't stress over me, Ayane. You girls have more than enough to worry about already."
The conversation ceased and The Courier felt drowsiness begin to overtake him. The last thing he heard were footsteps approaching him as consciousness was swept away.
The room had a certain smell to it, a very strong one. It was the clean smell of Dr. Usanagi's clinic, but to an even greater degree. It wasn't quite Abraxo, but definitely something similar — possibly a combination of several different cleaners. It took him a moment to notice, but The Courier smelled decently clean for once. Not the chemical sort of clean like the rest of the room, but the soap and water clean as if he had been bathed.
The door to the room opened and several sets of footsteps moved inside. It was a group of people. Five, maybe six of them. They crowded around his bed, he could feel their eyes boring into him. They placed items on a table beside his bed, saying various phrases that all amounted to wishing 'get well soon.'
Only four pairs of footsteps left the room.
"Yes, Hoshino?" Doc asked.
"What's his story, Doc?" Hoshino asked. She sounded young, even more so than Ayane, but she was significantly more composed. There was the slightest edge to her voice, something that indicated experience beyond her years.
"Well, you know that much."
"I'm not talking about that. I can count the number of people with scars in Kivotos on one hand. But scars like that? He might be the only one in the city."
"That's… personal. You'll have to ask him about it when he wakes up."
"Doc," Hoshino started." He's in our school, using our supplies, bought with our money. I know you two have a history outside of Kivotos. I want to know about that. If he can't be relied upon to help us, then we can't help him. And if we can't help him, we could sell the medical supplies, then we might be able to buy enough ammo to hold for another week."
…
The kid was sharp and her reasoning was solid, shrewd even. It was a good call, one The Courier would have agreed with had he not been the one being sacrificed.
"Not here. He's in the early stages of waking up, might even be able to hear us." Doc said.
Two pairs of footsteps left the room, shutting the door behind them. The Courier had little time to think over what had just happened, sleep called to him once more.
Gunfire was all that he could hear. It was an ever-escalating crescendo of small arms and explosives, with the beating drums of war in the distance. The Courier was separated from it, the war happening outside of the room but still close to the building.
Fights were quick in the Mojave. The Courier's longest was only ten minutes, against an NCR sniper shortly after he had assassinated President Kimball. Prolonged gunfights were a rarity, preserved only for warring factions like the NCR, Brotherhood of Steel, and Caesar's Legion. The longest series of fights probably would've been on Hoover Damn. Fighting through the slog of Legion and NCR soldiers was a mess, to say nothing of two back-to-back showdowns in The Fort. Lanius wasn't all that he was made up to be, despite fighting like an honest-to-God demon. And General Oliver? Oliver was slow on the draw.
The Courier wasn't sure when the fighting outside had started, but he had already counted ten minutes since he'd been awake. It was starting to die down, at least. The drumming of gunfire was no more and the orchestra had turned into a sporadic choir. Things were wrapping up, and so was The Courier's consciousness—
The sound of glass shattering filled the room as a body hit the floor with a loud thunk.
"Shit…" Doc sighed and then chuckled. There was no humor in it. He grunted, presumably picking himself up, and then made his way to The Courier's bedside.
"Easy now… Easy. We aren't in any danger." He said, laying a hand on The Courier's own.
The Courier hadn't realized it, but his hand was shaking, closed into a fist. Adrenaline rushed through him despite being barely able to move — he couldn't even open his eyes. He focused on breathing, trying to leave the heightened state behind. Slowly, he drifted off; the distant gunfire likewise drawing to a close.
"And this goes… Ah, like this."
Light filled The Courier's vision, blinding him as his eyes adjusted to its intensity. He was able to squint after a few moments, but just barely, and could make out his immediate surroundings. The bed had white sheets. Immaculately clean, just like the rest of the room. There was a needle sticking in his right arm, a tube connected it to a blood bag on a dropper stand. On either side of the bed were white pleated curtains, concealing most of the room from him. He could make out a space in front of a bed where cabinets were lined up against the far wall.
The tube running down his nose rustled, and The Courier followed it up to another stand on the left side of the bed. Next to it was a girl with short black hair and red glasses. Her eyes were light brown — almost amber — and her ears were strangely shaped, being long and pointed sideways. But somehow, that wasn't even the strangest part about her. There was a halo above her head with two red rings and four ovals pointing inside the smaller interior ring. It reminded him of one of the valence radii-things he found in the Big Empty, but more detailed.
Investigating her further, the girl wore a uniform. A blue blazer with white piping worn unbuttoned over a beige sweater. Underneath that was a white dress shirt with a blue tie. Clipped into her jacket was a card with a strange-looking symbol, and the word 'Abydos' under it. Worn on her left arm was a blue armband with foreign symbols — Chinese? Moving down, she wore a black pleated skirt and similarly black socks that ended just below her knees. She wore dress shoes, reminiscent of what the White Glove Society members would wear.
She fiddled with a bag full of tan-white liquid, an empty one racked beside it. The words on it were foreign, like the ones on her armband.
"There! All set." She quietly cheered. The Courier recognized the voice, this was the 'Ayane' that Doc had been talking to.
Ayane's eyes drew to The Courier, inspecting him. After finding no issues with his arm, she drew her gaze to his face. She narrowed her eyes and leaned in, checking over him intently. Then she brought up her hand and, with her index finger raised, poked him in the cheek.
The Courier scrunched up his face in annoyance and forced his eyes open, glaring at the girl. She stared at him for a few moments before stumbling back.
"E-eh? Doc!" She all but sprinted out of the room, practically stumbling over herself and shouting frantically as she ran.
The Courier rubbed his face, cradling his aching head. Fingers met bandage as they rubbed his forehead, the material feeling rough against them. He pulled his hand back; inspecting his fingers and wriggling them around, and then sighed.
It seemed to have happened again.
He closed the roller clamp on the surgical tubing before carefully removing the needle from his arm. A few drops of blood trickled out as he tossed it aside, letting it dangle from the stand. Next was the feeding tube. He shut the clamp off before slowly pulling it from his nose. Holding back the urge to vomit — but not without several gags — he tossed it aside. Throwing the covers off him and swinging his feet over the side, he made to stand. A pair of hands caught him, gently stopping him.
"Whoa, whoa. Easy there, easy." Doc was a balding old man with white hair, a mustache, and blue eyes. "You've been out cold a coupla days now. You should take it slow, I don't think I got all the sand out." He wore a black button-up shirt, brown pants with suspenders, and a red bandanna over his collar. The Courier recognized him, not as 'Doc' who he had overheard talking with Ayane…
But as Doc Mitchell, the same man that had saved The Courier's life after being pulled from that shallow grave. The same man who taught The Courier medicine and helped him wherever he could. The same man that The Courier had grown close with following the events at Hoover Dam, when he had begun to confide in the old man. The same Doc Mitchell that The Courier and the residents of Goodsprings had buried after illness claimed his life.
The Courier stared at the man, dumbfounded. He looked like he had seen a ghost and, for all intents and purposes, he had.
"Ah, right." Doc Mitchell reached under the bed and pulled out The Courier's authority glasses. With a smile, he presented them in his open palm. The Courier didn't move a muscle, failing to even breathe. Doc Mitchell unfolded the glasses and slipped them over The Courier's eyes.
…
It was entirely possible that The Courier had died — he certainly felt like it. His arms ached, his lungs hurt, and his mind was screaming at him, crying out that the man in front of him couldn't possibly be real. And yet, he was. It felt far too real to be the product of excessive alcohol consumption or chem use. Or even one of his suspiciously absent nightmares, given all the sleeping he had been doing. But this couldn't be reality. Doc Mitchell was dead, he had been buried. The Courier saw it with his own two eyes. And the dead couldn't be brought back to life, so there was simply no chance this was real. At the very least, it wasn't the Mojave. Could this be the Heaven that Joshua Graham spoke of? Was it Hell?
"How…"
"Would you believe me if I said that I didn't know?" Doc Mitchell lowered himself onto the bed, sitting on the edge beside The Courier. "One of the girls here, Hoshino, found me. She got caught in a sandstorm while she was going on a walk, stumbled upon me shortly after. That was… maybe a week ago. She found you a couple days ago, same way Victor did."
"Where are we, Doc?"
"Kivotos. Big city, bigger than New Vegas, and maybe even the Mojave itself. You'll have to ask the girls about it, I don't know much. Wasn't too interested in askin' with all the goings-on."
"That pointy-eared girl is one of them?"
"Ayane, yes. She's been helping me look after you. There're four others, but Ayane and Hoshino are the big two. I'd recommend talking to Ayane for information and Hoshino for work. Getting you up and runnin' was quite draining on their already thin finances. If you were asleep any longer then— Ah, never mind. Talk to Hoshino and get something to occupy you, maybe it'll help you sort your thoughts."
"You mentioned some 'goings-on.' What should I know?"
"They're in a fair bit of inherited debt and some gangers have been making trouble for them. They ain't been able to do much work because of the harassment, and ammunition costs have got them worrying about making this month's payment."
"Where can I find Ayane?"
"Club room on the second floor, look for the sign with a piece of paper covering it. Has Asian writing on it. Hoshino will likely be lazing about on the roof. Anyways, I'll give you some privacy. I'll be here in the nurse's office if you need me." Doc Mitchell stood and left the room, shutting the door behind him.
The Courier slowly brought himself to his feet. He was unsteady after lying down for so long, his muscles weakened from the lack of usage. Bracing himself off the bed, he knelt down and pulled out his backpack from underneath it. His clothes and armor were folded neatly atop it, with the 1st Recon Beret on top of the stack. He placed all of it on the bed before unfolding his clothing and donning his armor.
The Desert Ranger combat armor was the only thing he wore anymore. It was surprisingly light for how much protection the vest offered, and the duster could stop small caliber rounds to due its material. It was easy to move in, even if the pants were a bit large. He only wore the helmet during fights, finding it annoyingly heavy to wear. Otherwise, his choice of headgear was his pair of authority glasses and the 1st Recon Beret.
As for weapons, The Courier holstered a .357 magnum on his hip and a combat knife on his thigh below it. He was right-handed, so his weapons went on that side of his body. He removed the rest of his guns from his backpack and stowed them under the bed. Then he threw the straps over his shoulders and adjusted the backpack to compensate for the missing weight.
Taking a few cautious steps, The Courier made his way over to the nearest reflective surface, a window. The earlier firefight had caused a fair amount of damage to it, removing a chunk of the glass. Duct tape covered this hole and reinforced the spider web-like cracks spreading across the pane. He leaned toward it, getting a good look at himself. No outward damage to his face, but there was a bandage wrapped around his forehead. It covered the scar and a bit more. He removed the beret from his head and began to unwrap it. Oddly enough, there was no new damage or visible reason for his head to be wrapped. Doc Mitchell knew how he felt about the scar, so it was possible he hid it.
The Courier made a mental note to thank the good doctor for his thoughtfulness.
But that's when he noticed it. A pillar of light coming from a distant city penetrated the sky, halos encircling it as it pierced towards the heavens. Below the light was a massive cityscape, the skyline dwarfing even the heights of New Vegas and expanding in every direction. The beam of light originated from a massive tower, the tallest and most central one in the city. It dwarfed all the other buildings, making them seem tiny in comparison.
The Courier tore his eyes away from the sight, it brought more questions than it answered. He was definitely not in the Mojave or anywhere near it, that much was obvious. But the question as to where he was still remained, and he wouldn't find that out by gawking at a foreign sight. He replaced the beret on his head, adjusting it over the scar, and turned, walking to the door.
Opening it, he found Doc Mitchell in the hall, leaning against the wall. The Courier pointed to his scar and gave the man a quick nod before moving past him. Eventually, after becoming lost, finding a staircase, and getting lost again, The Courier found the club room.
It was a small room with a table in the center, a rolling whiteboard along the left wall, book-filled cabinets lining either wall, and a pair of tables against the windowed far wall. Ayane was sitting at the table, immersed in some hand-held computer. The Courier knocked on the open door, catching her attention. One of her long ears… moved at the sound, tilting backward slightly.
If the beaming smile was any indication, she seemed quite happy to see The Courier. Or maybe it was because his being up and about meant he wasn't draining their supplies.
"I'm glad to see that you're up. Ayane, secretary of the Foreclosure Task Force."
That must be what the sign outside the door said. They spoke English but didn't write in it… A question for another time.
"Heard you got a problem, I'm looking to help." The Courier said. "But I need information to do that."
"Well… Hoshino has a list of odd jobs. If I remember correctly, it's grocery shopping, some temporary cashier work, and a few different deliveries. I doubt you'll run into too much trouble from the Helmet Gang. You haven't been seen with us and your lack of a halo means you'll only get empty threats."
The Courier gave her a strange look. "I meant about the gangers. Territory, routines, weapons. That sorta thing."
"Eh? Are you… They'll tear you apart without a halo. Just talk with Hoshino about the jobs, they're much safer."
"Okay, where can I get a halo?"
It was Ayane's turn to wear the strange look. "You… Right, you're an outsider. It's something we students are born with. You can't get one. Look, Doc and I spent a lot of time patching you up. Please don't waste all that effort by running headfirst into our problems. I appreciate the gesture — we all do — but there are better ways to help."
"I'll talk to Hoshino then, see what I can do." Speech-craft was hardly The Courier's specialty. He didn't know when to push for information, but he sure knew when to stop. It was the little things, mostly the movements of a person's face. Whenever Ayane heard something she didn't like, her ears twitched. And she seemed to hesitate when she got worried. When she got frustrated her brows furrowed and her mouth went taut. When she wanted to shut down a conversation, she addressed everything she could and ensured that she had the last word.
Ayane let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you. I'll be here until the school day is over, let me know if you need something."
The Courier grunted in affirmation before turning and leaving the room. He made his way up the stairs, ending up at the entrance to the roof access. Pushing open the door and stepping outside, he didn't see anyone in his immediate area. The view of the city was much better here than in the nurse's office. Nothing that he hadn't already seen, just more detail to the existing picture. The edges of the roof were fenced off and solar panels lined the center of it. He spotted a ladder that led to an elevated portion of the building that separated the roof into two halves. Climbing it, he noted that the other half of the roof was similarly deserted. Climbing another ladder up to the tallest point of the building, The Courier found who he was looking for.
Hoshino's uniform was worn similar to Ayane's but without the jacket and sweater. Her tie was worn loosely, and half of it was caught on straps that went around her stomach and shoulders. Her card was clipped onto her breast pocket and she wore a pair of blue sneakers over her white shin-length socks. Unlike Ayane, she had no halo. Her pink hair was very long and practically covered the sleeping girl like a blanket.
The Courier paced around her and the blue mattress she layed on, thinking about how he should wake the girl up. He decided on the classic method, kneeling beside her and snapping his fingers in front of her face. She stirred after a few moments, sitting up and rubbing her sleepy eyes. Orange and blue, like sun and moon. The Courier had read about heterochromia in one of the Physicians Today issues, but he had never seen it in person. A halo appeared atop her head as she awoke. It was pink, matching her hair, and with a complex eye-like shape.
"Uhe?" Hoshino looked The Courier up and down, and then reached out her hand. "Help this uncle up, carrying you here did a number on my back."
'Uncle', huh? Good to see that eccentricity was alive and well. The Courier grabbed her arm just above the wrist as Hoshino did the same to his. Her grip was strong for a kid, especially considering that she barely reached up to his chest while standing. Hoshino was a small and thin little thing, seemingly fragile enough to be affected by a strong breeze. Disregarding the other… oddities, the most standout thing about the girl looked directly at The Courier.
Her eyes.
They set The Courier on edge, something about them… Then he realized it. It wasn't the eyes themselves, but how she used them. They were sharp, despite their outwardly tired appearance, and they were constantly searching him. Not just looking, but watching. She had been sizing him up from the very first moment, even helping her up was a way to gauge him. What sort of information she was looking for, or what she already had, The Courier didn't know. But if that slight smirk on her lips was anything to go off of, she knew that he knew.
"Lookin' to make myself useful, heard you got work." The best thing to do would be to pretend that nothing had happened. It's not like The Courier could do anything about it, given the situation. Best to ingratiate himself with these people, no matter how strange they were.
"You don't strike me as the type to work in retail. Perhaps deliveries are more your style?" Hoshino mused.
"They don't call me Courier for nothin'. Where's the package and where's it goin'?"
"Straight to the point. Here," Hoshino took out a folded flyer from her pocket. "That has all the details."
The Courier unfolded the paper, promptly realizing that he couldn't understand a single word of it. It reminded him of his own contract with the Mojave Express with how the paper was laid out.
"Check with Ayane and Serika. Ayane's the secretary and Serika's the treasurer, the former will sign off on the contract and the latter will give you the package."
"…I'll get right on that." The Courier replied.
Hoshino yawned and went right back to sleeping on her mattress as The Courier left the roof. A short time later, he was back in the club room. There were two additional occupants other than Ayane.
The first was a girl with gray hair and a pair of coyote-like ears on her head. There was a blue hair ornament in the shape of an upside-down cross clipped near her left animal ear. Her hair was roughly shoulder length and concealed another pair of ears, human ones. The ears weren't even the strangest part. Her eyes were blue, but her pupils were mismatched. One black, one white; a combination that wasn't normal in the slightest. She wore her uniform similar to Hoshino's, but she kept the coat and added a blue scarf as well as a single black and green glove on her left hand. A pair of white socks went up to her knees and she wore a pair of black sneakers with a green and white sole. Her card was clipped to her coat, and her halo was comprised of two blue circles with four lines pointing outward on the larger one.
The next girl was dressed similarly, but her jacket was worn closed and she had no scarf. The gloves on her hands were red and black, on the palm and the back of the hand respectively. She wore her black hair in twin tails with blue ribbons. Her eyes matched the color of her gloves. She had a second pair of ears atop her head. They were smoother and less curved than the previous girl's, but he couldn't identify what they were. He had simply never seen the animal before — if they were modeled after an animal, that is. Her halo was much like the previous girl's, only the lines pointed inward and it was red. She had some sort of kneepad on her right leg, the fabric of it covering much more than the knee. She had the shortest socks in the room, matching her black shoes in color.
The best part about wearing tinted glasses was that The Courier could stare dumbfounded at anything he wanted, and no one would be any the wiser. Though his time in this 'Kivotos' was limited, he figured that it would be best to ignore whatever oddities he came across. After all, no one else in the room seemed concerned about the girl's fucked up pupils or anyone's strange ears.
The Courier knocked on the open door, drawing the girls' attention. Except for the gray-haired one, she had been watching him since he appeared. He walked in, heading straight for Ayane. Once he reached her, The Courier held up the flyer.
"Need the details on this, can't read it."
…
Ayane's ear twitched.
"You…" She sighed. "O-okay. You can assist with one of our jobs after school, then."
So this was a school. The layout was reminiscent of the copy of American High from the Big Empty, so it made sense. But then again, this wasn't the Mojave, so why the hell were kids having to deal with gangers and debt? That might've been normal where The Courier was from, but this seemed like a functioning city, untouched by nuclear hellfire. Wasn't the old world — if the concept even applied here — supposed to be better than this?
The black-haired girl huffed and glared at The Courier. "He uses our supplies but is too stupid to pay us back. Great."
"Nice to meet you too." The Courier shot back.
"Serika." Ayane shot the girl a look and then turned her attention back to The Courier. "We'll be having a meeting soon, I'll get you filled in on everything then. For now, get acquainted with Serika and Shiroko." Ayane's eyes left The Courier, returning to her computer.
Ayane was seated at the table's left, in front of the whiteboard. Serika sat on the right, near the foot of the table, and Shiroko sat at the table's foot. There were four empty seats, one to the left of Serika and another at the table's head, presumably for Hoshino. The last two were beside Ayane and Shiroko. The Courier opted to take the seat beside the latter, laying his backpack under the chair.
The Courier eyed out the window, checking the position of the sun.
"Mornin'." He greeted.
"Nn," Shiroko responded. She rested her hands on a bag in her lap. The color scheme was consistent with her uniform, being black with blue highlights, but it had a few interesting features. First were a pair of magazine pouches on either side of the bag that — unsurprisingly — contained magazines. Three ornaments were clipped onto the bag, these being; a green smiley face with animal ears on it, a red heart, and a rounded cross.
…
So she was one of those kinds. The Courier couldn't complain, he wasn't much better. He reached for his backpack, unzipping it and grabbing a pack of cards. He placed it on the table.
"Ever play blackjack?"
Shiroko shook her head.
"Rules are simple. Have the cards in your hand total as close to twenty-one as you can without going over. Kings, queens, and jacks are worth ten, and the ace is either one or eleven, whichever gets you closest to twenty-one. Getting to twenty-one means you win by default, otherwise whoever is closest to the number after everyone stops drawing wins." The Courier explained. "Got all that?"
"Nn." Shiroko nodded.
The Courier glanced at Serika, who was intently watching the two of them. "You want in?"
She hesitated for a moment. "Sure, nothing better to do anyway."
The Courier shuffled the deck. He wasn't the most dexterous person, but he could still put on a half-decent show. Once he was done, he drew a card. Shiroko drew hers and Serika followed. The Courier drew one more card, Shiroko drew two, and Serika drew three. One by one, they placed their cards on the table before flipping them.
The Courier had two kings, one of spades and one of hearts. Shiroko had a 3, a 4, and a 10. Serika had two 7s and a 3.
The trio played for some time, eventually being joined by a fourth, Nonomi. Her uniform was similar in style to Hoshino's, but she wore a beige jacket. She wore no tie, replacing it with a lanyard that carried her card instead. Her hair was long and pale blonde, reaching to her waist. Part of it was tied into a bun on the left side. Her eyes, much like her halo, were green. Her halo was standard compared to the rest of the girls, having two rings but with three lines outside the largest circle pointing inward.
"Read 'em and weep." The Courier tossed his hand onto the table, the cards landing face up. He couldn't stop the grin from taking over his face, even though he knew Serika was about to lose it. She slammed her hands onto the table, hard enough to cause the cards to bounce and spill from their stack.
"No way!" She shouted, pointing at The Courier with an accusatory finger. "This is rigged! You can't get three naturals in a row!"
"I felt lucky is all. You're with me, right Shiroko?"
Shiroko shook her head. "Cheater." She plainly stated.
Nonomi only giggled, having seated herself beside Serika. Then the door to the club room slid open and a freshly awoken — but no less tired — Hoshino entered the room.
"What's all this noise? I can hear you four from the roof." Hoshino yawned.
"Throw him out of the school! He's cheating!" Serika shouted once more.
"Uhe? That kind of relationship already? Serika-chan, you should put more thought into who you pick."
"W-w-w-w— What are you even saying!?"
Doc Mitchell came walking through the door a second later, trailing behind Hoshino.
"Taking all these poor kids' money?" Doc Mitchell teased.
"Nah, robbing kids is in poor taste. You on the other hand…" The Courier responded.
"Sorry to interrupt… But since we're all here, we may as well start early." Ayane said.
Hoshino took her seat at the head of the table while Doc Mitchell sat to the right of Ayane. The latter stood from her seat, walking in front of the whiteboard and holding her thin computer. She tapped on it for a few moments, swiping her finger across the screen here and there, before finding whatever information she was looking for.
"Assuming the pattern holds, the Kata-Kata Helmet Gang will be attacking the school today. I've been monitoring their hideout for some time and have some information on the impending attack. They've acquired one of SCHALE's trucks and —"
"So SCHALE's working with them! It wasn't enough for them to ignore us, now they actively want us gone!?" Serika interrupted.
"I don't think so." Ayane continued. "The truck has taken a beating and the Helmet Gang has taken someone captive, presumably the driver. I don't want to get anyone's hopes up, but I think it was a supply truck heading for us. I can't think of any other reason why SCHALE would be operating in Abydos."
"Well, I suppose incompetence is better than malice." Nonomi chimed in.
"There's been a lot of movement as of late, so I estimate they will be leaving sometime in the next twenty minutes, and arrive at the school around thirty minutes from then. We've got some time, so I figured we could get the newcomer up to speed on what's going on." Ayane looked at The Courier. "Do you have any questions to start?"
Shiroko's strange pupils, the incredibly strange hair colors, Ayane's ears, Shiroko's ears, Serika's ears, the impending ganger attack and why they were opting to sit around and talk instead of plotting an ambush, Shiroko and Serika having two pairs of ears, the halos, Nonomi having no strange or stand out features like the others save for her massive fucking tits? Yeah, The Courier had a couple ideas. But at this point, he just didn't care to ask, opting to go with the flow instead.
"Uh… No."
"Okay then, I'll start with introductions. We're all part of the Foreclosure Task Force, and our goal is to save Abydos High School from debt. The Task Force is composed of all current members of the school, the five of us. I'm Okusora Ayane, the secretary and a first-year student. At the head of the table is Takanashi Hoshino, our sole third-year and the chairwoman of the Task Force. Izayoi Nonomi is one of our second years, sitting to the left of Hoshino. Kuromi Serika is the treasurer and a first year, sitting next to Nonomi. Next down the table is Sunaookami Shiroko, our field captain and a second year."
"The Kata-Kata Helmet Gang is Abydos' local branch of the more widely spread Helmet Gang. They've been launching assaults to try and take the school, but we don't know why. We've been working odd jobs to pay off our debt, but with how much we're spending on ammunition due to the attacks, we might not make the next payment. It's something of a desperate situation right now." Ayane continued.
"You've been referring to Abydos as if it was a city, rather than a school." The Courier asked.
"Abydos owns — well, owned an entire district of Kivotos. Kivotos is the 'Academy City', all of the here schools own portions of land, some much larger than others, and the rest is owned by the General Student Council or individuals and companies. The latter two are rare cases, so most land is owned by the prior two."
"So most of your land is gone, I take it that we're standing on all that's left?"
"Correct. There was something of an environmental disaster a few years ago. A series of increasingly common and devastating sandstorms swept across the district. They've mostly calmed down since, but it was far too late. The school went bankrupt trying to provide disaster relief and had to turn to loan companies, specifically Kaiser Loans. The old student council had to sell off most of Abydos' land to meet the interest rate, and the students rather quickly abandoned the school. This annex is all we have left."
"My condolences. I understand what it's like to have everything taken from you, ain't a good feeling." The Courier seethed. Fucking NCR, if he ever saw another one of their soldiers it would be too soon. If he ever saw Kimball or Oliver here, he'd shoot the bastards all over again. Wouldn't even need Caesar to ask him nicely this time. Now that got The Courier thinking. How would Caesar react to seeing The Courier again? It would certainly be amusing.
Would the scalpel still be in his brain?
His statement caught the attention of Hoshino. Not to say that she wasn't paying attention before, but now she was properly intrigued. The guise of tiredness momentarily slipped from her eyes just long enough for The Courier to catch it. The rest of the girls were all absorbed in their own various ways of brooding. Shiroko was especially open about it.
"Thank you. Doc Mitchell has done a lot to help us in his short time here. He spoke highly of you, so we're expecting something of a miracle from you." Ayane chuckled. "We'd appreciate it if you could help out in any way you could, even if it's something small. There's also the matter of the debt you owe. Personally, I'm against the idea, but I wouldn't say no to you settling accounts." Ayane finished.
The Courier reached under his chair and brought out his backpack, placing it in his lap and digging through it.
"Alright, pick your poison. Caps, NCR dollars… think I got some Aureuses somewhere in here."
"… Yen?" Ayane asked.
"No. You could probably get it exchanged at a casino or somethin'."
"We don't use any of those… currencies. And you meant a bank, right?" Ayane looked curiously at The Courier.
…
"So I'm broke and illiterate. Fan-tastic."
"You're a long way from the top, huh?"
"Don't get too excited now, Doc. Don't think I'm done falling yet. Anyways, should we be preparing for those gangers? From what's been said, they are coming to take over the school. Shouldn't we be ambushing them? Stopping them before they can even get here?" The Courier said.
"All five of us are needed to stop their assaults because of their numbers. We can't leave the school without leaving at least one person to defend it, so a proper ambush would leave us undermanned. Even if we committed everything to an ambush, some of them could still break off and capture the school. Even if the ambush succeeded, evicting them would be another ordeal entirely. The school is fortified and the route they always use is quite open. It's best that we hunker down, fight them as they approach, and mop up the survivors as they breach the school." Ayane explained.
"If that's really the best option, then why do they keep coming back? This doesn't sound like some new ordeal that just started yesterday. It sounds like it's been going on for at least a week. Way I see it, hunkering down means you're too slow to finish them off. They get their wounded and retreat before you can do any serious damage."
"It's attritional warfare, I'll admit—" Ayane started.
"You don't need to admit anything, kid. You need to think. You're winning the battles but losing the war! I ain't heard good things about your ammunition stores, so what's gonna happen a few days from now when they show up and realize that you're all out of ammo? Even if you make the debt payment, that doesn't mean nothin' if you don't control the—"
"Then what do you propose?" Hoshino cut in sharply.
"I propose…" The Courier reached into his bag and pulled out a satchel charge and several powder charges. "That you stop underestimating me."
"A minefield, then."
"Gonna need some traffic cones and buckets to conceal them. Make the field big but only put mines around the halfway mark. Once they go off, they'll be caught in the center — too scared to move. That's when you start your ambush. Gangers will have to choose between getting blown up and shot up."
"You have experience in this sort of thing," Shiroko said, eyes full of wonder.
The Courier held back a biting remark about the girls' skill level when it came to warfare. Instead, he merely nodded. "I'll need some supplies; gunpowder, duct tape, sensors, that sort of thing. I don't have enough of these on me, so I need to make more of them."
…
"Serika, show him to the gym. Shiroko, you and I will go scout ambush positions along the road." Hoshino ordered.
Hoshino and Shiroko hurried out the door as Serika got to her feet. The Courier was behind her a moment later, following her down the stairs and to the front door of the school. He had to squint as he walked out, the mostly natural lighting of the window-filled building had helped with adjusting his vision, but it couldn't compare to the bare harsh sun. Directly in front of the main building was a large field with markings on it. Serika ignored it and several of the other buildings in favor of a large barn-like one. It was situated beside an empty, sand-filled pool. Serika unlocked the pair of double doors and pushed them open, revealing an assortment of shelves and boxes all across the gym floor.
"I'll be watching you, so don't even think about taking something valuable," Serika said.
The Courier ignored her, instead grabbing containers of assorted parts and a few stray objects. Spying no workbench in sight, he sat down on the floor and got to work. There weren't enough supplies here to make as many satchel charges as he wanted, so he settled for a larger number of powder charges. They were pretty easy to make; duct tape, a sensor module, something that could explode, and a container to hold all of it. The Powder Gangers preferred dynamite due to their explosive power, but a mix of gunpowder and shrapnel was an adequate alternative.
"I don't like how natural this seems to you." She continued.
The Courier rigged a sensor module to a plastic water bottle, making sure the connecting wires were buried within the powder inside. He wasn't too sure about the technicalities of it, but the sensor would send a signal down the wires, causing a spark and igniting the gunpowder they were buried in. He placed it in the growing pile of explosives to his side before starting work on another. He was starting to run out of powder, having to disassemble some of his own bullets to supplement the shrinking supply.
"Elaborate."
"Elabor… You're making bombs in our gym! Where the hell did you learn how to do that?"
"It's a handy skill."
"In Gehenna maybe." Serika scoffed.
"Mojave." He corrected.
"Mo-ha-vay." Serika sounded out. "What's it like there, outside of Kivotos?"
"It's a desert. Lot of hills and mountains, couple towns here and there. Biggest one is New Vegas. Not a bad place to live — fantastic if you're a degenerate — but it's relatively safe, and that's more than can be said for most places. It's far enough away from Kivotos that I've never heard of it, Doc Mitchell will probably tell you the same thing."
"He did. Almost exactly, actually. He clammed up when we started pushing, so what aren't you telling me?"
"Not gonna lie to you, kid. There's a lot I ain't willin' to speak on. If you don't know, then that's probably for the best. Bask in your innocence or something."
"C'mon…" Serika whined.
"Maybe when you're older — or nicer." The Courier's teasing set her off, but he paid no mind. He got to packing up his explosives, haphazardly dumping them into his backpack. Serika was still on her tirade as the pair walked out of the gym, the angry girl taking a moment to lock the doors before resuming her shouting. The Courier found it assuming, even if it was somewhat annoying. It was refreshing to have someone talk his head off instead of trying to shoot or lob it off.
Eventually, they found themselves on a four-lane road in front of the school. Buildings lined the street, smaller roads split off, and alleys cut between all of them. This was probably the most intact city The Courier had seen, but it wasn't all perfect. Anything more than a cursory glance would reveal the run-down state of it. Some of the buildings were boarded up, others were obviously abandoned, and sand was everywhere. It was in the streets, the gutters, the alleys; everything had at minimum a coating of it.
Beside the entrance of the school were a couple dozen cones and buckets in various states of disrepair. The Courier inspected one of the buckets, noting the numerous bullet-sized holes all over it. The Abydos girls used these for target practice, it would seem. Hopefully, they wouldn't miss them too much, seeing as many of them would be blown apart in the coming conflict.
"So, do these gangers just run down the middle of the street?"
"Guns blazing the whole way. Not an ounce of trigger discipline between them." Serika replied.
"Perfect. I'll set up the mines, you conceal them with the cones and buckets. Make sure not to jostle them after they've been set."
"Isn't this dangerous?"
"What? You don't like the idea of losing your arms in a premature detonation?"
Serika stared at The Courier in disbelief.
"Wimp." He added.
There were only three figures in the Foreclosure Task Force club room as opposed to the prior seven. The Courier set up at one of the tables near the window. It had been opened, allowing a light breeze into the room, but more importantly, letting the barrel of The Courier's anti-material rifle be mounted on the sill. The gun idly rested in its position as The Courier sat behind it on a chair. To his right was Doc Mitchell, in his own chair and scanning the road with The Courier's binoculars. Behind the two of them was Ayane. She sat at the main table and was intently studying her computer.
"Alright, they're on the last turn." She warned.
The Courier did one last check over of his weapon. Partially cycling it, the custom bolt moved back smoothly and revealed a round in the chamber. Pushing it shut and locking it down, he removed the magazine. It was fully loaded, just like the others lying next to him. Clicking it back into place, he shouldered the weapon and braced it on the window sill. Maneuvering it around, using a point near the suppressor as an imaginary gimbal, he ensured that he had proper room to rotate the gun. The carbon fiber parts certainly helped with movement, making it lighter and quicker to swivel. Finding everything satisfactory, he leaned onto the table with his elbows; one hand on the grip and the other just forward of the magazine.
"They should come into view in a moment." Ayane said, but not to The Courier. She, and all the other Abydos students, had earpieces that could send and receive audio. The Courier found it fascinating, being able to stick a radio in one's ear and use it with the mere press of a button.
Looking through the gunsight, The Courier saw a large, military-type vehicle thundering down the road and swerving every which way. It seemed like one of those pre-war military trucks, only less curved and more flat. He couldn't see the driver, on account of the sun reflecting off the windshield, but they clearly weren't very good at their job. The fabric canopy covering the truck's cargo section flapped in the wind as it threatened to fly away.
Eventually, the truck came to a screeching halt several feet before the minefield. The passenger, a woman in all red complete with red pants, a red, jacket, a red gas mask, and a red helmet, exited the vehicle. She had a white halo with two rings, a weapon in hand, and several grenades on her belt. If the way she slammed the door, hopped and skipped around to the driver's side of the vehicle, and threw open their door was any indication, she was quite excited. Then she reached into the passenger's section and—
A small bird landed on the end of the rifle, blocking The Courier's view.
"Get out of here! You little shit!" He swatted at the bird, but it flew away before his hand could connect.
Reacquiring his target, The Courier saw the woman dragging someone away just as the two disappeared behind the truck. Then a group emerged from the rear of the truck, dressed in black helmets, black uniforms, and white halos with a single circle. The only armored part of them were their heads, all of them wearing helmets. The Courier figured they would have something more for armor, especially since they were geared for war. They carried automatic weapons with expensive attachments, but they didn't even buy body armor? Either these kids were batshit insane or Ayane wasn't exaggerating their durability.
Their actions did nothing to dissuade the former assumption, as they gathered in a loose formation before the minefield. Their apparent leader, the one with the red helmet, stood before them and gave a short speech. Then she let loose a burst of rifle fire into the air before charging straight into the minefield. They had no problems initially, knocking over cones and buckets as they advanced, firing wildly in the vaguest direction of the school. But that all changed once they began reaching the center of the trap.
The blast didn't do as much damage as The Courier believed it would, but the girl was effectively a non-combatant when the powder charge detonated underneath her. Her halo was gone, her clothing was ripped up, and there was a large chunk of shrapnel impeded in her helmet. A few others met a similar fate, with one in particular being launched a few feet into the air. But it had the intended effect of making them freeze, now incredibly wary of their surroundings.
The Courier set his crosshair on the red Helmet Ganger's head, letting it rest right in between the two yellow stripes of her helmet. He pulled the trigger and let a .50 caliber bullet soar through the air, hitting the girl squarely in the head, crumpling her and taking a chunk out of her helmet. Gunfire erupted in the streets as the Foreclosure Task Force began their ambush, tearing the gangers' assault apart.
Several of the gangers successfully fled the minefield, making for a nearby alleyway. That plan was cut short, however, as Hoshino emerged from that alley raining 12 gauge, semi-automatic hellfire. It was impressive that someone of her frame was able to shoulder the shotgun and fire it, even more so that she was able to do it with one hand. In the other was a shield that she used to block the short-lived retaliatory fire.
Shiroko and Serika were on opposite sides of the street, using their overlapping fields of fire to ensure that if one couldn't hit a target with their automatic rifles, then the other could. Shiroko wasn't content with only hanging back. She pushed wherever she could, getting closer and closer to the enemy. At some point, she had opened her bag and let loose a drone. At first, The Courier had thought it to be one of Ayane's.
But then it began firing missiles, and everything made sense.
Nonomi was a big girl compared to her compatriots, and it only made sense that she would have the biggest gun. From farther back than Shiroko and Serika, she threw down an amount of fire with her minigun that would make one of the Boomers blush. And these kids wondered why they had ammunition problems when a woman like Nonomi existed. The Courier couldn't complain about her efficiency, though. For every one he took out, Nonomi took three.
Ayane took a more passive role; from the safety of the club room, she dropped medical supplies from her drone and relayed information. From the number of gangers left to who was flanking who, Ayane knew it all. She was the brain of the attack, directing the others. She told Hoshino when to charge and Shiroko when to retreat, Nonomi when to hold fire and Serika which targets to prioritize.
The anti-material rifle spoke, a helmet cracked open, and another casing piled onto the table. The gangers were running out of bodies, and those who weren't actively fighting were running away in shame. For whatever strange reason, the best way to route the gangers was to damage open their helmets. They seemed more concerned about the well-being of their headgear than their lives or those of their comrades.
It didn't take long for the fight to finish, and the Abydos girls to begin moping up. The Courier clicked in the safety on his rifle and set it on the table. He barely had enough time to use three magazines, the kids were just that damn efficient.
"Ever since that business at Goodsprings, I've been wantin' to see how you worked." Doc Mitchell said.
"You should've seen the early days, when it was nothing be me and a nine mil. This was like shooting Sarsaparilla bottles on a fence in comparison."
"After fixing all those wounds every time you came crawling back. Maybe it's best I never saw."
"Hah! I better go get that minefield cleared up. Afterwards… I'm well overdue for a nap." The Courier said.
"Wait a second." Doc Mitchell said. "Look at the red one quite the scene."
The Courier brought the rifle to bear and searched through the scope. It was a scene indeed. The red helmet ganger was on her knees, begging not for her life, but for her helmet's. And in front of her was Shiroko, pointing her rifle threateningly at the already damaged headwear. The coyote-eared girl wasn't having any of it, opting mag dump the helmet full of holes instead of listening to the girl's pleas. After Shiroko was satisfied with the amount of pieces the helmet was in, she turned her rifle on the ganger.
"Ayane, tell that fool to get out of the minefield before she explodes."
Doc Mitchell chuckled. "Feisty little thing."
The Courier set the rifle on the table and stood, stretching his tired limbs. He took the binoculars from Doc Mitchell and shoved them into his backpack. Throwing it onto his shoulders and grabbing the anti-material rifle, The Courier left the room.
After storing the rifle under his bed in the nurse's office, The Courier walked into the street, heading for the minefield. He took note of the girls who were looting the ganger's unconscious bodies. Every now and then, one of them would wake up and have to be run off. Some of them were unlucky, having to deal with Hoshino. Others were especially unlucky, having to contend against Shiroko's incredibly thorough — and highly unpleasant — looting. As he made for the minefield, Nonomi approached him. In a sing-song voice, she informed The Courier that the Task Force was leaving to make an assault on the Kata-Kata Helmet Gang's base, having retrieved sufficient munitions from the bodies. Eventually, The Courier was left alone in the street, the minefield waiting before him.
The powder charges were easy enough to disarm, just turn the sensor off before it activated. Tip the cones over, hit the button on the charge, and pray. The Courier went around doing just that, knocking cones over with the barrel of his brush gun before disarming them and shoving them into his backpack. This was easily the worst part of utilizing minefields, the dangerous boredom of having to clean them up after the enemy inevitably set off one or two and the rest go untouched.
A few of the Helmet Gangers would wake up every now and then, and The Courier would have to run them off. He made sure to point them in the opposite direction of where the Abydos girls went — after disarming them, of course. Many of them were none too happy, but some fruitful negotiations with the help of his ambassador — a long-barreled .357 magnum revolver, in layman's terms — smoothed over whatever issues they had with the prospect.
Many of the explosives were effectively rush jobs due to The Courier not knowing how much time he had. He made sure that a quarter of them were good quality, half would probably detonate, and the remaining third at least looked real. Dealing with one such dud by use of percussive maintenance applied with the butt of his brush gun, The Courier heard rustling behind him.
The leader of the Kata-Kata Helmet Gang was rousing from her second bout of unconsciousness. The Courier could make out the finer details of the girl now that she was closer. Her helmet — pieces of it — had the number 02 on it and what was presumably the gang's emblem. A circle with angry eyes, two symmetrical spikes near the bottom, and a horn growing from a hole on the left side. She wore a red gas mask and a pair of goggles. The black left lens of the goggles was shattered, revealing a teary brown eye, while the right yellow lens was mostly unharmed. Her brown hair was tied into balls along her neck. Her uniform had yellow stripes going down the arms and legs, and a large yellow bow at her chest. The grenades on her belt hadn't been so much as touched during the assault.
The Courier imagined that he was quite the haunting figure, standing over her like the specter of death or broken helmets. The girl sure seemed to think so, staring at him with one visibly worried eye. He had been in this situation before. Drug-addled fiends, uppity Khans, or one of Freeside's many thugs would pick a fight they couldn't possibly win, only to be begging a few moments later. And now here he was, repeating history.
The Courier holstered his rifle on his back and crouched down. Inspecting one of the helmet fragments, he noted that it was in a few large red pieces. There were plenty of small bits missing, but he could definitely make the helmet wearable again. He fished out a roll of duct tape from his backpack and two pieces of helmet. After a minute or so of jury-rigging, it was more or less in one piece. It was patchworked to hell, though, especially where his bullet had impacted it near the top. Still, he placed it on the girl's head. The ganger stared at him in awe, never breaking eye contact as she felt up the helmet.
"Get out of here, kid." The Courier pointed to a side street and the girl took off running.
The Courier reached into his backpack and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and Benny's lighter. He placed one of the sticks in his mouth, flipped open the lighter, and set the end ablaze. He took a deep draw, laying down and taking a moment to relax. There had been little time to on this day, most of it was spent being tossed between people like a cheap whore or waiting around for something to happen. The Courier reclined his head on the backpack, reaching over and grabbed his canteen from a side pouch.
For how much he hated the NCR, The Courier could admit that they had certainly done some good. The distribution of the Vault 13 canteens, for instance. He hadn't been one of the lucky ones to receive on a silver platter, but instead as a 'thank you' for his work in The Divide.
Pre… incident, of course.
The Courier held the cigarette with one hand and unscrewed the canteen with his teeth. Taking a swig, the sharp sting of absinthe cut through his mouth. He sat up quickly, gulping it down and staring incredulously into the canteen. He always carried a bottle of alcohol on him, but never in the canteen, which was always reserved for water. He shrugged and lied back down. He might as well finish it off, fill it with water later. There was only about a quarter left anyway.
The truck creaked and shifted, weight moving out the back. Something smacked onto the ground and a bound figure began hopping away from the truck. The Courier sighed and tossed his cigarette away. Things couldn't ever be so simple. Something just had to happen, it always did. It was nonstop problems back in the Mojave, and it would probably be the same here, in this strange land. He stood and got his bearings before setting after them.
And of course, who else would it be other than the man in the checkered suit?
He was the driver, then. As to why the gangers couldn't drive themselves… The Courier would have to ask next time. He could also get the answer from the man himself, he seemed relatively acquainted. His hands were bound behind him and feet down below him, forcing the man to make a hopping escape. He wasn't very good at it, he collapsed just as The Courier caught up to him. The Courier flipped the fallen man over with his foot, bringing him to rest on his back.
"Hm hm-hm hm hmm?" A wide-eyed Benny mumbled through a mouth full of socks.
"Nice to see you too." The Courier ripped out Benny's gag. "Must really be hell if you're here."
"Hell? Haven't you seen the angels?"
"Met a couple, shot even more." The Courier paused. "Where do you fit in with all of this?"
"Untie me and we can talk it over real smooth like. I'll even buy the drinks."
"Don't need you feeding into my vices." The Courier remarked. "Now, why don't I shoot you? Repay the favor a second time?"
"I understand, but you really shouldn't. This whole place, Houses's joint, and I, his big little messenger."
The Courier looked around slowly, making a show out of it. "House? I don't see any House." He drew his revolver.
"I know you're a gambler, but… Do you really wanna go all in on this?" Benny said.
…
The Courier scowled, slowly holstering his gun, only to pull out his knife. He crouched beside Benny, slowly looking the blade over. He flipped the man over and dug it into the rope binding his legs. Then, his hands were set free, and The Courier backed away, hand resting on his revolver.
Benny stood slowly, facing The Courier. "Glad you could see reason, always took you for the thinking type."
"What're you here for?" The Courier batted away the compliment.
"Supply run. House got me a truck, ammunition, and a route."
"Why you personally?" The Courier asked.
"I figure he wanted to make a good impression on the school here. He's too busy running the city to go out."
"You say that as if he's capable of going out."
"Well, yeah. He's not hiding behind those screens of his anymore. Saw the man in the flesh for the first time a couple days ago. You'd already know but, his face looks uncannily similar to how it was on the screens. It's kinda freaky."
The Courier took a moment to process that. The last time he saw House, the man was little more than a decaying corpse. Hell, The Courier turned him into a decaying corpse and took his keys to New Vegas. If House was not only back from the grave, but also not restrained to his computers…
"That's… problematic."
"For you, maybe. Me? Well, I'm making amends."
"Anyways, the supplies?" The Courier asked.
"Got ambushed by some delinquents. Took out my escort and held me captive, mentioned something about ransoming me. Anyhow, they took the supplies. They're keeping them at their hideout, a construction site about forty minutes from here."
"The Abydos girls are taking care of that. Managed to scrounge together enough ammunition from gangers for an assault."
"Good riddance. Do you know when they'll be back? Still need to 'establish a working relationship' as House put it."
"The ganger's base is thirty kilometers, and the girls are walking so… A while."
Benny sighed. "Got their phone numbers? I'd like to contact them."
"Phone? No. One of them is still in the school, should be on the second floor."
"I'll get to it, then." Benny began walking to the school.
…
"Hey." The Courier said. He tossed Benny's lighter at the man. "Peace offering."
Benny caught it and inspected it, nodding to himself. "Far as I'm concerned, this a second chance at life. That whole Mojave business? Don't mean a thing here."
"I don't feel exactly the same way, but… Yeah, a third chance."
This is the first time I've written fanfiction and it was a lot easier than I figured it would be. Most of my writing before this can best be described as 'dabbling' in ideas or subjects. I never really could commit to anything I've written, and I always struggled to get past the first chapter — assuming I ever finished it. I reckon that this is the second longest thing I've ever written, and the single longest chapter I've ever written. The biggest worry for me was the characters, especially their dialog. I've never been very good at dialog, and trying to write lines for a character that I don't have a sub-conscious level of understanding for is difficult.
If I've gotten something wrong about a character or event, please tell me. A DM would be preferred, but comments work as well. I never really got to playing much Blue Archive, but I quite like the characters and story. Most of my knowledge comes from reading the wikis, watching lore videos, and skimming story videos.
I've done my best to 'balance' The Courier out. If you play your cards right, you can generally get enough skill points to do absolutely anything and everything. By the time I had completed New Vegas on my first run, I could pass just about every check that was thrown at me. I want The Courier to have things he's good at and things he isn't. To that end, I've thrown together a character sheet complete with a S.P.E.C.I.A.L score and skills list. In game terms, he's a late mid-game character with plenty of experience and a definitive style, but not to the point of being overly expansive with his skills.
Anyways, that ends the author's note. I hope the caricatures— I mean characters weren't too badly off-beat. Thanks for reading, Mr. New Vegas ain't the only one who appreciates you.