If you see the first and upcoming chapters changed or with new additions, it's because I edited them. There won't be many changes, except I noticed there were parts where I rushed or didn't go into much detail on certain aspects.

I don't own RWBY or Fallout 3. The rights belong to Bethesda and Rooster Teeth.

I am not the owner of RWBY and Fallout 3; they are the property of Rooster Teeth and Bethesda.

VOL 1 CHAPTER 3: Jobs and Discoveries

"Is that a velvet dress?! A red leather bag! That's a designer dress!" Clover exclaimed, as excited as a ten-year-old on Christmas Eve, while Jericho was growing tired of her attitude, the sound of his metal armor creaking drawing the attention of some onlookers who curiously eyed the two armed teenagers.

"Yes, yes, how lovely. But can we move our asses?" he said irritably as he headed to the bar.

"Calm down, honey!" Clover teased Jericho, who rolled his eyes. "Admit it, this thing brought us to a dream world. And the best part? I'm in my prime! Just think about it—you're more agile than before, old man."

"Whatever," he muttered, refusing to admit she was right. He no longer felt short of breath in his lungs, nor did he cough up blood or suffer liver pain. Which was good—on the outside, he looked like a young kid, but he had the mind of a sixty-five-year-old man.

Turning a corner, Jericho spotted a sign with writing he couldn't understand, though he recognized the bubbling mug that made his mouth water.

Bar = Food and alcohol.

The two entered, drawing the attention of the bar's patrons, who stared curiously as the pair moved toward the counter, where a woman was serving drinks to other customers. When she turned around, Jericho and Clover couldn't help but admit she looked stunning. Her blonde hair was tied back with a band, keeping it neat, and she wore light blue glasses matching her dress and boots of the same color.

"Welcome to The Dripping Barrel. What can I get you?"

"Well, sweetheart, we were wondering if you had any jobs available," Clover said.

"Are you hunters?" she asked, lowering her glasses and raising an eyebrow.

"We're mercenaries," Jericho replied. "Do you have any or not?" His bluntness earned him a sharp look from her.

Clover chuckled. "Sorry about my partner; someone stole his teddy bear when he was a kid."

"Screw you," Jericho shot back.

"See?" Clover emphasized his point.

"I do have some jobs—bandit raids are an issue. I need meat for the menu and herbs, mushrooms, and fruits to keep the business going," she explained. "I'll pay you 30 Liem for each item in perfect condition. If you manage it, I'll throw in a bonus."

"Liem? What's that?" Jericho asked, confused.

"Money," she replied bluntly.

"So you don't trade with bottle caps here?" Clover asked, showing her a cap as an example.

"That's garbage," the woman said dismissively.

"Well, fantastic," Jericho grumbled. "We'll take the job," he added. "Add some food to our tab and lots of beer—especially for the rest of our group."

"Sure, and I'll grab the finest wine while I'm at it," she replied sarcastically. "Anything else?"

"What's your name, sweetheart, and when do you get off work?" Clover flirted.

"Priscilla Arc, and I'm not interested in relationships," she said, leaving Clover shrugging as he followed Jericho out.

'What strange folks,' Priscilla thought.

Harkness and Albert entered the clinic. Unlike the clinics in the Capital Wasteland, this one was cleaner and even had a waiting area, where an elderly woman in a medical coat greeted them. "How can I help you?"

"Good afternoon, ma'am," Harkness greeted politely, removing his security helmet. "My companion and I have experience in medicine. Do you need help with anything—medications or surgery?"

"One moment," the elderly woman said, pulling out a communication device unlike anything they'd ever seen. It looked metallic, with a sort of touchscreen display. "Hello, Doctor... Some hunters are offering their services as medics... Understood," she said, hanging up and putting it away. "Please proceed; Doctor Mitchell is expecting you."

The two entered the medical room, where a bald man with a mustache, wearing a lab coat, was attending to a patient. He turned to them as they entered. "I assume you're the hunters with medical experience," he said while continuing his work. "I'll need help with these injured folks."

Albert and Harkness split up to assist the three wounded patients, who appeared to belong to a militia based on their attire. "What happened?" Albert asked, examining the injuries. The patient he attended had multiple broken bones and second-degree burns.

"Bandits," Mitchell replied. "They're part of the local guard. They tried to fight off bandits raiding our supply trucks. Unfortunately, the raiders seem to have weapons capable of altering various Dust types—not to mention their leader has an aura."

"Aura?" Harkness asked, puzzled.

"Yes, the powers of the soul," Mitchell replied, as though it were common knowledge. The two companions exchanged glances and nodded, deciding to investigate further.

Albert treated the burns with ointment and used medical supplies to brace the areas with broken bones. "We're short on medication."

"Yes…" Mitchell sighed. "As long as the raiders keep targeting the trucks, I'll remain understocked. I've had to rely on local gatherers to find medicinal herbs."

The work continued.

Charon entered the settlement's armory, escorted by guards who looked at him with concern or fear due to his appearance. They had told him the likely location of the raiders' camp but gave him odd looks when he asked if they wanted him to bring back their fingers or ears.

He arrived at the armory, where an older man wearing a gray jumpsuit and a bandana on his head was in charge. The man glanced up at him without showing surprise at his appearance. "Say what you need."

"We need 5.56mm ammunition, 10mm rounds, .23 shotgun shells, and armor-piercing bullets," Charon said, pulling out a shotgun shell and handing it to the man for inspection.

"Hmm, you know your weapons, I see. All right, I'll give you two packs of each. What type of Dust do you want?" the man asked while examining the shell, pulling out tweezers to open it.

Charon raised a nonexistent eyebrow. "What do you recommend?"

"Well, that depends on what you need. A fire Dust bullet is good for damage, but if it's not controlled, it can burn everything. An air Dust bullet can knock back or wound. But a standard one will get the job done," the man said. Upon opening the shell and seeing the powder inside, his eyes widened. "Where did you get the black Dust?"

"The powder?" Charon asked.

"Black Dust was banned centuries ago after the Great War, and no one knows how to make it… except for some veterans who passed the knowledge down to their descendants," the man explained, carefully putting the powder back into the shell, resealing it, and handing it back to Charon.

"Are you a veteran?"

"Heh, sharp kid. I was one of the few humans who supported the Faunus as a soldier. One of my comrades taught me how to make it, and it was powerful. But the ban took it off the market."

"I see…" Charon said, absorbing the information. "Set aside the packages. My group will take care of the raiders."

"Sounds like a fair deal." Charon nodded and left.

The group gathered in the center to discuss the assigned tasks, deciding to start as soon as possible after realizing that the bottle caps they had wouldn't work as currency.

Albert and Charon approached the raiders' last known location, staying alert, especially for any dark creatures. When they arrived, the raiders' camp was empty—they had recently moved. Albert and Charon searched the area for clues.

"Here," Charon said, pointing to a tree. Upon closer inspection, they found something carved into it:

"When you return, Billy, we'll raid the settlement at noon."

"We need to head back," Albert said, and he and Charon returned to the camp.

In a large camp, a group of raiders dressed in red and black outfits with bits of armor were preparing for battle. A tanned woman with a gray sleeveless vest, pants, boots, and short black hair approached a larger tent. Inside, a woman with waist-length hair and red samurai-style armor was studying a map.

"Boss, the boys are ready."

"Good," the woman replied. "It's time," she said, turning around as she sheathed her sword.