AN: Just want to reiterate that this is Alt Universe where the two worlds are the same. I hope you enjoy it.

Vault 13 the birthplace of the legendary vault dweller and the location of his tragic betrayal. The Courier wasn't one to dwell on the past let alone the past of someone else, but he was here to learn from this vault's history. Of the horrors that took place in the vault and the lessons he would archive.

His eyebot, ED-E, followed behind him, unlocking doors and activating mainframes, or simply watching the Courier's back as the installation had become home to local mutant animals. The blood smeared walls of the old deathclaw inhabitants remained nearly twenty-five years after the massacre. Rats, radroaches, and other vermin inheriting another remnant of the old world.

The remains of the human occupants' existence from the days of the dweller were long gone, and the machines altered by the intelligent deathclaw's rusted away. Yet there remained the old logs, the only evidence of their history. Here the Courier scraped through code and the digital journals until he found what he was looking for.

Downloading the overseer's journal logs he added the information to his collection of documents. Joining the vault dweller's own physical journal, the log data of the chosen one's pipboy 2000, and the holy bible gifted to him by Joshua Graham. Cataloging the data into his own pipboy the Courier left the vault having finished his personal mission.

The voice of Ulysses rang in his ears but not in reality, "Who are you, who do not know your history?"

The Courier said aloud, "If history matters to you, you'll need to earn it."

Sliding his hand along the old vault's walls, the Courier turned to lean against the cleaner rusted plating and began searching through the radio channels. His riot armor clanking against the wall, echoing throughout the complex. Flicking through the old-world frequencies and past the NCR's official radio station, he settled on a local music station that came from New Reno.

Slinking onto the ground as his tiredness began to finally pull him into unconsciousness as the voice of Bill Kenny and the Ink Spots blared from the pipboy's speakers. ED-E watching over him as his faithful companion, the only one that remained in the end, and the only one he never truly had a connection with. After all the ED-E he knew died in the Divide while this one was but a normal shell that reminded the Courier of him. It began with the soft plunking of guitar strings and then the voice came to rock him slowly to sleep.

His consciousness falling away as he rested for the first time in days. His search for the ancient vault proved particularly taxing on his cyborg body and his brain damaged mind. Rest came rarely for the Courier, his conditioning in the wasteland causing him to grow used to sleeping once every couple of days and never for long. Laying in his heap on the floor he rested for hours, his usual nightmares gracing his subconscious, until the radio's somber songs were overshadowed by another voice.

"Courier, I have a job for you," came the voice of Mr. House, his voice distorting from the bad signal, "finish whatever you're doing in NCR territory and return to me in the Lucky 38… Do be careful, the NCR are still thorny towards Vegas and you in particular."

The Courier cracked his neck and gave ED-E a cold glare from behind his visored mask, but the machine was unmoved. Sighing to himself he clawed at the wall to bring himself to his feet and wordlessly exited the vault. He walked to Vegas through the night, his radio blaring into the darkness, ED-E hovering behind him like his personal guardian angel.

Day turned to night and night to day again, but the Courier walked regardless. His heavy feet picking up dust and dirt as he walked the wasteland until he made it to the base of Mr. House's personal watchtower.

Marching past the securitrons he faced the great screen persona of Mr. House, not even bothering to dust himself off before he made his way to their usual meeting place. If the old prewar man cared he didn't make it known, nor did he bother to question the Courier on his business in NCR territory. He had come to know that his faithful successor needed time for himself, and that meant granting him leave for a good amount of time for him to do as he pleased.

Mr. House was the first to speak. His semi-robotically synthesized voice came from the speakers of the advanced old-world computer, "You are familiar with the dark side of the moon, yes Courier?"

He responded dispassionately, "Yes, I see the moon almost every night. Doesn't look any different from the last couple years."

"Yes that is true, however if your research trips have told you anything Courier, it would have mentioned that the moon wasn't always partially covered in darkness," House began as his screen changed into an image broadcast of the celestial body itself, "in fact the moon used to be free of that horrid black miasma."

"I'm well aware," the Courier nodded, "the moon went through some kind of change after the Great War. No one knows why."

House continued, "Indeed, and it appears that black miasma is currently creeping onto the eastern coast," his screen swapping to an image of Brotherhood Knights venturing into black spheres that had bubbled up along the coastal ruins, "the fools in the eastern brotherhood chapter have been making attempts to explore these anomalies. Only some have returned, but I have uncovered something quite interesting because of them."

His screen swapped to a new image, the world map with a point being placed in South Asia. On the southern border of where China used to be, and then a greater circle encompassed it. The greater border encompassing old world Greece and portions of the Middle East.

The image then swapped again to a satellite image of a massive city that stretched across the border zone. A massive chasm separated the two major parts of the city with a number of large and small black orbs dotting the area. The landscape outside of the city consisting of its own wasteland.

Swapping back to House and the screen continued, "I have located a city state civilization within the Asian continent, however, attempts at further satellite photography have failed due to radiation corruption."

The Courier nodded in understanding, suddenly significantly more interested than before. He then added, "So a piece of Asia survived the Great War… and they're cut off from the rest of the world by those black spheres."

"Correct, however I have found that perhaps they are reachable," House disappeared again, replaced with multiple images of the same location with different black orbs in different locations, "the people of this civilization have found a way to destroy these anomalies, or at least restrict them."

"Then how do we reach them," the Courier asked, "I doubt we have any radio waves strong enough to reach the other side of the world?"

"Radio waves are too weak, yes, but travel is potentially possible," House returned, his signature smirk seeming more suited to the situation than usual, "with enough fuel and a durable enough crew a modified vertibird could reach them."

"I don't like the way you say durable," the Courier cringed at the suggestion.

"Please Courier," House began with a condescending tone, "you of all people should understand why I suggest you would be ideal to take this voyage over land and seas."

The mailman deadpanned, "Surviving a couple bullets to the head isn't exactly qualification for overseas travel with minimal supplies."

"Those bullet wounds proved you can cheat death," the computer argued, "your ventures into the Sierra Madre proved your survival skills in a hazardous environment with creatures that struggle to die, the Great Empty showed your innate resistance to personal and invasive trauma…"

The Courier grumbled, "I'd rather you not remind me of that."

House, ignoring him continued, "And the Divide proved you had the drive to persevere through ruined hellscapes given enough incentive. I believe you to be my perfect operative for this kind of mission."

"And what exactly would I be doing over there," he asked, "and what exactly is my incentive for this?"

"You dear Courier will be acquiring everything from data on these anomalies to liberating technology that this civilization uses to clear them. Your reward as usual will be the disclosure and the investment of my personal resources into the discovery of more historically important locations of the Vault 13 Dweller and the Chosen One. However, there is something else of importance that I must provide for you," House's image flickered into his lost signal screen as a tray from the computer was extended, "place your pipboy on the tray… it will be returned to you after an update of my own design."

Wearily the Courier unlatched the pipboy from his wrist and placed it onto the tray to which a securitron began hooking wires from the computer to the device. While House did whatever he was doing to his pipboy, he clutched at his wrist, feeling naked without the device attached to it. The Courier had never removed the thing ever since Doc Mitchell gave it to him in Goodsprings. And now that his wrist was visible he felt like a piece of himself had been taken.

When it was returned he was glad to have it reequipped. Activating it a familiar smiling face graced the dusty screen, a face he never thought he would see again. The smiling cartoon Yes Man stared back at him from his pipboy. Blanking the Courier turned back to see House's connecting lost screen replace itself with the man again.

"I have repurposed the Yes Man AI to assist you in data recovery and any other computer issue you run across on your journey," the computer said with finality, "be ready in the morning. You took long enough that my investment has finished production and will be arriving soon."

Yes Man greeted him as the Courier was forcibly escorted to the guest suite, "Good to see you again buddy!"

The night passed and morning came, the Courier not receiving a wink of sleep for all he could do was stare at his pipboy and think of the AI hidden away in it. Waiting at the meeting point he pooled together his personal equipment, while having ED-E recycle old spent ammunition for him. His hands moved quickly and with practiced ease, sliding from one disassembled firearm to the next as he cleaned them and slotted rounds and shot into his bandolier and belts.

His personal go to weapon, the Ranger Sequoia, a masterfully crafted black revolver with gold engravings with the inscriptions of "For Honorable Service" and "Against all Tyrants" on the right and left of the barrel respectively. It was the first weapon to be brought from the sheet to his pistol holster. The Courier knowing full well that it would be his first resort.

Next he moved to his Anti-Material Rifle and quickly began reassembling it after making sure it was cleaned. Strapping it to his back the weapon took up all the space he could afford to give it with the ammo taking up most of his bandolier. The weapon was costly with how much it weighed and how much room it took up but it could kill anything the revolver couldn't and so he took it with him.

His third weapon, a custom-made sawed-off shotgun named Big Boomer, a gun he found in Old Lady Gibson home after picking her lock. He felt a little guilty about stealing from an old woman that lived in a junkyard, but he did value the weapon more than his moral character at the time. It was a useful holdout weapon, and it offered enough stopping power for whatever got close enough that his other weapons became cumbersome. The variety of shell types made it a particularly nasty weapon to be on the receiving end of.

His last weapon and one of his favorites, a simple Bowie Knife, its sheath strapped to his shoulder. When all else failed or when ammo became scarce the knife became a powerful close quarters weapon. Using it as a tool added to its value and in the end it was the best of his remaining options.

Though he contemplated bringing an energy weapon along he thought against it. Energy weapons while powerful and exceedingly effective against armored enemies; they have always failed him when he needed them the most. Whether because the ammo reserves were rarer than his other weapons or due to the sheer slowness of plasma projectiles he didn't feel the need to bring one. And the weaker iterations of actually useful weapons would only take up space he didn't have.

However, grenades were a different matter, EMP and plasma grenades were the first additions he would be storing in ED-E's inventory. The medical supplies as well would be kept in the bot's storage. A spare stimpak and psycho dose, however, was kept in his duster pocket as a precaution. He never knew when he would need the adrenaline boost, but when he did psycho and a stim usually turned the fight to his favor. The fact that it couldn't explode his artificial heart helped too.

"Say, Courier is there anything I can do for you," Yes Man face flashed onto his pipboy, "Mr. House said I was supposed to do anything you say specifically… and that I should ask for you to hmm how do I put it… utilize my talents, yeah."

"You were meant to kill House and take over his machines," Courier grumbled, tapping his pipboy's screen in annoyance, "what exactly can you do as a pipboy? Cause as I see it, you just became another rambling screen I have to deal with."

"Ouch, you know as your faithful servant I can do a lot more than just switch your radio off and on," Yes Man whined, flicking the radio Vegas' signal off and on before swapping to the map tab, "I can map places out that the satellites can't see buddy! I can observe these anomalies and take data from them! I can even and get this cause you'll really like it… give you advice on what to do! Crazy right?!"

Choosing to ignore his noisy wrist companion, the Courier scooped up the last of his personal supplies into his pack. Basic foodstuffs, bobby pins, and as much as it pained him, he filled the bag with bottles of whiskey. Knowing full well that the journey was going to get boring, and that he tended to have a little too much fun when he got drunk. He just hoped the pilot would ignore his incoherent babbling on the way to Asia.

"Well anyways, don't be afraid to use my servic-," the Courier silenced the pipboy and began waiting at the landing pad in precious silence. Only for ED-E to begin blaring Yes Man's voice, "taking over other machines isn't difficult either!"

The Courier felt the intense urge to start drinking then and there, but the sound of rotor blade distracted him long enough to resist it. Staring up at the old-world machine, he noticed the modifications House had mentioned. The machine had a significantly larger build, instead of dual rotors the vertibird sported a quartet of engines, and the back end of it was extended further out. He could only assume that it was meant to have a much larger fuel storage to support the journey.

"With that machine's capabilities I estimate the journey should only take forty-eight hours," Yes Man continued, "think on that. How far we've come from the Great War wiping everything to zero."

"Can't get this over with soon enough," the Courier groaned.

Hopping into the vertibird he turned to address the pilot only to see the empty cockpit. Sighing, he slumped against the wall of the aircraft and said, "I should have known better than to expect House to hire another human being other than me."

-0-

New Eridu, the last city on Earth, at least as far as they were concerned. A land mostly untouched by the nuclear apocalypse, the hollows a horror beyond human comprehension, and the city built upon the exploitation of both of them. A city that stood after the Great War with buildings that scraped the sky, where humanity thrived for as long as they could, and where people from all over the world took cover from the fallout.

The original Eridu, now Eridu Ruins as it was called after being destroyed in a hollow disaster would have resembled the ruins of the old world if not for the floating geometry. The disaster named Hollow Zero consumed most of the city into its mass many years ago, its mass eclipsing the sun was a constant reminder of that. The Chasm that which made a physical divide in the land marked where humanity would prosper and what would become of them if nothing was done to stop the encroaching ether corruption.

The industries of New Eridu ran on the sweat, blood, and tears of Hollow Raiders and Investigators to ensure their continued existence. The Shiyu Pillars the monoliths of lost technology towered even higher than the skyscrapers and dotted the landscape. Acting as both their greatest defense against the largest hollows, and as the power generators that ran off the harvested ether that the hollows generated.

The outskirts, however, did not share the same qualities as the city, their power came from a singular oil field the only one within thousands of miles of them. The cold war between America and China having made sure of that and though connected to the city they had not the resources to stop the hollows from expanding and birthing new ones. Which is where the Motor League came in, their land dubbed the Outer Ring, they alone made it possible for humanity to persist in the wasteland outside the city.

Today the Motor League engaged in a conference to discuss which gang would receive which route. Which gang would receive greater shares of the common resources in their time of need. With the final topic of the coming Tour De Inferno, and of the requirements to enter.

Before the Motor League stood the current Overlord, Pompey, a tall man clothed in a black leather jacket emblazoned in gold the word 'Armageddon' above a bovine skull and a pair of knifes. With ornamental gold spikes lining his shoulders and necklace over a black shirt with four evenly placed white crosses over his chest. His hair was a mix of aged gray and black with a full beard and mustache. Amber eyes gazing out into the crowd, watching them hoot and holler unruly as they were, but his eyes lingered on a young woman.

The only gang leader he knew with potential to unseat him from his position as Overlord as he saw it. While the other gangs had the drive, none could compare to the leader of the Sons of Calydon. This tour was the first one she had the ability to enter, young as she is, he could only expect her to be the first to acquire a sparkstone. The single requirement for a gang to enter the competition.

The Sons of Calydon were an old gang, with the founding members growing too old to continue, or simply passing away some time ago. Their own black leather jackets, lined with black fur and gold spikes, and a red biker boar mascot after their oldest member. Big Daddy, the boar thiren himself, leaned back against a wall, while the other members discussed their plans.

As the meeting came to a close, a shout drew the attention of all the attendants, one of the gang leaders pointed into the sky. And there they saw something truly out of the ordinary. An aircraft flew overhead, high in the air, rushing past them and over the city. Flying through the airspace it eventually made a hard turn back. The machine started heading back to the Outer Ring as a missile launched from somewhere in the city. Trailing behind it the missile caught up to the aircraft and exploded into the back-left turbine, before it was set plummeting down to the Earth.

The scream of wind rushing past and the explosion that followed when it made impact shook the Earth. As if by instinct every attending member shot to their bikes, even his own lieutenants and champion were swift to get their engines roaring. In a rush of dust and burning rubber trucks, motorcycles, and motortrikes left the meeting in search of the crashed aircraft.

Sighing, Pompey rubbed his sinuses and turned to his pale lieutenant, "Lucius do go and oversee this event. I have things I must take care of before I join them, and make sure it doesn't end too quickly. I've been needing some excitement."

"As you wish Boss," the pale man mock bowed and with a sly grin he added, "I will ensure to prolong the festivities until you arrive."

-0-

The Courier woke with searing pain shooting through his legs and his right arm. Amused that he managed to survive another near death encounter he took in his surroundings with a mad laugh while the shock was still running through his system. He was hanging upside down, the vertibird having tumbled across the Earth after the crashlanding with the top side of the craft now creaking against the ground. Strapped to his seat, he noticed that his arm had been impaled by a piece of the turbine, and his legs were snapped in the wrong direction. Groaning he ripped the piece of metal out of his arm, and while bleeding all over himself unstrapped himself to then fall against the metal ceiling.

Yes Man called out to him from ED-E, the eyebot having escaped the vertibird before the crash. He said, "Courier it seems you have survived that dangerous maneuver you took over the city! Great job, despite me advising you that it would get you killed you managed to survive! You really proved me wrong! I should have known better huh?!"

"Shut the FUCK UP YES MAN," he screamed in agony as the shock began to wear off before laughing again, "ge-get over here you shit I need healing!"

Hovering over to him, the Courier flipped open ED-E's storage compartment and began the painful process of setting his legs back into place. Following many curses and cries of agony as well as a number of pain filled chuckles the Courier settled his legs back into the correct position and strapped them with the splints. Holding back tears he pulled out two stimpaks and jammed them into his legs restoring the bones in seconds. Even with his phoenix implant working in overdrive to heal his wounds it would take a week for his legs to restore themselves naturally.

His arm's injury had already sealed by the time he finished the painful process, but the stinging was still there as tendons and muscles were forced to knit back together. Laying in the burning wreck he crawled out of the missing door hatch onto dry desert soil. Flopping onto his back, his visor blocked the sun from his eyes, but in need to observe his other injuries he removed the riot helmet. Peering down at his chest he saw a short piece of shrapnel sticking out of his chest. Ripping it out he observed that it was void of blood and bone fragments, flipping his duster open he saw that the piece had pierced through his copy of the holy bible, and only partially dented his armor beneath it.

The Courier swore, "Fuck me… thank god…" looking at the pierced bible he shuddered, "Joshua is gonna kill me."

Shoving the bible back into his duster pocket he staggered to his feet. Aching and tired he took in the wasteland around him, and then reached for his trusty vault 13 canteen, filled with whiskey. Taking a long swig from it he fumbled for his weapons only to find that most of them were still in the crashed vertibird. Groaning he stumbled back into the wreck to retrieve his guns. Finding the Anti-Material Rifle untouched in the weapon rack and the rest of his weapons with his pack in the back locker beside it. Equipping himself with his thankfully undamaged weapons he reassessed his surroundings.

City in the distance, massive black orbs on the horizon, and a massive dust cloud slowly making its way to him. Knowing full well that lady luck wasn't done nut checking him, the Courier began stretching his aching body. Enjoying the minor pains of his torn muscles suturing themselves back together, he cracked his neck until it gave that satisfying sick snap, and he popped one of his rations into his mouth.

Cracking his knuckles he turned to Yes Man and mumbled with a full mouth, "Can you see what's coming our way?"

"Checking," floating into the air the eyebot sensors activated and began circling before returning to him. A moment of whirring and bleeps followed and then Yes man continued, "looks like we have a couple dozen motorized vehicles coming our way. Mutant riders too, I observed several animal-like mutants and human beings with similar appendages."

"Looks like the radiation did a number on the people here," the Courier nodded, "they look friendly?"

The automatic response from the AI was, "Not in the slightest, but I'm sure you can take them on with the right strategy."

The Courier shrugged, "I'm just gonna wait here."

"That will certainly make it… make it um," Yes Man struggled to find a word to address him, "challenging, yeah challenging. I have to admire your intrepid nature. Why get caught up in plans and strategy that'll just make things complicated. A lesser man would have positioned himself to where he had overwhelming control of the situation."

"Thank you very much Yes Man," the Courier beamed as he placed his helmet back on, "I'm happy we're finally on the same page."

Sighing the Courier shouldered his Anti-Material Rifle and waited, the roars of engines and hollers of men and women in the distance slowly growing louder. Racking the slide he half-mindedly checked the bullet and began tapping his foot in anticipation. Growing bored as another minute passed he asked, "What we got for a radio 'round here?"

"Let me check," Yes Man buzzed back and then continued, "hmm local music stations have nothing I'm familiar with I'm afraid. Most likely the radio stations are running local artists rather than old world albums on loop."

Wearily he asked, "Anything good?"

Yes Man waited for a moment before responding with one of the radio station's current songs. The Courier winced at a sudden cacophony of electric guitar, beating drums, and screaming vocals. Quickly waving for Yes Man to stop, "Kill it… got anything downloaded?"

"Just the songs Mr. Benny made me record while he was alive," Yes Man confirmed, "wanna hear it?"

"Play it," the Courier shrugged, "he was a slimy roach fucker but at least he had good taste in music."

With whirring and clicking the eyebot began broadcasting a song from Dean Martin, an Italian sung song with the occasional bits of English to fill between the flavorful phrasing. It was pleasant to the ear and for a moment the Courier thought that perhaps crucifying Benny wasn't the best of his ideas. Then again he was a different man then, a younger and angry man, and perhaps Benny deserved it for what he did. He wasn't an unbiased source on that account though, the bullet holes in his skull made that evident.

Peering up at the eyebot, tapping his foot he asked, "It's good, but why download this one?"

"He liked to play it for his favorite girls," Yes Man answered.

Mulling it over the Courier nodded in understanding and then took in the biker gang passing by the wreck and himself. The horde of bikers came around and formed a circuit. He watched them carefully, taking in the new mutants, the oddly dressed bikers, and the myriad of strange vehicles. Some were familiar, others entirely foreign to him, and they hollered in a familiar tongue, English. That wasn't something he expected, but it was a pleasant surprise that he wouldn't need to learn any new languages.

Eventually they had their fill of riding and came to a halt, completely surrounding him. His eyes moved from wolfmen to the giant orangutan, to the occasional animal eared man and woman, and then finally his eyes fell on a lime green haired woman. The biker that faced him on from the front. Her hair came down to her neck from the front and a long ponytail in the back. A pair of black ornamental horns sprouting from the back of her headdress. Yellow eyes matching the gold and red of her clothes, paired with the black cloth and fur. She kept one arm sleeved and the other open, he noticed it was a metallic prosthetic. For now, she watched him as another biker approached from his right flank.

A scrawny bastard wearing some kind of orb mask with a jack-o'-lantern expression and a loose-fitting yellow jacket. He waved a crossbow around at him, his words unintelligibly stupid, before he took aim with his weapon. Waiting until he loosed the bolt, the Courier moved to catch it and then levied his rifle on the man.

-0-

Caesar King didn't know what to expect at the crash site, a survivor was not what she had in mind, but the solitary man drenched in what was likely his own blood was interesting to say the least. Lighter was already looking away, finding the scene difficult to look at, but the leader of the Sons of Calydon was fascinated.

He was a striking figure, clad in duster and dirtied jeans, combat boots caked with filth, and forest green and white armor over his shoulders and helm. A black gas mask for a face and a glowing red visor for eyes. All the while the most pleasant song she ever heard blared from a strange robot she had never seen the make of before.

Voooolare, oooh ooh… Caanntare, oh oh oh oh… Let's fly way to the clouds. Away from the maddening crowds.

A member of one of the rival gangs, strutted up to the stranger, crossbow waving in the air, and babbling like a buffoon. When the stranger didn't shrink away from his swaggering idiocy; he made to shoot the man, only for him to catch the bolt midflight. He then levied his long rifle on the man and fired from the hip a thunderous clamor that sent blood and viscera flying back. Where the thug once stood, now only remained a set of collapsing legs and a piece of spine sticking out of the pelvis.

"Who else wants to me a smear," the man roared and racked another round, "cause I got more than enough for all of you!"

We can sing in the glow of a star that I know of. Where lovers enjoy peace in mind.

Shaking, the less spirited of the gangers ran for their lives, while the bravest remained. Not particularly interested in vengeance, but at the prospect of the challenge the stranger offered. Caesar dismounted her bike, sword and shield in hand, and moved to stand in front of the other Sons as the other gangs charged.

Let us leave the confusion and all disillusion behind. Just like birds of a feather, a rainbow together we'll find.

The melee fodder either met a similar fate to the fool or were cut down and reduced to ashes by the laser of the strange robot. The gunners and crossbow runners took up cover behind boulders and rocks began their assault from afar. The champions of the gangs stayed in the back, waiting for an opening to avoid being turned into a smear as well.

The Vanquishers gang members, the Overlord's lieutenants and champion waited alongside the Sons of Calydon watching this newcomer fight. Mors the dark furred dog thiren tapped away on his rifle, anxious to enter the fray himself, while Pulchra the blonde furred cat thiren was making ready to leave when Lucius arrived.

The pale lieutenant gave her wry smile and stayed her hand, "Oh Pulchra, thinking of leaving before the Boss even shows up for the fun?"

"If it's all the same to you Lucius," the feline flicked his hand away, "I'd rather not be vaporized or made into mush. Bellum can entertain you I'm sure."

Voooolare, oooh ooh… E caanntare, oh oh oh oh… No wonder my happy heart sings. Your love has given me wings.

The giant champion of the Vanquishers, Bellum the orangutan thiren cracked his neck with a grin. Unseating himself he equipped his bladed gun, with flamethrower and shield attachments. He bellowed, "Yeah Lucius, don't you worry this chump won't last a second with me."

Lucy hefted her bat in her hand, making sure to keep Caesar and her shield between her and the firefight. Quietly she whispered to her leader, "That stranger is massacring those guys down there, we should stay back until Bellum wares him down."

Caesar gave her friend a reassuring smile and said, "Gotcha, can't just go running in there with fire power life that."

Penso che un sogno cosi non ritorni mai piu. Mi dipingevo con le mani e la faccia di blu. Poi d'improvviso venivo dal vento rapito. E incominciavo a volare nel cielo infinito.

Caesar felt her heart skip a beat, she had always loved romance, but the moment was shattered as Bellum entered the fight with the stranger. The thunderous shot of the man's rifle deflecting off the giant thiren's shield and exploding another ganger into bloody mist.

Lighter covered his mouth feeling nauseous at the sight of so much blood and went back to looking the other way. He cooly composed himself and said, "You're on your own for this one Caesar," shuddering he fixed his sunglasses, "forgive me."

Another thunderous crack of fire, and Bellum's shield was crumbling in on itself. Yet the stranger had to reload and was forced to holster his rifle on his back in favor of his other weapons. Unholstering his black revolver with a long, elegant barrel and an old sawd-off shotgun in both hands he reengaged Bellum as the ape let loose a torrent of flames from his flamethrower.

The bot soaring through the air singeing Bellums orange fur black with continuous laser fire. The song's gentle guitar strums and soothing vocals a great contrast for the bloody fight it had turned into. Seeing that Pompey had shown up and that the other gangs were fleeing. It was Caesar's turn to enter the fray, Mors, and Lucy joining her from the rear.

Voooolare, oooh ooh… E caanntare, oh oh oh oh… Nel blu, dipinto di blu. Felice di stare lassu.

The stranger shot Bellum from beneath his armpit with his revolver, the sound almost as deafening as his rifle, but the ape thiren had had enough punishment. Reeling back Bellum slapped the man aside, sending him flying and tumbling against the desert soil. Rolling into a crouch the man fired back, eventually forcing the thiren to take cover behind the wreckage from the constant abuse. His tough hide only capable of taking so much.

"Okay maybe he's tougher than he looks," Bellum gasped in pain as his numerous wounds were taking their toll on him, "you guys can finish him."

Mors was the first to act, sniping the bot out of the air, causing it to fall into the ground useless. A loud cheery voice echoed from the man's wrist device. Telling him that the "eddie" was down for the count and that he was on his own.

E volvo, volvo felice piu in alto del sole ad ancora piu su. Mentre il mondo pian piano spariva lontano laggiu. Una musica dolce suonava soltanto per me.

Grumbling the man pointed his revolver at Mors and sawd-off at Caesar. He flicked them both making sure they were full and flicked them back into place. His helmet and mask obscuring any emotion the man was feeling, but the heavy breathing and his subtle movements stated that he was aware of Lucy hiding over by the wreckage bat in hands and of the Overlord watching everything.

He was surrounded again, back open and companion down. The stranger released a held breath to calm himself, and within a blink of an eye shot a ganger coming up on his left with the shotgun. The man turned to paste before the barrel and with a quick flick the spent shells were release and he slotted in another two. This was enough time for Caesar to close the distance.

Voooolare, oooh ooh… E caanntare, oh oh oh oh… No wonder my happy heart sings. Your love has given me wings. Nel blu, dipinto di blu. Felice di stare lassu.

And the song came to an end.

Dashing in she struck across his breastplate with the sharp spikes of her shield. Sending sparks off of the plate, while Mors fired down sight and shot the man's helmet from his head. Revealing a full head of unkempt black hair and long scar that stretched all around his head, he rolled back and unloaded his full five round cylinder at Mors. The dog thiren being grazed by two of the shots, before taking the other three into his chest. He slammed into the ground like a ton of bricks, whimpering from the painful but not seemingly fatal wounds.

Caesar pressed the advantage and kicked the revolver from his right hand, before slamming her shield into his left. Disarmed the man stepped back and unsheathed his last resort, a long-curved blade that was almost as long as her forearm, while keeping his other palm open. He reflexively flipped the knife back and forth, his mask still obscuring the rest of his face. Still unreadable and raring for a fight he watched her.

"Man, you're tough," Caesar bantered, "but you're no match for the Sons of Calydon. We aren't like those sad excuses for riders."

He stayed silent for a moment, his attention flicking between her and the others in the area. The man held the blade back in a defensive stance and said, "Trying to break the ice after I killed your buddies eh?"

Smirking the biker raised her shield and brought her sword high and continued, "Those guys you killed are actually my competition to become Overlord. I'm not gonna thank you for killing them but I'm not that heartbroken you killed the scum in the Motor League."

"Raiders always so self-obsessed," the man grumbled, the filter of his mask distorting it, "are we gonna fight or what?"

She launched forward slicing down on him, which he caught with his knife, however the shield slamming into his side knocking him off his feet. Rolling on the back foot, he slid beneath another swing and sliced into her arm with his own blade. Back to their standstill they eyed each other carefully. Both nursing new wounds, and in that moment a sense of respect was beginning to form between them.

"If we are to kill each other," she beamed, "we should at least know each other's names… From one warrior to another only right we know our killer."

Defensively he watched her and then spoke, "That's a very romantic sentiment," mulling over the idea he saw no reason to deny her, "Courier is what I'm called."

Quizzically Caesar relaxed a bit and added, "Must be one hell of a mail route huh, names Caesar King leader of the Sons of Calydon. Oh, and I am not a raider."

In the background Lucy was watching the exchange, growing frustrated that her leader was making friends with the murderous stranger. Wishing they had brought the little boars to help, but as she was she had to be careful that she didn't enter the Courier's melee range. For now, she would watch the fight from cover.

"A woman warrior taking the name of Caesar," the Courier chuckled darkly, "that old fucker must be rolling in his grave."

Pompey approached them, his broadsword in hand, taking the back flank of the laughing mailman. The Overlord addressed him, his voice raspy and holding the authority that comes with leadership, "Greetings Courier, I can only assume you are responsible for all this bloodshed."

"I defended myself," the Courier addressed him pointed his knife towards Caesar while keeping his open palm towards Pompey, "those that came for me after I killed the first man are to blame for their deaths."

"While Caesar wont, I may thank you for culling the more… immoral members of the League. It's been awhile since I've needed to deal with the more unsavory League members," he readied his sword, "I apologize for my subordinate's zealousness. I had requested for Lucius to ensure the event be prolonged… I hadn't expected anyone to survive that crash landing. This event and the bloodshed are on my hands."

The Courier turned to him fully, facing his hand towards Caesar now and asked, "So am I free to go?"

"I am afraid not," the Overlord bowed his head, "you have made war with the Motor League. If you come quietly I will ensure a fair trial, and no more harm will come to you."

The Courier considered his words, nodding to himself and then looking at the remaining combatants. Bellem had moved out of his cover, leaning over himself, but still capable of fighting. Mors had picked up his weapon and was watching the exchange. Lucius was hiding in the background, his knife brandished and poised to strike, and well Caesar was right behind him.

Disarmed and wounded he shrugged and injected himself with his holdout stimpak. His aching bones and wounds closing in moments. Looking to all the wounded he said, "Will I receive greater favor if patch up your people?"

Pompey's brow rose with interest, "Warrior, messenger, and healer what other talents do you hide Courier… I believe that yes you will receive a kinder sentencing."