Interloper

My body feels unresponsive; still asleep despite my mind wanting to wake up. It doesn't want to. No doubt when it does I'll be in a lot of pain. But I have to get moving and to do that, I need to get up.

Sensation is slowly coming back to me with nerves processing new information. The feeling of wet sand between my fingers… wait… Wet sand? That's strange. Why would there be wet sand in the Mojave? Hell, I can't remember the last time I felt wet sand. Then there's the feeling of water splashing against my legs, the salt in the water stinging dozens of small cuts across both limbs.

Wait, am I… am I on a beach? I groan and force myself to stand. The mechanical joints in my body feel like they have been pulled apart and put back together. Synthetic lungs filled with air as I took a deep breath, my entire body screaming to lie back down.

The pain is ignored, and I open my eyes to scan my body for injuries. Opening them sends a sharp pain through my skull. My vision is blurry, making the pain worse, but I can ignore it. The riot gear I've worn for years is nothing more than tattered rags like it had taken the full brunt of a mini-nuke, maybe two of them. It sure felt like it.

My entire body felt like it was locking up from the pain. The way I can feel my bones shifting with every breath I take. It's like the creaking of an old ship with how it reverberates in my ears. Old wounds now crying like a room full of starving babies. Just as annoying too. At any moment I felt like I could collapse and never pull myself back up again. Stuck there until some good samaritan just so happens to pass by.

Agony is far worse than what the Madre or even Frost Hill inflicted. No, this feels worse than taking the full brunt of a mini-nuke. It's more like I was the involuntary pinata at a Super Mutants birthday party. With whatever was left stapled back together by all the King's men.

I've been through much worse before. A lot of pain never killed anybody. Didn't kill me at least.

Pulling my helmet off to scan for any damage, and my worries were confirmed. Also in a state of disrepair like the rest of my armor, both lenses were long gone and the helmet itself looked like a baby deathclaws favorite chewing toy. It was a miracle that it hadn't shattered. As it was now, it was useless. Little more than dead weight like the riot gear encasing me. But… But it was better than nothing. I put the nearly broken helmet back on so it can at least provide some level of protection.

Need a plan, figure out where I am, and go forward from there. Blinking to get the haze out of my eyes I began scanning the immediate area around me, to see if anything looked familiar.

Soft white sand as far as the eye could see, with crystal clear blue waves behind me. It's awful, for as long as I can remember I hate the beach. It's the air, the sickening smell of salt infused into it. Could never understand the obsession most people have with it.

Putting that aside, I didn't recognize this beach. It's too clean; no junk sticking through the sands and no hints of brown sludge in the water. This is weird… too weird. I still have my pip-boy. That can give me some idea where I am thanks to Rob-Co satellites. Raising my left forearm, ignoring the stinging pain in the limb as I turned a dial on the miniature computer… and… nothing.

Blinking as I looked at the blank screen on the pip-boy, No… I turned my forearm slightly before dropping it, the long gash that had the pip-boy's electronic guts spilling out of it.

"No… That's not… That's not fair."

Get a grip, breath in. Count to four. Breath out. Reliable doesn't mean infallible and this is a lesson I have to learn. It's a crutch that I can't use anymore. No use crying over it; I need to consider my options and plan from there.

Ignoring the dull ache at the back of my head my vision began to clear, the first thing that caught my eye was the sprawling city in the distance. The massive skyscrapers dotted across the metropolis glimmering as the sun's light hit them. Glowing like massive pillars of silver.

"My god…"

This is the single biggest intact city I've ever seen. Not Vegas, not Shady Sands, hell not even Vault City can compare. It's bizarre, even at a distance this city looks like it's brand new. A far cry from the post-war towns and pre-war ruins I've come across while walking around the South West.

Stranger still was the vast number of airships hovering over the city and the massive cargo ships stationed in the dockyard. With more ships entering and leaving the city, carrying thousands of tons of cargo with them. The largest functioning ships I've ever seen were river barges operated by the NCR and some trader guilds. And those were minuscule in comparison to the ships docked in this mystery city.

And the airships. As far as I know, only the Brotherhood uses them to send out expeditions across the continent. Even then, the only one I've seen was a burnt-out husk with dead paladins surrounding it and more charred corpses inside. But here… dozens were floating across the megalopolis. What kind of place is this?

I Will have to investigate further; when I get there I'll figure out where I am and how to get back to the Mojave. Taking a step towards the city I felt a weird bump under my boot.

"Huh?" Stepping back and looking at what I felt, my confusion now shifted to intrigue as I could see the corner of a footlocker jutting out of the sand. Kneeling next to it I begin to dig it up.

Throwing out clumps of sand one handful at a time I'm able to free most of the foot locker. Interesting, grabbing onto the now exposed container and pulling it free from its burial spot I set it down in front of me.

There's no way this is a coincidence. The metal on the container is damage-free; the paint isn't chipping off and the metal feels brand new. Different from the worn-down foot lockers that dot the wasteland. No pits left over from rust, no dents or bangs, not even a scratch.

Someone put this here right next to where I was lying, knowing that I'd find it. Unhooking the latch and opening the container I can now see what's waiting for me inside.

Two revolvers are sitting in a pair of holsters inside the foot locker, my revolvers. Just as I thought, no such thing as coincidences. Not when you're like me. Picking up the holsters and inspecting the guns inside.

Old Scratch and Sweet Revenge. A match made in hell. Pulling Sweet Revenge free so I can look it over for any signs of tampering. The old black Remington is looking good; no obvious signs of tampering that I can see. The sun's rays glint off the replica model and cast a long shadow beneath the Remington. Fitting, for a tool that had brought death to a thousand men.

Old Scratch is in the same condition as its partner; pristine despite its age. The silver Colt is cold to the touch. The sun did not dare to grace the weapon; for who knows how much death it had seen. A legacy of bloodshed left behind by its previous owner.

With both weapons in good condition, I put them back into their holsters while attaching the gun sheaths to my belt. The next item in the container was Blood Nap. The antique bowie knife sits pretty in its scabbard. The red blood-like wood on the knife's handle contrasts against the brown leather sheath holding the blade.

Picking the knife up and pulling it free from its case so I can inspect it for any damage. Running my thumb over the blade, and thank god, no nicks or signs of rolling on the blade. Still razor-sharp.

Attaching it to my belt as well, I am left with a few questions. Why these three weapons? What weight do they hold to my mysterious captor? Three out of the dozens I hold in my arsenal, strange. The first piece of whatever puzzle my kidnappers want me to solve.

The second piece is the final item in the foot locker, a sealed envelope. Reaching for the envelope I can see the wax seal in a better light. An ace of spades with the number twenty-one in the center.

Well, at least I know it's for me.

Tearing the envelope open and spilling its contents free I can now grasp the paper within. It is a map of what I can only assume is of the city before me. A location marked on it begging me to find it. Hmm, well, better get to it.

I'm not in the Southwest and I'm sure as hell not in the Four States Commonwealth; that is one thing I am certain of. Everything else, well that's where all the confusion comes in. Walking along this massive gray bridge towards the inner city reminds me of San Fran, going through the Golden Gate to enter.

However, that's where the similarities end. The bridge I'm on is too pristine to be a maintenance job. Running a hand over the metal railing I can tell that it's new… relatively speaking. Not rusty tin on the verge of giving way if someone hit it hard enough.

Same with the concrete sidewalk under my feet, with no gaping holes big enough to fall through if one wasn't careful. Just minor cracks here and there. Barely worth the effort to mention them.

Stopping along the railing and looking at the road lined with cars. Actual working cars beside me were the first major clue. Seeing more of the gas-guzzling machines in one traffic-filled road than the NCR had in its entire army.

Hmm. They remind me of the 'death car' in the Vikki and Vance casino in their general shape. Hmm no, it's more like… those old cars I had seen in an old educational holovid about the Roaring 20s. Dozens of these cars go in and out of the city. It's… strange seeing so many working machines in one place. And these weren't pre-war scrap heaps re-purposed two centuries later.

No, these cars are new. Some of them look like they just came out of a factory hours ago. Even the most meticulous wasteland mechanic with access to the best tools America has to offer would never be able to make a rust heap look brand new. Trust me, I've tried.

This place, whatever it is, has to have a solid industrial base to pull this off. If this place has been around all this time, how come I've never heard of it before? Everyone and their mother has heard about New Vegas and Vault City. Flocking to them with the foolish hopes of winning big and getting a better life. But this place? It feels… different.

Turning away from the road and looking out across the vast blue ocean in front of me, I can see a large green statue out there in the bay. Of a man wearing robes and holding a staff with a strange symbol on it.

I can see his face like it's right in front of me. Calm, stoic, peaceful almost. He seems like a good man. The founder of this place no doubt. For a city to be this clean? This advanced? A lot of people must have died for it all to happen. Who knows what skeletons this guy's hiding in his closet?

Well, better get back to it. Pushing off the rails I continue to walk down the side path on the bridge, and so far I'm the only person walking. Seems like everyone prefers to drive. I don't blame them.

After walking along the bridge for a while longer I manage to step foot into the inner city. A large intersection where the bridge ends leads into a three-way fork in the road.

Even more cars going down them, an almost absurd amount. And the noise, all that shrill honking, and the sounds of all those engines going on all at once. The headache from earlier is back just because of how loud it is. Christ, it's almost unbearable how fucking noisy this place is. Gotta get a grip, if I can handle the smell of that shithole Reno, I can handle this.

Along the streets were dozens of two-story high buildings that were a mix of grays and blues. The buildings remind me of the abandoned concrete square that makes up Freeside and Outer Vegas. It's like looking at what those buildings used to be two centuries ago. Before the bombs and the endless march of time.

Moving along the shadows of the buildings and staying out of sight as best I can. Crouch walked behind them with the speed and vigor of a crippled deathclaw. If anyone else were to try this, everyone and their mother would be able to see them shuffling along.

Thankfully, I have the unique ability to hide in plain sight. Literally in plain sight. I can hide behind a goddamn flagpole in broad daylight and no one will notice me. And if Veteran Rangers have trouble spotting me behind said flagpole, then a bunch of civilians have no chance in hell of seeing me. At most, they'll see me as a shadow if they just glance my way.

But enough about me patting myself on the back, climbing onto one of the buildings I begin to look over the crowd in the area. The first and most obvious thing is the sheer amount of people here. A lot more than Freeside and far more than Shady Sands. And this is a small part of this city. How?

Almost as if this place never got hit by the bombs and was blasted back to the Stone Age. No, nothing like that. Another thing of note is that the people here are well fed and that their clothes are 'new'; again, relatively speaking. A far cry from the hordes of malnourished wastelanders and the tattered rags they wear.

Their clothing is also different from anything I've come across before. A large chunk of the people here seem to be wearing these strange button-up tunics with pieces of string holding the buttons. Not a single person here wearing jeans or even slacks, just some baggy pants made out of what I think is hemp.

So many odd things about this place, the next oddity being the fact that all of these people are East-Asian. Not a single Caucasian, Hispanic, or African-American person in sight.

… Am I in East Asia? If I am in East Asia, that means this part of the world hasn't been hit as hard as North America has. Or it didn't bother them as much as it did the good Ol USA.

To know for sure I'll have to check around for any history books and ask around. Get a better picture of this city and the people that live here. I stood up and jumped off my perch hitting the ground without a sound in front of a few people on the sidewalk.

All of them flinched at my sudden appearance, eyes wide, and some of them yelping while stumbling backward.

"Hey!" Pointing at one of the men in the group he jumped before looking around and pointing at himself, I nodded at him. "Yeah, you, where am I?"

As soon as I asked my question the man raised an eyebrow, a slight frown on his face. Everyone else was just looking at each other with blank stares like they couldn't believe what I had just said.

The guy I'm pointing at just glanced around, unsure before opening his mouth to respond. "Nǐ shuō shénme?"

Yup, just as I expected. They don't speak any English at all. Rather, it seems they speak Chinese. At least… I think it's Chinese. So that narrows things down, I'm in China.

"Never mind, goodbye." I say, waving goodbye to him. The man blinked before waving back, furrowing his eyebrows as he did so. So, I take this chance to spin on my heel and walk away from the interaction.

I'm in China. That's… honestly, it's batshit insane. To think, someone went through all of the effort of stranding me in fucking China. I can't help but respect the sheer lengths these people went through to get me here. But I'm still left with the 'how'? Teleportation tech? It'd make the most sense given everything. That might be why all my gear is destroyed too, whoever these people are haven't perfected it. An unintentional side effect.

That's pretty annoying, but I've been through worse. And so far this place doesn't seem that bad so who knows. Might be a fun little adventure and I can always repair it when I get back to the Mojave.

Walking through the streets of the city, not bothering to hide myself anymore as I made my way to the location pinned on the map. I did notice one thing, when people walked past me they wrinkled their noses. Some gagged as they narrowed their eyes at me and gave me a wide berth.

Huh, do I smell? I guess it makes sense, crawling through a radioactive desert isn't good for one's hygiene. And I think the last time I took a bath was… god, has it been that long? No wonder they're avoiding me.

Well, another thing to do later. Pulling the map and so I can give it another scan and see where I am in the city. Looks like I'm near the docks but I can check those out later. The best course of action is to go to the building marked on the map and it looks like it's inland. On the outskirts of the city

Time to get to it. I continue to make my way to the location on the map, people continue to give me a wide berth while pretending I'm not there. But they know better, I stand out too much when I'm walking out in the open.

Hmm. Why the distrustful glances? The flashes of fear every so often? Does my armor remind them of some raider band? Considering that a lot of U.S. troops were left here after the war, it is a possibility. That and mercenaries might be a rarity here. This place is too clean for soldiers of fortune.

If that's the case, it's going to be hard to get any blood money. Have to get cash the old-fashioned way in that case. Continuing on my way there's another oddity that I notice, I have to wait to cross the street.

Cause of, ya know. The cars. All of them sped past me and a group of people as we waited for the light across the street to go green. This seems… dangerous. What with the two-ton metal monsters rushing past at forty miles an hour. But hey, what do I know, right?

Man, the light's taking a while to change… can't exactly engage in small talk because of the language barrier and I don't want to walk across while cars are still moving past so… guess I'll just wait a little longer.

Looking up at the gleaming glass skyscrapers and those massive blimps high up in the sky. It's like I'm inside an old postcard. Living the long-dead memory of a crumbling ruin. The echos of old-world ghosts come back from the grave; arrogant, and greedy, refusing to acknowledge their own death. But there it is like nothing had happened. So... jarring.

Gazing up at the sky for a moment longer I follow the small crowd of people as we all cross the street now that the light; In its infinite compassion finally decided that we're allowed to. The cars are sitting pretty as they wait for the crowd I'm in to get out of their way.

As I followed the map, I found myself drawn to a building that stood out from the ornate apartments and small stores around it. It's massive, but its size was only one aspect of the building.

Imposing yet ornate. Menacing in its sheer size and brutalist bravado with massive steeples adorning the top. The building imposes its will on the rest of the city. Dozens of armored troops standing guard in front of the monumental building solidified my impression of the place.

Peace through overwhelming force. Seems to be working for this place at least… as far as I'm aware anyway. Moving alongside the crowd I notice more than a few glares thrown the troops way. Some of the glares are more annoyed glances than anything. While others appear to outright despise the guards. Huh.

Just across the street from the building there is a massive twenty-story tall cream color tower. Surrounded by a large metal wall, about twenty feet in height with razor wire lining the top. Now what do you hold in there? I'll investigate further another time.

Continuing along the route on the map I can see more people joining the crowd. Not a single person spared me a second glance. So different from Vegas.

Wait… that smell. Like wildflowers and… what is that? There, just beyond the crowd of people, I can see a tree… lots of oak trees, and… some green stuff on the floor. Across the street from where I am, a line of cars separates me from that sea of verdant green. It feels like it's calling to me, I have to-

Another one of those vehicles sped past me, a gust of wind kicked up by it nearly pushing me back… I can wait a little bit longer.

Eventually, the vehicles came to a stop, allowing the crowd I'd hidden in to pass the street in peace. Without a line of two-ton death machines in my way, I can now get a closer look at what these… oh, it's grass.

Walking past much of the crowd and making it to the edge of the walkway. Leaning closer I pressed down on it, feeling each individual blade of grass. Why cut it down, but then just leave it there?

Looking up I can see more of the… park, I think. More oak trees line concrete sidewalks all leading to a large central pond. Various shrubs surround the pond with ducks swimming around the water. Hmm.

There's nothing of value for me here. It will be best to move on.

This city has two faces. The one it presents at the docks and even here; the grandeur of its skyscrapers and exotic buildings. The enforcers' headquarters, that massive symbol of power that is at the forefront of that first face.

It's the second that tells the truth. This is the… downtown area I think. And despite the busy shops with shiny trinkets and the massive buildings with colorful logos. The heavy presence of those armored troops tells me what I need to know.

In the docks, I only ever saw them in front of their glorified clubhouse. But here? They're everywhere. Teams of two patrolling the streets like clockwork with more traversing the rooftops. Using what I believe to be some kind of pre-war tech. Shooting metal wires from their armor that let them maneuver through the area with ease.

Every so often a giant armored blimp would hover around one of the skyscrapers, I could see some of the rooftop troops enter the blimp as others descended from it. The blimp would then soar high above the sky once more, keeping an ever-vigilant eye on this part of the city.

Maybe this place needs bounty hunters after all.

Looking back down at the map I can see that I'm getting closer to my destination. Need to focus on getting there so I can better gauge my options. I can always get a job later.

Continuing along the sidewalks I notice two… no three particular groups of people. First being the enforcers; the 'law' of this place. And two gangs. The first seems to almost blend in with the rest of the crowd. Wearing normal clothes but their general demeanor gives them away.

Cocky grins on their faces with a confident stride, the people around them keeping their heads down as they went by. The gang seems to operate in teams of three, each member having their own 'color'. Green, Blue, and then red.

The second gang seems to wear exclusively green. Green leather tunics and green hemp pants with a loud vibrant green sash over the tunic. Christ, they might as well paint themselves green.

They remind me more of the Westside militia in how they operate. Stoic and almost professional, always a team of four. Each person openly carries a weapon. Usually either a short blade or an axe. No firearms from what I can see.

Whenever any of these factions meet they just tend to glare at each other before moving on. Continuing to patrol the downtown area. Hmm, some kind of 'daytime' truce maybe? Too many civilians in the crossfire for either side. I get the feeling that when the sun goes down this place becomes a warzone.

Not as squeaky clean as it tries to be.

Here we are, the destination that my mysterious kidnappers have marked on my map. A two-story traditional Chinese house. A far cry from the gleaming skyscrapers and concrete boxes in the city just a stone's throw away.

This single building speaks more to the city's history than anything in the center of it could ever hope to. The past is left behind for the ever-bold tomorrow. The building looks like it's on the verge of collapse, abandoned long ago.

The once black roof-top shingles were now a dull gray from the elements beating down on them. Sturdy walls that were red long ago are now a dull cream color, chucks ripped free from the walls. Vines growing over every inch of the building. The stone walkway was filled to the brim with weeds and overgrown grass.

It feels familiar. A glimpse of what I'm used to. The door isn't locked so I just let myself in.

Taking a step inside and glancing around the dusty living room, the only thing I could see was a wooden couch with crusty cushions on it and a small table in front of the couch. Behind the sofa was a set of stairs leading to the second floor. On the left side of the room was a door leading to who knows where.

Going up to the door on the left and sliding it open, I was greeted by a small kitchen. Rusty knives hanging on a rack over now empty cupboards and a wash basin in the right corner of the room.

Nothing interesting here so time to move on up those stairs. The creaking steps lead to a small bedroom. It was rather bare, the only things inside being a small bed and a drawer next to it. Along with a faded painting on the wall, hanging over the bed. It was hard to tell what the painting was supposed to be so I just ignored it.

The only thing of interest was a single metal footlocker on the bed. Moving to the footlocker and observing it closer I saw a note taped to the top of it. The next piece of the puzzle. Opening it to see what my captors want me to do. To show me the rules of this little game.

"Hello Courier, you have accrued quite a large debt. Ordinarily, we would try other ways to resolve this issue. Unfortunately, said ways failed with you, so my employer thought it would be better to put your skillset to use. To make up for the mess you have made. There were some complications regarding much of your equipment, and for that, we apologize. However, we are sure that you will make do. For now, wait for further instructions. I am sure this will be the start of a long and mutually prosperous arrangement."

Yeah, right. There's a knife in the back waiting for me when all this is over. I'll find a way back home, with or without these people.

Well, let's see what they've left for me. Reaching for my helmet and taking it off I set it down on the table as I open the container and reach inside. Pulling out a bandana and a pair of motorcycle goggles… They belonged to…

"Randall." The word came out of my mouth, a lot of bad memories flooding in alongside it. Things I had thought I had gotten over, it's why I still carried their pistols, I thought I had risen above it.

A tired laugh filled the room for a brief moment, I guess I hadn't gotten over it. As I held them in my hands, I noticed that someone went through the effort of cleaning them… It felt insulting somehow. But… It was either this or the rags I am currently wearing.

As I put the bandana and goggles on, a sense of ease filled me. I then grabbed the next article of clothing, and wouldn't you know, it was Marko's clothes. The clothes of the oh-so-dreaded man in black. The terror of the Great Plains and the Texas Butcher. His clothes were a tad too big for me, but it was hardly noticeable, in fact… They were surprisingly comfortable.

The black winter jeans and leather boots were worn down but still functional and better yet, fashionable. The same goes for this gray turtleneck and black great coat. Super comfy shit. Marko had good tastes, I'll give the evil bastard that much.

And finally, it was an old hat Randall gave me when I got to Frost Hill, something drifters used to keep their heads warm. With added ear flaps that covered most of the head.

Underneath all the clothes were two more things of note. Three large stacks of pink paper and a bar of soap. On top of the paper, there's another note with the words 'down payment' on it… Oh, it's money.

Picking up one of the stacks I looked through it. No tracking device hidden away. However, the face of that man, the statue of him anyway. His face is plastered all over these bills. The same expression as the statue too. They all seem to be worth the same amount, but I have no idea if that's true. Huh, using paper money, how civilized.

Putting that stack in my pocket, I then glanced at my old riot gear before stashing it inside the footlocker along with my defunct pip-boy.

… I feel… vulnerable. Without that armor and my pip-boy, I feel… it doesn't matter. Need to plan ahead. But first, I need to rest. Walking for hours on end did nothing to help the pain I'm in. Old wounds throbbed like they were open again, molten metal seeping through the flesh.

I lay down on the old bed, looking up at the ceiling as my body slowly drifts off to sleep. I'll be ready for tomorrow when it comes around.

AN: Well howdy folks. It's me, back at it again with my bullshit. The first chapter of this fic, I was partly inspired by a challenge fic I saw and I thought I could put my own spin on it. That and I've always wanted to do a proper 'serious' fic because most of my older fanfic are either really edgy or just too cheesy and I feel like I can do better than that as a writer. Also, certain mods will be canon to this specific fanfic. I'm sure you've all noticed direct references to Randall and Marko as well as their weapons from the New Vegas Bounties series by Someguy2000. Will there be more down the line? Yes.

Anywho, enough rambling, cya guys later.