Let Nothing Fall to Chance

by Chronicler of Unseen Stars

Years have passed since the liberation of New Vegas, and the Courier's itching for a new adventure. Duty has bound him to Big MT and the Mojave, unwilling to let either out of his sight. When a certain satellite goes missing, Six leaps at the chance to break free from his prison. But he gets more than he bargains for and trades one wasteland for another. Crossposted on AO3.

12. Roadside Outing

Chapter 12: Roadside Outing

Date: October 3rd, 1099

8:36 PM - Clear skies

The border between Ursus and Yanese Wastelands

The sun had just descended on the horizon. Gone was its empyreal palette and brushes. Darkness took the reigns, granting sovereignty to the stars and twin moons. Under their rule, the world was granted a rebreather and a chance to cool down. Some use the time to get some shut-eye, others to explore and hunt. For a certain trio, it was the former.

Six was sitting on a rock examining a Metal Crab. Or rather, his sketches of one. They ran into another pack of them earlier and Six used the opportunity to conduct an autopsy on them. Not only did it give him insight into the native fauna's biology, but it also proved to be an alleviant. After chugging on adrenaline for the past few days, he finally had a chance to relax.

The creatures reminded him of reports of the Eastern Coast's Mirelurks. Not humanoid like the lakelurks of the Mojave wasteland (supposedly those descended from desert turtles), but closer to arachnids or crustaceans. Invertebrates, check. An exoskeleton and pincers, check. Walking along its sides, check. Segmented body, check. Hell, they even had gills to his surprise.

Lyudmila had already gathered some wood for ED-E to ignite. The robot fired its Tesla Cannon and the flames burst into being. The young woman plopped her hide onto the ground and brought her hands closer to the flames. She had already removed the hazmat suit in favor of her usual attire. Six, by contrast, refused to change out of his Elite Riot Gear. When asked, he merely said a single word; "Wasteland".

The Courier initially wanted to cook the meat he harvested from the Metal Crabs. While he was certain that he removed all of the excess shrapnel from the flesh, Lyudmila shot the idea down. It turned out that their bodies also contained a considerable amount of toxins (probably a byproduct of their metallic exoskeleton). They'd have to ferment it first, and that usually took at least a week. As far as she was concerned, they were better off salting and selling the meat to local butchers. They usually had the space and materials to ferment it themselves.

Lyudmila glanced back at the stranger. In all her life, she never met someone as eccentric as the Courier. Sure, Patriot was a relic and Mephisto was a lunatic, but she could still read them. Six, by comparison, was an enigma. He had no obvious markers to identify his race. No ears, no tails, no horns or antlers. Not even wings or halos. Was he one of those Vampires she kept hearing about? Or perhaps an Ægir?

And then there was his collection of firearms. He didn't appear to be a Sankta, yet he had no issue using any of them. Hell, he even used a minigun right at the Sarcophagus's doorsteps. But strangest of all was that some of them fired this green sludge or lasers. She wasn't an expert in guns, but she was fairly certain you needed a good understanding of Arts to even use a pistol. Yet he accidentally set off the jetpack and nearly lost his fingers like some noob.

When she asked about the guns, he claimed that he found and scavenged them throughout his travels on the western coast. When pressed about how they functioned, he shrugged.

"Experimental weapons from bygone civilization or corporation?" he casually suggested.

She didn't buy it. If that were the case, others would've found some by now too. There would've been an arms race. But that wasn't the only thing about him that bothered her.

There were also his questions about Lungmen and Ursus. It was obvious that he knew little about the developed nations of Terra. Just like before, Six chalked it up to being a Wastelander. That excuse did fly with her this time. But only this time.

She thought back to their first encounter, their deal in Chernobog. He said that something was taken from him, but he never said what. She was somewhat curious about that. What could possibly be so important that he'd rather sneak his way into the city than through due process? Again, she could chalk that up to being a wastelander. Anyone born outside of civilization can't be expected to know anything about laws, after all.

She looked back at the campfire. While she had been around plenty of them in her life, it had been a while since she sat with someone else. Part of her mind wanted to dig up some old memories. Memories of Reunion. Try as she might, some of them managed to bleed out.

She remembered sitting in a snowstorm up north. She remembered how many of her squadmates cuddled around the fire with thin-as-hell blankets, trying to keep themselves warm. She remembered the bland potato soup and stale bread their cook served them. The world was as harsh as it was routine. Nothing but trying to survive out in the cold while they searched for gear.

She cast another glance back at the Courier. This man claimed to be from the wasteland, yes? Was his life any different from hers? How much of it was spent scrounging around for food and shelter? Has he ever had any family? Or did he only have himself to rely on?

She heard of hardy wasteland gangs out west. Rusthammers, wasn't it? Or were they less of a gang and more of a loose coalition of them? The stories she heard about them varied from one person to the next. Some painted them as monsters, others as noble savages. All of them could agree on one thing, though; they were survivors. Just like the Infected.

The Courier screamed 'survivor' to the Lupo. Yet he also surprised her with his scientific approach to things. She recalled how he treated her wounds back in Chernobog, seeing those samples of originium under a microscope. She remembered his questioning about the Metal Crabs. And just recently he ran an autopsy on them like some mad scientist. She could sense the joy behind his studies and sketch.

This man wasn't a simple survivalist. He was a bookworm with a hunger for knowledge. Perhaps even a borderline glut in that regard. She had better watch what she says around him. If he found out about Reunion's role in Chernobog's downfall- or worse yet her role in all that…

She shook off that train of thought. She left that life behind her long ago. Frankly, it was a miracle that her mentor welcomed her back in Siracusa after all that she had done. More so that she let her revisit the sight of her first tragedy. And also her greatest sin.

She looked at ED-E. In all her travels and battles, she had never encountered a machine that could disintegrate people. Her understanding of science was rather flimsy, but her father did imbue her with some trivia prior to his death.

"How much energy would you need to vaporize someone, Mila?"

"I dunno. Two car batteries?

"Nyet. Nearly three gigajoules. About the same intensity as a lightning bolt."

It wasn't uncommon for Casters to incinerate people. Hell, she watched Talulah vaporize an entire plaza during Chernobog's demise. Drones could fire Arts blasts, but nothing like ED-E or Reunion's founder. How the hell could something carry that much power? Now that she thought about it, she had never read anything about a machine resembling the metal eyeball. Did Six 'scavenge' him from out west too?

Six had put away his sketchbook and drew out that rifle from the necropolis. She didn't know why but for some reason it felt familiar to her. Was it a soldier's weapon? As far as she was aware, none of their snipers carried rifles. Perhaps it belonged to an Ursus soldier or a Rhodes Islander? Six himself seemed to be as perplexed by it as she is. Probably more accustomed to Originium crystals than pneumatic systems.

He traced his fingers across its surface, almost in a trance. He gently shook his head and wrapped its strap around his chest, sheathing the weapon behind him. Now he was looking back at her. A small part of her wanted to gulp. While he was generally friendly to her thus far, he still had an intimidating silhouette.

"You should get some rest," he suggested.

Lyudmila narrowed her eyes. "I've had plenty back in Chernobog," she said.

"Lying unconscious while bleeding out doesn't count as rest," Six retorted.

"What about you? Don't you need some rest?"

"Already got some after I bandaged you up."

"You were working on some secret project when I woke up."

"Because I woke up before you. I just decided to pass the time by doing something productive."

Lyudmila rolled her eyes.

"Look, I can get some shut-eye while you drive tomorrow," Six said. "You focus on recharging your batteries while I stand watch."

"How do I know you won't stab me while I'm asleep?"

"If I wanted you dead, I would've left you in the last Boar. Besides, you're more familiar with this side of Terra than I am. And uh… you're probably a better driver than me anyway."

Lyudmila stifled a giggle. "Excuse me?" she said. "I thought you drove to Chernobog when we met?"

"It was my first time driving," Six revealed. "Stole it from a crime boss in Siracusa."

The girl blinked. "You stole from one of the Dodici Famiglie?" she asked in disbelief.

"Depends on if the Diavoli d'Ebano counts as one of them."

She tilted her head. "Never heard of them," she said. "Sounds more like you ran into some small-time goons looking to strike big. Is their boss still alive?"

Six placed a hand on his chin. Aelius referred to their gang as a hydra, something stretching all across Terra. He could have been bluffing, of course. But then again, a certain cabal had its tendrils in every American industry before the bombs fell.

"Probably not," Six said. "Hopefully not. But then again, he may have just been the leader of a cell. Part of a larger organization."

Lyudmila shrugged. "There has been an influx of vultures over the past few years," she said. "Been like that ever since a power vacuum opened up."

"Power vacuum?" Six asked.

"Da, one of the big families kicked the bucket over a decade ago. Ever since then, several foreigners have been trying to fill the void. At least a dozen minor families are calling themselves 'Sicilian' these days."

So that's why Mostima called the country volatile. Six thought to himself. Glad I got out of there while I still could.

Lyudmila took out a bedroll from the trunk of the Boar and unfurled it on the ground. Six lifted his helmet up to take a sip of black coffee as the girl went back to retrieve a backpack. She removed her mask and hoodie, placing them inside. When she turned around and walked back to her bedroll, Six blinked. Even if she couldn't see his face, she could tell that he was gawking at her.

"What?" she asked in an annoyed tone.

"...just caught off guard is all," Six said.

Lyudmila scoffed. "That wristwatch has a clock on it, right?" she asked.

"Yeah. Got a particular time you want to get up at?"

"You."

Six tilted his head in confusion before he understood the joke. The girl snickered as she slipped into her bedroll. Six meanwhile grumbled under his breath as he raised his PIP-Boy and set an alarm. He waited for a few minutes before taking a look at the girl again. She was sound asleep.

Good. He can finally get off of his lazy ass and get to work on translating a certain portion of a certain Holotape.

"How are your batteries, buddy?" Six asked ED-E.

The robot chirped some positive beeps at him.

"Good. Gonna need an extra optic while I do some homework. Can you stand- erm, float guard?"

ED-E emitted some acknowledging bleeps before it started patrolling the campsite. Six removed the extra tubing from the Infected Patrol suit and placed it in his backpack. No point in leaving it on if there wasn't an oripathic hazard present. Then he plopped his butt back onto his rock and took out some items; The Paladin's Holotape, a notebook, a pencil, and a sharpener for the writing utensil.

He slapped the Holotape into his Pipboy, testing out its connection to his helmet's radio. They were connected. Good. She couldn't listen in on him while he worked. With a smile, he pushed the Play button.

Translating one language to another was more difficult than he anticipated. For the most part, the thieves were using Yanese, or rather, this world's equivalent to Chinese. He was no linguist, but he was fairly certain that there were at least two variations of the language back home. A traditional one, and a simplified, more modern incarnation. This exchange appeared to be leaning towards the latter, from what little his little sessions have gleaned. It was gonna take more time to compile a complete translation.

An alarm went off on his Pipboy. He looked up at the sky to see the sun rising. It was 6 AM.

The Courier slipped his notes and holotape back into his backpack for the time being. He'll proofread his translations when the sun set again. He thought about using a gentle nudge to wake Lyudmila, but then he remembered both the times she held a knife at his neck guard. So he settled for playing one of his music tapes to wake her. And his song of choice?

Lazy Day Blues.

Lyudmila stirred around in her bedroll before waking up. She stretched her arms out with a yawn and lazily looked up at the Courier.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty," Six greeted.

The redhead rolled her eyes and climbed out of bed. She rolled it up and placed it back into the trunk bed of the Boar. She reclaimed her hoodie and mask but didn't bother to don the latter. She took a seat beside the campfire's ashes and took out a small bar. It looked like candy or an MRE to the alien. She glanced up at him.

"You want some?" she asked with her mouth full.

Six flashed an old lunchbox at her. "Already had breakfast," he said. "You got enough shuteye?"

Mila nodded. "What about you, though?" she asked. "It'll be a bumpy road ahead."

"I'm used to roughin' it," Six said with a shrug. "Can't be picky about my sleeping spots out here."

Soon as she finished eating, Lyudmila donned her mask and led the duo back to the Boar. She took up the driver's seat again while Six began fiddling with his. The seat rolled and leaned back some, allowing him to prop his feet up on the dashboard. She cast a glare at him as he crossed his limbs and nodded off. ED-E tethered itself to the backseat, emitting some beeps. Lyudmila revved up the engine and drove everyone off into the distance.

Lyudmila fiddled around with the radio before she managed to get a signal. It was coming from an Ursus city, judging from the language. She scowled at the jingoistic lyrics and shuffled around playlists and stations until she found an old favorite of hers.

She smiled as electric bass crooned out of the radio. She could've gone for the hardcore stuff, but she was worried that her 'friend' would shoot the radio. ED-E made some inquisitive beeps as the music poured out.

"What, you people never heard bass before?"

The robot produced some negative chirps. She raised an eyebrow.

"Really? All you listen to is country?"

Again some negative beeps, followed by more… expository ones? She had a general idea behind the attitude of its sounds, but not an actual translation. Why the hell was she even talking to it anyway? Oh right, the only other human was sound asleep.

"I have no idea what the hell you're saying," Lyudmila said. "How about we stick to da-or-nyet questions?"

The robot chirped in agreement.

"Alright," she said. "Are you two really from out west?"

Positive beep.

"Do you have jazz?"

Another positive chirp.

"Rock?"

And another.

"Dubstep?"

Confused beeping. She seemed as perplexed as the robot was. What kind of people was Six raised by? Some ancient husks? She shook her head.

"Alright, that's enough," she said. "My head's gonna explode if this keeps up."

The robot made some coy beeps at her remark. She sighed and grumbled under her breath. This was going to be a long drive.

---

Date: October 1st, 1099

Location: Müllstad

Time: 10:00 PM

Back in the past, nighttime had also descended upon another group of heroes. Some of them slept onboard the dropship, others shared rooms with the locals. Ceylon and Eolise were tending to the wounded while Red and Rangers stood guard. Liskarm and Franka stayed in the church interrogating the last of the Raiders.

The bastard- who referred to himself as 'Short Circuit '- claimed to have come from a post-apocalyptic wasteland. From a world that drowned itself in atomic flame after depleting most of its resources. A world rife with mutants, rampant robots, marauders like his gang, and so much more. The two ladies tried to convince him that he wasn't in America anymore, but he refused to believe them. He kept insisting that he was still on Earth, that they were all muties. After an hour of arguing, they gave up on trying to drill some sense into him and just rolled with it.

The thing that disturbed Franka the most was his description of the atomic bomb. Terra was no stranger to biohazards. She had enough experience in Blacksteel to know what radiation and Oripathy can do to a person. But the way Circuit spoke of nuclear warheads implied an altogether different kind of horror. The heat produced by a nuke was strong enough to vaporize anything at the epicenter. So strong was the blast that it practically bleached the affected area and burned the victims' shadows onto the nearest surface. The shockwave alone would shatter bones and rupture organs for miles around. And even if you managed to avoid all of that, you'd be at the mercy of radioactive fallout.

The man then shifted focus onto the mutants. Ghouls were people who were lucky (or unlucky, depending on who you asked) enough to survive the bombardment of radiation. While they developed a heavy resistance to Rads and enjoyed a prolonged life, it also ravaged their physical form and rendered them sterile. And to add salt to their wounds, there was the danger of them regressing into feral beasts.

Needless to say, many 'smoothskins' tended to discriminate against them. Franka couldn't help but pity them. Hell, she'd probably even sympathize with them, given what the Infected go through on Terra. That being said, there wasn't a Ghoul equivalent of Reunion as far as Circuit was aware. Considering that the Iron Devils welcomed one among their ranks, perhaps the Wasteland was more tolerant of Ghouls than Terra was of the Infected. Now she was starting to feel a bit envious of them.

The stories of the mutant fauna were certainly interesting, to say the least. Not all of the creatures were a product of the post-apocalyptic ecosystems. Many of them started as experiments conducted by various Pre-War factions. She was shocked to learn that the Deathclaws were reportedly one of such projects. She was even more disturbed by the raider's stories of the Super Mutants.

Bad enough that Terra's nations used Oripathy as a bioweapon, but an artificial virus? One that could rapidly induce mutations in a person? That sounded like something from a horror flick. Even more disturbing was how certain groups of them leaned towards a more… carnivorous diet on the Eastern shores of his home continent.

She asked about the factions of his homeland. Circuit listed off several at the top of his head; The New California Republic. Caesar's Legion. The Brotherhood of Steel. Unsurprisingly, he had a less than flattering view of them.

"NCR?" Short Circuit laughed. "They're nothing but a sad little parody of the Old World. They'll talk your ear off about freedom, but they're just an imperialistic den of lazy-ass Brahmin lords. Greedy, ravenous. Won't be long before they succumb to hunger strikes like Uncle Sam. Caesar's Legion on the other hand cosplays as an even Older World. They might be an army of badasses, but deep down they're mindless cultists. The second their beloved emperor kicks the bucket, they'll lose their minds and tear each other apart. And the Brotherhood? Tsk! Technophiles who cower in bunkers. The only time they venture out to the surface is to search radioactive ruins for bits and pieces."

"And you consider yourself better than all of them?" Liskarm asked.

The man snorted. "Pff, as if!" he said. "I just don't give a damna bout window dressing as much as they do. It's survival of the fittest, baby. We're all marauders back home."

Both ladies glanced at one another. They switched the topic to his world's technology. Particularly those Energy Weapons. The man shrugged.

"The bosses could probably tell you all the science behind it," he said. "Assuming any of them are left."

"And who would they be?" Liskarm asked.

"You already know Milly. She's the main muscle of our gang. Or was, before she became chow. The actual head honcho is her husband, Jigsaw. That glorious bastard has a knack for explosives and tech. All thanks to Bronte of course. Helps that he's a ghoul with a century's worth of technical knowledge. And I think there's some smooth-talker from out east. That guy screamed 'greenhorn' to me. What was his name again? Omalie, was it?"

Franka tilted her head. Jigsaw? Why did she feel like she heard that name before?

"A friend of mine mentioned that name recently," Franka recalled. "Wasn't Milly looking for him?"

Circuit nodded. "He vanished just before we got warped. Between you and me, I think he kicked the bucket too. We found his rocket launcher and some blood stains under some rubble. Never found the body, though."

"If he had Oripathy, then it's liekly that his remains disintegrated upon death," Liskarm said.

The alien blinked. "Jesus," he swore. "No wonder he wanted to use slave labor down in the mines."

"Mines?"

"Yeah. We've been slapping as many slave collars as we could on anybody and having them work in some mines. The stuff they extracted resembled something from Pre-War books. Some type of volcanic glass."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'Obsidian'."

"Yeah, that. Except that it tended to give off this reddish glow. Some of it was carted down to the bottom level. Probably for the damn Obelisk that teleported us in the first place. Not sure what happened to the rest, though. I imagine it was given to our benefactors."

Both ladies exchanged concerned glances with each other. This was screaming 'Klitschko' to them.

"And who are these benefactors?"

The man shrugged. "Hell if I know," he confessed. "The Big Four were rather tight-lipped about it. All I know is that they were the ones that gave us our hideout in the first place. Laser guns too. Chances are that they also built- or at least discovered- the teleporter that zapped us."

Franka and Liskarm raised their eyebrows. As far as they were aware, Klitschko wasn't an engineer. Both ladies decided to scratch him off their list of suspects. Then again, he's been dead for a while now anyway. Still, there was one more question burning in the back of their minds.

"Do you know anyone by the name of Courier Six?" Liskarm asked.

The man tilted his head before stifling a laugh. "Courier Six'? Who in their fucking mind would call themselves-"

Then he stopped. "Hold up, one of our latest recruits did mention someone with that kinda name."

Franka's ears perked up. "Really? What did he say?"

"All sorts of crazy shit. Supposedly he was just a delivery boy that got shot in the head. Rose from his grave to put his assailant into theirs. And then he overthrew some shadowy overlord and set out to conquer the Mojave Wasteland. A cowboy taking out a whole tribe of raiders is one thing, but driving back two big-ass armies at Hoover Dam? With nothing but his wits? That's some fucking bullshit there. I never believed in those campfire stories about the Vault Dweller and their grandkid. I sure as hell don't take some mailman-turned-monarch as gospel."

Liskarm leaned towards Franka. "Is that everything we need to know?" she whispered into her partner's ear.

"Almost," she whispered back. "Just need to know one more detail."

Franka looked back at their esteemed 'guest'. "Where's your base of operations?" she asked.

The man snorted. "Why? You've got a death wish?" he asked back.

"I'm Infected pal. I'm used to having a staring contest with the Grim Reaper."

The man narrowed his eyes. "And why should I tell you?"

"Uh, because your buddies are toast?"

"You make it sound as if I ever cared about them."

"And what about their buddies? How do you think they'll react when they learn that you're all that's left of this squad? Do you think they'd welcome you back with open arms after this disaster?"

She knelt her face down to his level. "You have nothing left to defend. Why protect their skin when you should be focusing on yours?"

The man snorted again. "What? You're offering me freedom?"

"I'd say a chance for a new beginning. A chance to break away from the old gang and build a new one."

The Raider paused. "... I'll admit that I haven't been the biggest fan of the Iron Devils' policies. Raiding technology and building killer robots? Hell yeah! But working with cloak-and-dagger types? Someone that might backstab you for shits and giggles? Nuh-uh. If you really want to meet the Grim Reaper, they're holed up in Pluto Mines. Just outside of Legion territory in Colorado."

She nodded. "Alrighty then. Now let's get you out of th-"

A bolt embedded itself between his eyes before she could untie him. Franka stifled a startled yelp as the impact threw the corpse (and chair) onto its back. Both Operators spun around with their weapons drawn to see Schwarz at the church entrance. She had her crossbow out, bayonet still attached to its underside. Her head wound had been bandaged up too.

"Schwarz!?" Franka shouted. "Where the hell- when the hell did you get here?"

"Around when he mentioned capturing slaves," the assassin replied. "It sounded like you were making a plea deal with him."

"We were gonna release him into the village's custody! They have the right to pass judgment onto him."

"So do I. He and his fellow Raiders wanted to harm Milady."

"They wanted to harm everyone. Hell, they've already taken the lives of some of the villagers. Shouldn't their buddies and families get a say too?"

"I've already spoken with some of them. Many wished to see him bleed for his crimes."

"But did any of them ask you to carry out judgment on their behalf?" Liskarm asked. "Or were you looking for an excuse to execute him at the earliest opportunity?"

Schwarz didn't answer her.

"Why are you here anyway?" Franka asked. "I thought you were getting patched up by Ceylon and that old lady."

"They just finished," Schwarz said. "Lady Ceylon wanted me to deliver the Courier's portrait to you."

"Portrait? Someone drew him while we were away?"

"Yes. Milady was going to hand you this herself, but after everything that occurred today…"

Schwarz took out a paper from her pouch and handed it to her squad leader. Liskarm moved over to her friend's shoulder and examined the drawing with her. It was black-and-white for the most part, with the eyes colored in a rich- if caustic- green. Franka whistled at the man's face.

"Hel-lo handsome!" she exclaimed.

Schwarz clasped her fingers on the bridge of her nose. "Oh not you too," she moaned.

"What? He's a hunk. Seriously, he'd give Midnight and Executor a run for their money. Then again, he seems to be as much a brooder as you and Broca. You three could use someone to lighten up the mood. Has everyone else seen this?"

"Yes," Schwarz confirmed. "Including Nian, unfortunately."

"Lemme guess, she wants to rope him into one of her b-movies."

"As the lead actor."

"Sheesh!"

LIskarm interrupted their conversation with a coarse "Ahem!". Both ladies turned to see her pointing at the recently deceased with her thumb. Franka let out a nervous giggle.

"Oh, right. Him," she remembered. "We'll uh, bury him or something right now. Liskarm, can you be a dear and grab a light and shovel for me?"

The Vouivre nodded and ran to a room in the back of the abandoned church. Franka looked back at Schwarz.

"And speaking of dead bodies, how're our John Does and Tinmen? Are they ready for their autopsies back at base?"

Schwarz nodded. "Magallan had some spare Arts units to help with preserving the bodies. Hopefully, they'll last long enough for the flight back."

"And the monster?"

"Some of its remains have been set aside for our scientists. Bones, claws, skull."

"Set aside? What-"

Her nose caught a whiff of smoke. She shoved the assassin aside and ran outside. To her surprise, there were several rotisserie spits at the town square. Each one held a piece of the monster, roasting its flesh over bonfires. Liskarm returned with the shovel and a lantern, blinking at the sight before them.

"They're eating it?" the wyvern-lady said in disbelief.

Schwarz nodded. Franka swore she had a slight smirk on her face.

"That creature ate and tore through many of their loved ones," she recalled. "It's only fitting that it became their meal."

"Damn, now that's some fine poetry right there," Franka remarked.

Liskarm handed Franka the shovel and lantern. The Vulpo lit the latter while her partner retrieved the Raider's corpse. Franka's fox ears bent downwards as she clasped her nose shut. She forgot how the dead jettisoned their weight upon expiration. Schwarz motioned for them to follow and she led them to the graveyard.

It was rare to see such a thing outside of nomadic cities. Most people don't bother to leave a gravestone out in the wild. Not if- no, when- a Catastrophe would just bury it under obsidian hellfire. But some go out of their way to carve up some marker or another anyway. Today they had a particular Caster carve some for them.

And speaking of the devil, there she was. She was kneeling at the tombstone of one of her fellow Sarkaz. Not all of the villagers were lucky enough to receive a proper burial like him, though. Many of them were Infected and had all disintegrated in the chaos before they could be buried. The most they got was a small plaque containing their names. One of them was another comrade of Mudrock's.

The Defender was setting his blade atop the monument when the ladies found a spot to bury the last Raider. It was beside Milly's own grave. Franka was rather surprised that the villagers were willing to loan some of their land to the ones that defiled it. According to Eolisie, they did the same for another gang that assaulted their village. When she asked why they buried their aggressors, she responded with the following.

"Someone has to remember the dead," she told the Operators. "To remind us that death doesn't discriminate. Infected, normies, Sarkaz, Ursus, Wastelanders, city folk. We all return to the well of souls one day. Oh everybody resents those bastards for their atrocities, but we mustn't forget. We forget, we grow complacent. We grow complacent, we open ourselves up to more attacks, to more tragedy. Their graves will remind us to steel ourselves."

Mudrock noticed the trio's presence and turned to see them bury Short-Circuit.

"Is he the last one?" she asked.

Franka noted a faint drop of vitriol in her voice. She couldn't blame her.

"Yeah," she replied. "His name was Short-Circuit."

Mudrock nodded, conjuring up another tombstone of clay. With a wave of her hand, an engraving appeared on its face as it hardened into stone. It read;

Short-Circuit. Murderer. Bandit. Defiler. May he burn in whatever hell spawned him.

If only she knew… Franka thought to herself.

Mudrock rose onto her feet and walked over to one of the villager's huts. They and the Operators spent the past few hours rebuilding as much of the settlement as possible. Not just the houses, but also defenses. Guard posts, fences, watchtowers, sandbags. Right now it was late, though. Everybody needed to get some shuteye. It'll be some time before their repair crew arrives.

Franka and Liskarm set up a couple of bedrolls inside the dropship. The pilot had already fallen asleep in his chair, feet propped up on the steering wheel. She could berate him for his posture, but she wasn't Doberman. She'll let it slide. After all, she'd probably do the same thing in his shoes.

Franka yawned and curled up in her blanket. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day. Maybe even a busy week. She could feel it. She only hoped that it would be easier from here on out. With her luck, though, it wasn't.

---

Date: October 6th, 1099

Location: Wilderness beyond the border of the Empire of Ursus

Time: 3 PM

The trio had been on the road for the past couple of days. It was relatively quiet for the most part, peaceful even. No raiders, no animal attacks, not even Ursus Army patrols. Just the hum of the engine and the muses on the airwaves.

Six initially considered venturing off into the desert to scrounge for resources while Lyudmila rested her eyes at one point, but he shot that idea down. He had no intel on the environment of the Ursus wastes and her driving off without him was the last thing he wanted. On the bright side, she did tutor him in the art of driving. She just had to get over all of the heart attacks his recklessness gave her.

Like the previous night, he stood guard while Lyudmila enjoyed some sleep. Six listened to the holotape again, translating the Yanese dialect once more. Occasionally he took a break to provide maintenance for his gear. He also wanted to try his hand at celestial navigation, but then he remembered that this wasn't Earth's sky. He made a mental note to look for books on the planet's constellations and a sextant when he reached civilization.

As soon as the sun rose, the trio was back on the road. Once again Six slept through the road trip while Lyudmila drove. She glanced back at the Courier on occasion. He slept rather soundly, all things considered. Sure he twitched and twisted his head every now and then, but it wasn't like he was having seizures or anything. Occasionally he'd mumble something under his breath, but the helmet muffled anything he said. She couldn't help but wonder what wastelanders dreamed of. Probably something perverted.

Her eyes caught something in the distance. Something green. To her surprise, it was a forest. A collection of willows, viburnum, alders, birches, oaks, and aspens. In a sea of reds, oranges, and yellows. It had been a long time since she had that many trees.

She parked the Boar at the edge of the forest. She put all her focus into her ears as the machine powered down. All four of them could hear birds chirping, branches creaking, leaves rustling, the wind's whispers. She could feel the wind gently brush against her face, smell the oaks and damp soil.

She took a peek inside the trunk. There were plenty of rations in her bag, at least for the next couple of days. Maybe some room for more local produce. She wasn't too concerned about that. What did was how little tinder there was for bonfires.

A glint in the back caught her attention. She shined a flashlight to see a number of tools tucked away. Tools for cutting wood and extracting the sap in trees. She hadn't seen anything like those in years. She looked back at the forest while the gears in her head turned.

She contemplated waking her partner, but she shot that idea down. For one, he and his robot might get the wrong idea and open fire on her. For another, she still didn't fully trust him. He might try to shank her in the woods… or worse.

She shook those thoughts out of her head. She can handle herself. Hell, she had the upper hand when they first met. But he might wake up and decide to drive off with her only ride. She looked at the robot.

"Mind waking your master up for me?" she asked. "I'd rather not get a bullet lodged into my skull."

The robot gave off some positive chirps. It floated over beside the Courier and started blasting out some country music into his earpiece. That jolted him awake.

"Whatshappening!?" He sputtered at rapid speed. "Areweunderattack? Oh. It's just another forest."

"Another? You've been to one before?"

"Yeah, saw my first forest a few days ago. Was impressed until a Yao guai tried to maul me."

"'Yao guai'?"

"What my people call a mutated bear back home. Was surprised to find one without tumors, let alone with fur."

"Infected bears… accidenti! And I thought Manglers were ugly."

"Manglers?"

"Warbeasts raised by the Ursus Armies to serve as their hellhounds. They can rip through armor like Lateran chess."

"So can I. Was there a particular reason you woke me up?" Six asked. "Or were you just feeling mischievous today?"

"We're running low on kindling," Lyudmila revealed. "You wouldn't happen to have a wood ax, would you?"

"I might have something better than that, but it's probably too heavy for you."

"Try me."

Six smirked under his helmet. "ED-E, Knock-Knock and my GRA Chainsaw."

At his command, the eyebot ejected two melee weapons from its subspace storage compartments. One of them was a massive chainsaw, covered in yellow paint and lined with massive teeth. The other was a silver fire ax. To his surprise, she had no issue picking it up. If anything, she seemed to be handling it better than he ever did. Her eyes were saying "I told you so" as Six reclaimed Knock-Knock.

"So how much lumber are we hacking up?" Six asked. "Just a few days' worth?"

"Pretty much. We might be able to sell some of it off if we happen across a village."

"What about herbs and game? Even if we don't need the extra food, we can sell it to someone that does."

"Fine by me, so long as you don't go overboard. Our bags can only carry so much. But first, we need to trade numbers."

She took a small PDA out of her pocket. What was it that Hoover called them? Smartphones? Six fiddled around with his Pipboy until it brought up his contacts. April's name was the first to pop up. He made a mental note to delete it as he added Lyudmila to the list. Getting the device's frequency onto her phone was a bit more difficult, though. Apparently, smartphones didn't operate like handheld radios.

Once the technical issues were dealt with, the trio grabbed the tools from the back and entered the forest. It occurred to Six that the flora here differed from Siracusa's. While the Earth's ecosystems have drastically changed after the Great War, records of the Old World's biomes did survive the initial fallout.

Ancient science books would've referred to Siracusa's biome as 'temperate' with its modest climate. Ursus' countryside by comparison felt colder from where he was standing. He believed that the phrase for this type of ecosystem was 'boreal' or 'taiga'. Some of the trees resembled the ones surrounding Jacobstown, now that he thought about it. Same species, perhaps?

Part of him wondered how many of the Old World biomes remained today He heard tales of lush green wonderlands in the states of Massachusetts and West Virginia. Places that had an abundance of natural resources. Places that he so eagerly wanted to see one day. Perhaps he will once he establishes a stable government for New Vegas.

The group spent another half-hour searching for the perfect tree to cut down. Something chunky enough for firewood, but also thin enough to store in the trunk. Lyudmila had some experience in harvesting the local flora for food and medicine too. Something she picked up from her militia days, he wagered.

Eventually, they came across some healthy white birch trees, perched near a river. Lyudmila took out a drill and ripped through one of them. She quickly cut a plastic tube and inserted it into the fresh opening. Then she placed the other end of it into an empty soda bottle. Six had seen similar tricks used on certain cacti. All that was missing was a fire.

She moved on to another birch tree, drawing out a carving tool. She pointed at the ax strapped on his back and at a cluster of them. Six nodded and went to work on cutting them down while she carved the bark off of hers. They were rather thin, so it didn't take too long for him to rack up a sizable stack of lumber. It was… boring, to be honest.

Six got the itch to explore, to delve deeper into the forest. Part of him wanted to find some excuse- any excuse- to do some wandering. But Lyudmila might decide to drive off without him and ED-E. And even if she didn't, the environment was still alien to him.

He took out April's sketchbook and sat on the lumber. While some of the contents resembled the Mojave's wildlife, it said nothing about the Ursus countryside. The sound of a motor revving up startled him, causing him to jump off of his makeshift seat. It was just Lyudmila with his chainsaw. She had already skinned her trees and was cutting them down now.

He sighed as a hand drifted onto his forehead. An idea cropped up behind it. Maybe she had her world's equivalent to a Wasteland Survival Guide on hand. If not that, then at least some notes.

Six rose from his makeshift seat and walked over to his guide. She heard his approach and shut down the chainsaw as he got closer.

"What now?" she asked.

"You wouldn't happen to have books or notes on surviving out here, do you?"

The girl snorted. "Seriously? I thought you were a wastelander?"

Six cleared his throat and motioned all around him. She quickly realized her mistake. Grumbling, she reached into her backpack and handed a small booklet. It was worn out, but he could make out the title; 'Surviving in the Savage North'. Six gave her a small nod of thanks and went to work on reading it.

While the Courier had his nose in the pages, Lyudmila finished her fair share of lumber. She set out to scavenge the flora for food and other resources while her ally familiarized himself with the guide's contents. As expected, many of the flora and fauna described bore a striking resemblance to his world's own. Part of him entertained the idea of there being some previous contact between realities. An exchange in wildlife and culture, perhaps? Would explain the dialects of Terra.

He shook his head. There was no evidence of such exchanges beyond convenience and coincidence. And frankly, he didn't care about the constants right now. His biggest concerns were finding a way back home and preventing this world from going down in atomic flames like his. He whistled for Lyudmila's attention and returned the book to her. He tipped an imaginary hat at her as a sign of gratitude. She returned the gesture by handing him back his Chainsaw.

Six glanced down at his Pipboy's clock. 3:23 PM. He commanded ED-E to stuff some of the lumber into his quantum storage and watched the logs shrink out of existence. The Courier walked over to the maple bottle to see how the extraction was coming along. So far it was half-full. Lyudmila crotched beside him and inspected the bottle as well. She was lugging a couple of pouches of herbs and berries.

Six handed his lumbering tools back to ED-E, trading them for one of the crossbows he salvaged back in Chernobog. He gave it a brief examination. It somewhat resembled the automatic variants he saw in Da Vinci and Kazdel, but it didn't appear to be compatible with any barrel-mods. There were also fewer mechanical components than the previous models he wielded.

[Strength 8] He tried to load a bolt onto it, but the draw strength was greater than he anticipated. It took considerably more effort, but he managed to pull the string back. Lyudmila watched on with a small 'hmm'.

"What?" Six asked.

"You honestly had trouble pulling that sting back?" she said.

"Yeah?" Six said. "So what?"

"Just that most snipers I know had no issue with drawing the string."

"Maybe it's because those fellows are from races with higher levels of Strength."

"Or maybe it's because you're messing with a recurvive crossbow?"

"A what?"

"You know, a simple crossbow. No cams to assist with adjusting the string like a compound bow. You never used a bow and arrow before?"

Six shook his head. "You?"

"On a few occasions. Ranged combat isn't my cup of tea, though. Going back on your comment about strength, how the hell did you lug that minigun around?"

Six shrugged. "[Strong Back] I'm used to hauling stuff across the wastes. Guess I got more calcium in my back than my arms."

"And where did you find that thing, huh?"

"Same as the others; some derelict facility."

"Right, right… and your robot?"

"My old workplace. A co-worker apparently found him all banged up and brought him to our shop. I patched him up and he's been with me since then."

"Old workplace?"

"Yeah. I was a courier before I got a couple of bullets lodged into my skull."

"Wait, bullets? You got shot with two bullets in the head?"

"Yep. Someone wanted a certain package I was carrying and was willing to kill me for it. A local saw what happened and dug me out of my early grave. Brought me to their doctor and I was nursed back to full health. When I got out of bed, I went to work on tracking down my package and the assailant. It was… one hell of an adventure to say the least."

Lyudmila looked at him with furrowed brows. "You're lying," she said. "I've seen plenty of people die from headshots during my militia days. For someone to shrug off two of them is fignya. How the fuck could you of all people survive that?"

Six shrugged again. "[Endurance 9] I'm just too stubborn to die, I guess. But I certainly didn't get out of there unscathed. I lost my memories, my face, and my identity in that ambush. I tried digging around for answers, but apparently, I was a secretive and paranoid type. Hell, my employer even kept a list of all the aliases I used for my deliveries. For all I know, I never had a 'real' name. The only reason he recognized me was apparently because of my eyes."

Lyudmila's expression hadn't changed. "Prove it," she said.

"Excuse me?"

"You have the scars from your near-death experience, yes? Why not show them?'

Six just stared at her. Take off his helmet? Was she asking him to get shot in the head again?

Your HUD hasn't picked up additional IFF markers. Part of him reminded himself. It's perfectly safe right now.

What if she tries to stab me in the eye? A more cynical side retorted.

She doesn't have a reason to. He reminded himself.

You act as if someone needs one. Just look at the Raider gangs back home.

But she isn't one, is she? And ED-E will zap her if she gets any funny ideas.

Oh yes. The same robot that got sent flying through a window a few days ago. You can always count on a metallic volleyball to watch your back. Have you forgotten how she can phase through solid matter? How she's quicker than both of you combined?

If she absolutely wanted to, she would've done so long ago.

…fair point.

Six took a deep breath. He grasped his helmet by the sides and slowly removed it. Lyudmila blinked, mouth dropping behind her face mask. She took a step back as Six brushed away his hair and showed off his scars.

"There," he said in an irritated tone. "Happy now?"

It took her a moment to muster up the courage to respond. She walked up to him and stood on her tiptoes, tracing her hand across his scars. She could feel the subtle dents in his skullcap. Six seemed to lock up as she did this, holding his breath. A minute passed before he shook it off and grabbed her wrist. He gently removed her hand from his forehead, prompting her to give him some breathing space.

"So…" she said. "You really were…"

"Shot in the head? Yes."

Six swiftly placed his helmet back on. "And I'd rather not go through it ever again," he snarled.

Lyudmila shook her head and furrowed her brows, "So how come you're not Infected then?" she noted.

"If I am, it's probably on an internal level," Six lied. "It's a miracle that I even survived both shots."

Lyudmila didn't seem to buy it. Before she could interrogate him any further, ED-E interrupted their conversation with an alarming beep.

"What's wrong, buddy?" Six asked.

The eyebot sped off. Six cursed under his breath and chased after the little robot. The fleshlings chased the metal eyeball to a fresh pile of lumber up north. The robot chirped at them as it pointed its laser cannon at a fresh set of footprints on the ground. Human footprints.

Instinctively both meat bags drew their weapons. The trio followed the trail to a clearing in the forest. There, at the heart of the glade, was a lone figure. He was wearing a lightweight chest plate over his camouflage jumpsuit, with a gasmask dangling on his neck. He was sitting before a bonfire, munching down on a granola bar. There was an old-looking motorcycle behind him. What did those pre-war ads call them? 'Dirt bikes'?

Six's motion tracker had the stranger marked as an orange rectangle. He didn't strike Six as a bandit, to be honest. Last he checked, they usually traveled in groups. The man looked up from the flames and noticed the three strangers approaching them. He stuffed his face with the remaining bar and rose onto his feet.

The man swallowed hard as he held his hands up. He said something in Ursine, but the Courier didn't understand a damn word.

"Do you speak Victorian?" Six asked.

The man titled his head, speaking in more of that dialect.

Lyudmila placed a hand on the Courier's shoulder. "Allow me," she said.

She walked over to the stranger and began conversing with him in their native tongue. It didn't take long for them to become acquainted if his grin was any indication. After some more banter, Lyudmila sat her backpack down and procured a map. There were several locations marked on it, but it was all in the Ursus language. Six really wished he could read their dialect right about now.

The two talked with each other some more before he knelt down before the bonfire. Six tensed up, readying himself for a potential sneak attack. Instead, the man merely smothered the flames with a few scoops of dirt, extinguishing them. Lyudmila turned to the Courier as the stranger got onto his bike and drove off.

"He's a prospector from a village I visited a few years ago," she explained. "Apparently it's still around."

"Still around? As in 'not buried under magic ore'?"

"Originium," she corrected him.

"Whatever. I didn't see you mark anything on your map. I assume that you already know the way there?"

"Yep. Let's grab our produce and head back to the car. I wanna get to the place before sundown."

Lyudmila grabbed her syrup and placed a cap on the bottle as they walked back to the Boar. After loading the trunk with their spoils, they rode off down the road. Six kept an eye out for anything signifying civilization. Another road, a clearing in the woods, windmills, radio towers, anything man-made. Just as the sun began to dip out of existence, they picked up a signal.

Six's Pipboy and the Boar's internal compass pinpointed the station's origin. The trio followed it to a settlement just outside of Ursus's border. It was ancient, rundown, and covered in vines, rust, and rotting wood. The buildings themselves were either tents, log cabins, mud houses, or cobbled together from scrap metal. Overall, not all that different from the Wastes of his world.

Lyudmila circled around and pulled up into an underground garage. Six raised an eyebrow as he surveyed the area. If he didn't know better, it resembled a bunker.

Lyudmila seemed to sense what was going on inside his head. "Before you ask; yes, this is a bunker," she revealed.

"Ursus was at war?" Six asked.

"When isn't it?" Lyudmila retorted. "Think this used to belong to some ancient kingdom centuries back. Nobody really remembers the name of it, though."

Six wasn't all that surprised. They were at the doorsteps of this world's equivalent of the Soviet Union after all. Lyudmila hopped out of her seat and grabbed a bag of Metal Crab meat from the trunk. The trio then walked back to the surface and towards the heart of town.

The first thing that caught his eye was the bonfire at the center. Well, if you can call the bottom half of a burn barrel stuffed with firewood one that is. There were several figures in camo jumpsuits, just like the stranger. Some of them had plating crafted from scrap metal, others pieces resembling combat armor from his homeworld. Some just had pieces of leather strapped over their suits. They all screamed 'scavenger' to the Courier.

He also couldn't help but notice their racial traits. Many of them had antlers, Yao Guai ears, and Bighorner horns. But what surprised him were the ones with reptilian tails. Actually, scratch that, they resembled fish tails. The horns also didn't resemble those of their fellow scavs. And their language… Was that Chinese?

And there were a couple with strange ears and tails. The latter brought a certain hairstyle to mind in his head. 'Ponytail', was it? It wasn't very popular back in the Wasteland. So were they part horse or something?

One of the Bighorner "prospectors" noticed Six and froze up. His comrades turned to face him and expressed similar reactions. A stagman was about to reach for something when his eyes fell upon Lyudmila. Six noticed a flash of recognition in his eyes.

"Lyudmila?" he said."Eto ty?"

The girl nodded. Some of the scavs raised their arms and cheered at this revelation. There was a fair bit of banter bouncing between both parties. A mutant pointed at the Courier now and seemed to be asking her something. She replied with the silhouette of a smirk behind her mask.

Then she brought up a word he understood; Lungemn. One of the pony-scavs spat out some tea and babbled out something at a rapid-fire pace. That reaction perked Six's intrigue. That same prospector got up and whispered something into Lyudmila's ear, glancing at him. She shoved him off and said something in a dismissive manner. Another scav walked over to Six.

"You speak Victorian, da?" he asked.

"I might," Six replied.

"Did you really meet her in Chernobog?"

Six shrugged. "Was out scavenging when we met. Killed some graverobbers too."

The man laughed. "Then you know how wild she can be."

One of the stagfolk whispered something to a pony-mutant, pointing at the meatbags in a suggestive tone. Lyudmila must've overhead them because she snapped at them in Ursus. The rad-stag held their hands up defensively and gave her a cheeky smile as he (presumably) apologized. She rolled her eyes and motioned for Six and ED-E to follow.

ED-E briefly stopped beside one of the prospectors and emitted some beeps at them. The only reaction it got from them was tilting their head in confusion. The robot sped back to its master as the humans entered a two-storied brick building. There were a number of signs outside, including in English. That one, in particular, read 'The Black Death'.

The place was just a run-down tavern. There were old posters hanging on the walls, showing men in fur coats and ushanka. Scattered around was the same bird-shaped emblem as he saw in Chernobog. He couldn't help but notice the disdain in the girl's eyes as they fell upon one of them. Hopefully, she can keep her blade sheathed while they were so close to the Empire.

She sat the bag of salted meat on the counter and called over the bartender. They bantered for a moment before the owner handed it to one of their workers. He happily paid the heroes for the fresh meat while his employee put it in cold storage. Lyudmila counted the money and (presumably) thanked him. There was another exchange between the two, but for some reason, he shook his head. Twice. Lyudmila sighed as he tossed a key to her.

"All of the single-guest rooms are taken," she said. "We're stuck with one of the larger rooms."

Six let out a disappointed grunt as he and ED-E followed her up some steps. The room they were taking was #5. Opening it revealed a rather spacious bedroom. A window was at the end of the room, with a bed and nightstand flanking each of its sides. A shelf hung above each cot, holding some reading material for the weary traveler. Against one wall was a table and a couple of chairs. The other one had a wardrobe and a screen for changing clothes.

And tucked away in one corner was a small tub with its own screen. Actually, scratch that, the 'tub' was just a metal barrel with some type of heater placed underneath. He'd seen similar makeshift tubs back in the Mojave Wasteland, but those were usually outside. Considering the environment, though, he shouldn't be surprised to see one indoors.

The humans chose their beds and took a seat, setting their backpacks on the floor. Mila yawned as she stretched her arms out. Six meanwhile was examining each of the books that sat above his bed. To his disappointment, most of it was in Ursus. And the only thing that was in English was what appeared to be a kid's nursery rhyme.

"You got anything in Victorian on your bookshelf?" Six asked.

Lyudmila glanced at the shelf before throwing a book into his gasmask. The woman smirked as the mysterious stranger removed it from his faceplate, grumbling. The cover said 'maintaining your bows'. This should be worth a read.

Lyudmila grabbed her pajamas from her backpack and went behind a screen.

"No peeking, Izvrashchenets," she ordered.

Six made a short 'tsk'. "Already got a good look at you," he mumbled under his breath.

The girl stepped out of cover as soon as those words tumbled out of his lips. Her attire wasn't all that special in the grand scheme of things. Just a white tank top with gray shorts. But it did expose her Oripathic growths, though. Well, maybe 'growths' was not the right word to describe crystalline shards materializing over her skin.

Lyudmila cast a glare at the Courier. "What?" Six asked.

"Aren't you going to change?" she asked.

"Nope," Six asked. "Don't have any pajamas."

"You mean to tell me that that armor is the only attire you've got?" she asked.

"Technically no, but I'm used to sleeping in it."

"How?"

"Experience and usage," Six replied with a shrug.

"What about bathing?"

"Had a shower just before I sprung out of Siracusa. Also helps that the gas mask filters out odors."

"But you've probably built up sweat and grime underneath."

"I could say the same about you. And I don't see a source of clean water nearby either."

"Some inns have Casters that can draw upon sources for us and deposit water into tubs. Hell, some even have spa rooms in these parts. Or there might be a body of water nearby. Most towns try to build themselves near those."

"If you're suggesting that I go skinny dipping into a river while we're in a village full of potential hostiles, then the answer is no."

"I thought you said that you liked roughing it."

"I usually make sure that no enemies are within the vicinity."

"Isn't your robot alone enough security?"

ED-E emitted some confident beeps. Six sighed.

"Is this going somewhere?" he asked in an irritated tone. "Or are you just eager to see my spear?"

Lyudmila snorted. "As if I want to bed with a hooligan like you," she replied. "No, I just want you to be presentable to a potential benefactor."

"Benefactor?"

"Da. This man helped me slip into Lungmen once. I'm willing to bet he can help you too."

"With what?"

"Scoping out security for one thing. What, you think the chief executive is gonna welcome every stowaway with open arms?"

Six resisted the urge to facepalm. That was the first step of any heist and he had forgotten it.

In our defense, we were too busy juggling politics and monitoring mad science. Justified a certain organ. It's only natural that we've gotten rusty with the art of stealth.

No shit pinkie. Six mentally retorted. "And just what kind of security can I expect? Robots, turrets?"

Lyudmila shifted slightly. "A… more human touch," she said. "Though I'd hesitate to call them human."

She stretched her arms out and rolled up under her blanket. "The old man's usually an early fowlbeast," she explained. "So the best time to see him would be before noon. Sleep, stay up, bathe, don't bathe. Do whatever you want. But if you want to get into the city, you need to be up around sunrise. Got it?"

Six nodded. Lyudmila rolled over and drifted off into sleep. Six on the other hand wasn't in the mood and stayed up for a little while longer. After waiting and confirming that his partner was indeed counting sheep, he took out the Holotape and notepad, inserting the former back into his Pipboy. After confirming that a link had been established between it and his helmet, he went to work.

After a couple of hours of comparing notes, he finally got a rough translation of the dialogue between the satellite's thieves.

~"Who the hell are these metal men?" shouted a foreign voice." Are they from Columbia!?"~

~"No. Just a group of hoarders in Power Armor," retorted a raider (if the American accent were any indication). "Let's cook them!"~

~The sounds that came through were the same as before. Hell hounds snapping their jaws, chimes whistling as someone chanted under their breath. Tamed lightning crackled through the air as streams of fire roared. After fighting his way through this world, he could easily pick up the sounds of Arts as they were cast.~

So some Casters have already made their way to Earth. Six realized. Things just keep getting better and better.

He fast-forwarded to the end of the battle.

~There was some laughter and rejoicing. "Thank goodness you are here!" said the same raider. "If you don't come, we're screwed!"~

~"You're welcome. How are things with Jigsaw?"~

~"Not good. His ore disease is consuming his body day by day. I thought those medicines you brought should help him."~

~"They are. But they could only numb his pain, not cure it. Also, your land lacks the elements needed to produce his medicine anyway. We have to teleport over to give it to him! You should thank our mutual benefactor who still finds him useful."~

~"Hmpt. Yeah, 'useful'. So what about the white coats from the East?"~

~"Very good. Between their thirst for knowledge and their despair, our alliance with them is going well. But the Ebony Demons still have some reservations about them and their synthetics. They believe more in cold steel than flesh."~

~"So do we. So how's business in the Frozen North?~"

~"Ursus? Quite well. Our "recruiters'' have wormed their way into the indentured servants market and made good profit. It's also the best place to find labor for our projects. But we hit a snag."~

~"Stumbling block?"~

~"Yes. Our Great Lungmen cell has recently fallen behind on its import quotas. We think the Rat King is attacking them. We may need to speed up our grand opening in Lungmen Underworld."~

~"Friends?" a third voice chimed in. " We have a tight schedule, remember? Let's get this junk out of here before its owner arrives."~

~"Agreed."~

~Then the teleport sounded off again. And that's where the recording ended.~

Six's free-hand balled up. Slavers. If there's one thing he despised, it's slavers. Bad enough that the Wasteland had groups of those, but to learn that they plague this world too… His blood boiled. He had already worn a Slave Collar at least once in his life.

Never again.

The information he dug up was intriguing, to say the least. The tape mentioned someone by the name of 'the Rat King.' A local in the city perhaps? They certainly sounded like an enemy of this little cabal. But that doesn't necessarily make him an ally either. For all he knew, he could be a rival of theirs. Still, he seemed to be the only lead on those thieves.

But what did he mean by 'synthetics'? Clones, or perhaps Super Mutants? Either scenario didn't bode well for Terra.

A yawn escaped from Six's lips. He softly cursed under his breath as he stretched his limbs and lay down. He'll ponder over the implications after the meeting.

"ED-E, guard mode."

The robot chirped in acknowledgment as the Courier set an alarm on his Pipboy. Six rolled over onto his side and allowed his fleshy curtains to close themselves. Today's act was over. Tomorrow, they will rise to set the stage for another one.

---

Date: October 2nd, 1099

Location: Ascheufer

Time: 11:00 AM

Memory. What exactly defines memory? At its basic level, it's just data stored inside fleshy processors. Images, knowledge, history. Some would also say instinct and personality also count as memory. What happens when it begins to degrade, though? What happens when you have nothing but instinct? What exactly are you then? An animal? No, even animals process more than instinct.

And sadly Feral Ghouls don't know the answer either. Many of the sane ones often worry about losing their minds, devolving into raving beasts. But Ferals aren't mindless beasts. Some of them still possess the cunning to conduct ambushes, and Glowing ones retain enough brainpower to channel the Rads inside of them when the situation calls for it. Beyond those shreds of intelligence, though, all they know is aggression. Violence. No rhyme or reason behind any of their actions.

A pack of them had been wandering this set of ruins for the past few days. Their memory was all shot as hell, but they still hold some semblance of awareness of their surroundings. One minute they were walking across a prairie, the next they fell into some underground reservoir or lake. They faintly recall a battle with smoothskins, bullets and red lights flying at them. And now they're in some urban ruins. Well, maybe 'urban' wasn't the best way to describe the ruins. There was civilization, but nothing as grand as old America. Not that they'd notice of course.

The thing they did notice was the sound of something popping like a fleshy balloon. They all turned to see the head of one Feral burst into bone and gore. The rest of its kin howled and hissed. They knew this phenomenon too well. Someone had just opened fire on them.

They scattered, seeking out whoever was shooting at them. No point in taking cover if you don't even know where the enemy is firing from. A bullet tore off the arm of another Ghoul, but it was able to trace the trajectory to its source. There, poking out of some rubble, was the barrel of a rifle. The Ghoul looked in the sniper's direction and howled before its head was blown to pieces.

The remaining Ferals closed in the screecher's position, hellbent on swarming their assailant. The sniper blasted off the legs of some Ghouls at the frontline, creating a road hazard for the rest of the pack. Many of them tripped and stumbled over their comrades, forcing others to split off and circle around them. A grenade landed at the severed feet of the blockade, sending many of the withered husks to Kingdom Come.

Those with an iota of self-preservation scrambled to cover. They were in for a couple of surprises when they entered some neighboring ruins. One of them was a redhead wielding a thermite blade. The other was a hulking white giant with a sledgehammer.

The Operators sprung their trap. Franka hacked and slashed at the monsters while Mudrock pulverized them. A Glowing One fell back some distance, preparing a blast of radiation when someone tackled it to the ground. It was their sniper, a Feline in a heavily armored hazmat suit. And she had her pistol in its mouth. Just a couple pulls of the trigger and it ate some lead.

Unfortunately, it managed to release the rads before it kicked the bucket. Some of the ghouls were stitched back together by the gamma eaves, some even resurrected. Their second wind was thankfully rather brief. A Reaver was hiding among the rubble, watching as the Operators cut down its kin yet again. It tore off a lump of its rotten flesh and tossed it at the enemy. It exploded into boney shrapnel and radioactive blood, forcing the Operators into cover.

The monster charged at the redhead, expecting her to go down in one swing. Instead, she actually caught its claw and twisted the creature around. With a heave, she ripped it right off of the shoulder. The beast stumbled around as its essence leaked out of the fresh wound. The titan jumped into the fray, breaking its legs with its hammer. Its skull went flying off on the next strike.

Only one Feral Ghoul remained, and it was just as bloodthirsty as its fallen kin. But the Operators weren't going to grant it the cold embrace of death. At least not yet. The bleach-white titan grabbed the monster by the neck and dragged it outside. Despite its efforts, it couldn't claw through the entity's suit. And what happened next it couldn't comprehend.

The earth seemingly came to life and wrapped itself around the Ghoul. Its body was cocooned in soil and sediment, which quickly hardened into solid stone. The only thing it hadn't covered was its deformed face. Its captor threw it and its prison over their shoulder, carrying them to a pickup truck.

And sitting inside the bed was a stretcher. Its captor dispelled the earthly restraints and strapped it to the stretcher. It howled and hissed as it struggled to break free, but the entity with a gasmask muzzled it.

Jessica took the wheel while Franka and Mudrock sat their posteriors on the passenger seats. A turn of the key sealed the creature's fate as the truck sped off toward Müllstad. Franka held up a hand, hovering it next to Jessica.

"High five!"

Jessica cast a brief glance back at her superior.

"..uh, that's an order?" Franka said with a sheepish grin.

Jessica compiled that time, albeit with her eyes still glued to the road. Franka turned to share another high-five with Mudrock. The Sarkaz, however, had her gaze on their latest catch. Without the helmet obscuring her face, it was easy to see the somber look on it.

"Those creatures…" she said. "Is it true that they were all human once?"

Franka shrugged. "That's what Maggy and Short-Circuit said,'' she replied. "Won't know for certain until Kal'tsit runs some tests."

Mudrock's fingers twitched slightly at the mention of the bandit. She turned to Franka with a scowl on her face.

"And you believe him?" she asked.

"I believe Maggy. She said she talked with a Ghoul that still retained his marbles."

"And yet he threw in his lot with marauders?" Mudrock hissed.

"If you ask me, that validates Maggy's claims. Being chased outta town, becoming sterile. All the while worrying about losing your humanity. Sounds like they have something in common with us Infected. Honestly, I kinda pity the poor wrinkles."

Mudrock wanted to argue with the Vulpo, but she bit her tongue. As much as she hated to say it, she was right. Many Infected- including herself- found themselves in Reunion after society threw them to the wolves. She frowned. The 'Ghoul' she could probably pity, but the rest of his crew…

What could drive them to do something like this? Why raid a village struggling to make ends meet in the wastes? Hell, why not form an alliance with them instead? They'd get food and shelter in exchange for protection. A pragmatic solution. But instead, they decided to slaughter as many people as they could. What kind of monster would do that?

Her fists balled up. She lost most of her brothers-in-arms at Wolumonde and on the journey to Kazdel's borders. And now she's lost even more of them. It made her furious. At the killers, at whatever gods allowed said atrocities to transpire. At herself for not being strong enough to protect them all.

Something fell onto her shoulder, drawing her back to reality. It was Franka's hand.

"You okay?" she asked.

Mudrock shook her head. "No, I am not," she confessed. "I just lost several of my friends. Friends that I fought and bled alongside. Friends that have kin back on the Ark. What am I supposed to tell them when we return to base?"

"The truth," Franka replied. "That they fought to protect everyone. That you and the survivors wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for them."

Mudrock crossed her arms. "And that's supposed to make us feel better?" She asked.

"It all depends on how you want to remember them."

Mudrock paused. She turned her gaze to the window beside her, ignoring the gagged ghoul thrashing in its restraints. She kept staring at the wastelands of Kazdel until they returned to the village. To everyone's surprise, there were some new arrivals.

Three young men were roaming Müllstad. One of them was a towering Feline with jet-black hair. Another was a Lupo with silver hair. The last was a Vulpo with orange-red hair. The first two were helping with the reconstruction efforts while the latter was repairing the dropship. Franka recognized those three.

Jessica was the first one out, pulling the Ghoul's stretcher from the trunk bed. Franka and Mudrock hopped out next, the former walking over to her fellow Vulpo. He was chatting away with Castle-3 when he heard her approach. The young man grinned at the sight of the ladies and waved at them.

"Yo Franka!" he shouted. "You called for a handyman?"

"Rangers did," Franka said. "He's busy catching some Z's right now. How'd you get here so quickly, though?"

"By car, duh!" Chiave replied, pointing at a jeep parked on the outskirts.

Franka tilted her head and placed her hands on her hips. "Seriously?" she said in a slightly teasing tone. "That old hunk of junk got you from angel country to Kazdel?"

"Well, the Ark did close some distance before we took off."

"Close distance? Amiya's got the base moving?"

"Yeah. She set a course for Lungmen after your team left. Something about attending a meeting with a couple of important folks. It was at full tilt when we drove outta the hanger."

"Did she say why?"

Chiave shrugged. "Something about catching a Messenger, I think. Liskarm said y'all were digging around for clues too. Even showed me this sketch of the guy."

He cracked his knuckles together. "Can't wait to duke it out with him when we catch up."

"Did Lisky also warn you about his gun collection?" Franka cautioned. "Or that he might have a twitchy trigger finger? Amiya would rather try to reason with him than trade blows."

Chiave frowned in disappointment, grumbling under his breath. He looked like he was about to say something when he spun around. He did a double-take and stumbled back when he saw Jessica carting a certain creature into the dropship.

"Che cazzo è quella cosa!?" he swore.

Franka rubbed the back of her head sheepishly. "Some critter we caught prowling about in some ruins," she tried to handwave. "Kal'tsit wants to run some tests on it."

Chiave shuddered at the mention of the doctor. "Sheesh! I heard that this place had a monster problem, but the walking dead…?"

"I'd hesitate to call it undead," Mudrock said. "And frankly those poor souls weren't the worst thing to pop up."

"Worse? What can be worse than-" Chiave stopped himself. "Oh," he realized, his shoulders slumping slightly.

"You know?"

"Only seen its skull and a claw."

Mudrock didn't respond. Instead, she just closed her eyes and balled up a fist. That made Chaive a bit concerned.

"Why don't you go see Broca or Aosta?" Franka suggested. "They probably could use a hand or two."

Mudrock nodded. "I think I will," she said.

The Sarkaz walked towards the center of the village. Franka turned her attention to Castle-3.

"How long before we can take off?" she asked the robot.

"By my calculations, at least two more hours," Castle-3 reported.

Franka looked back at Chiave. "Who else is here besides your crew?" she asked.

"Myrrh and Saria came here with us," Chiave revealed.

Franka blinked. "Saria?" she said. "What's she of all people doing out here?"

"Checking up on Maggy," Chiave shrugs. "You know how she is with her crew. She asked me to send you her way when you got back. They're both at that farmhouse patching up the locals."

Franka bit her lip. That can't be the only reason she's here.

"In that case, I'll pay our good doctors a visit. You do you."

Chiave gave her a playful salute as she walked up to the farm. The apothecary tended to Sesa while the researcher worked on Magallan. Both of them had their legs in casts.

"It's just a black eye," the Liberi assured her Vouivre friend. "No real damage to my depth perception."

"But what about your skull? Or your brain for that matter!" Saria chided as she handed the Liberi an ice bag. "You took a direct hit from that suit's servos. And there's also the possibility of lead poisoning in your leg. When you get back to base, you're getting an X-Ray and lead testing. Understand?"

Maggy just smiled as she held the bag against her face. "Whatever you say, ma'am," she said.

Saria sighed and turned to face another patient when she heard someone clear their throat. She looked to see Franka.

"Ms. Franka," Saria greeted.

Franka curtsied. "Ms. Saria," she said. "I hear you've been looking for me. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I think you know," Saria replied in a terse tone. "I've read the report."

Franka sighed. "How much did it say?" she asked.

"Enough to concern the science teams. Especially those closest to Team Rainbow."

Franka rubbed the back of her head with a nervous giggle. "Guess there's no point in beating around the bush, huh?" she said. "Why don't we discuss this in private?"

Saria motioned Myrrh over. "Can you and Ceylon handle yourselves while I speak with Franka?" she asked them.

Myrrh nodded. With that question out of the way, she followed the Vulpo back to the church. Franka turned back to the researcher after she closed the doors.

"How much do you know about Rainbow?" she asked.

"Enough to keep them out of the spotlight," she said. "And I was part of the team that studied their weapons."

"Then you understand the gravity of this situation."

"From what Rangers' report says, it's worse than the Orignium Dust incident. So tell me; what makes this Courier so special? Why is it so urgent that we find them?"

Franka sighed as she plopped down on the edge of a worn-out pew. "As Lisa puts it, It's a complicated mess," she said. "Hell, he is a complicated mess from what I've been hearing."

---

Date: October 7th, 1099

Location: Village of Grinkhorn, just outside the southern Border of Ursus

Time: 6 AM

Six's eyes groggily fluttered open as his alarm went off. He rolled over to face ED-E as the eyebot greeted him in binary.

"Morning buddy," Six said. "Mata Hari awake yet?"

ED-E emitted some negative beeps. Six smiled under his helmet as took out his travel guide. After giving its Ursus section a quick read, he grabbed a cauldron near the barrel-tub and walked downstairs. He noticed other scavs doing the same thing, so he decided to follow them. Sure enough, there was a line in front of a water pump.

Some of the locals had been staring at him while he was waiting his turn. He ignored them. After filling up his kettle, he dashed back to his room and filled its drum up. Grabbing some soap and heating the barrel up, he threw his Elite Riot Gear onto his bed. He took in a deep breath as he slipped in.

It's been a while since he had a hot bath. Even longer in drums like these. Sure it was nowhere near as luxurious as the Lucky 38, but it felt familiar to him. It reminded him of the Wasteland. Of home. It was almost enough to make him forget about recent events.

Almost. He still needed to find a way home. He still needed to ensure Vegas' safety (and competence). He allowed his body to soak in the H2O for a few minutes before he started scrubbing. Three minutes later, he had already dried off and redressed himself. All he had to do was dump the water out.

He dragged the barrel across the floor and towards the window. He dumped the bath water out onto the ground below. Someone yelped as it came splashing down. Six peeped his head out and saw a scav directly below him. He was soaking wet and waving his fist around, shouting at the outsider. Six sheepishly rubbed the back of his head and issued an apology in English.

Six closed the window and cast a quick glance at Lyudmila. She was sound asleep. How she slept through the man screeching at the top of his lungs was beyond him. Maybe she was just worn out from the journey? He glanced down at his PIP-boy. It was quarter after six.

He plopped down onto his bed and gave his travel guide a good read. Trying to decode Chinese was one thing, but Slavic tongues were another beast entirely. After spending what felt like an eternity learning basic Ursus phrases, he grabbed his backpack. ED-E gave him an inquisitive beep.

"Just exploring the town for a bit," Six assured his friend. "Maybe some shopping on the side too. Lemme see your internal storage for a minute."

ED-E complied and opened up its quantum storage (an upgrade Six procured from Big MT). Six chose some melee weapons and bows, sheathing them onto his belt and back.

"Stay here while I'm gone, okay? Rather not draw any attention with your unique silhouette."

ED-E issued some negative-sounding tones.

"Hey, this isn't gonna be a repeat of Da Vinci. As long as we stay within range of each other's radios, we'll be fine. If anything happens, give me a boop, okay?"

ED-E gave an acknowledging beep as its master waved him goodbye. The Courier walked out of the inn and into the village. Yesterday's bonfire had been extinguished, but there were still some scavs sitting around it. Most of them were Ursus folk, with the occasional Liberi and Feline. Six recognized some of them from yesterday. A member of the birdfolk was playing the guitar when Six approached them.

"[Speech 50] Prostite, a gde univermag?" he asked in Ursus.

One of the scavs pointed at a concrete building with a large sign. One with a bunch of different languages on display. The English portion read "Kovalenko's Goods". Six nodded with a short 'Spasibo' and ventured off into the store. There was some fresh produce, some swords and bows on display, arrows and bolts in the back. There was even a bookshelf containing various literature.

The Perro merchant- Kovalenko, he presumed- flashed a smile at the Courier as he entered his shop. He issued a greeting in Ursus, but Six wasn't entirely confident in his Russian just yet.

"Do you speak Victorian?" Six asked.

The man had an intrigued glint in his eye. "Victorian?" he said. "Now that is language I haven't heard in a while. What brings you to these parts?"

"Just traveling with a friend. Could use some local knowledge, though."

"What kind?"

"Survival guides, mainly. And maybe a Victorian-to-Ursus dictionary as well. And some ammo for a weapon I just dug up."

Six placed Scout's Rifle onto the counter. The dog-eared man whistled at the sight.

"Vot eto da…" the older man muttered. "And this is indeed a rare sight. Where did you find this beauty?"

"In the ruins of Chernobog."

The man jumped, sputtering in disbelief. "Ch-chu-chah-chernobog!?" he said. "That place is cursed!"

"Cursed?"

Kovalenko stared at him in disbelief. "You don't know? Reunion infiltrated Chernobog and sabotaged its guidance systems. Drove it right through a Catastrophe! And before the ashes settled, their Sarkaz warlock unleashed his dark arts against the survivors. Now the city's haunted by spirits and the walking dead."

Six tilted his head. "Reunion?" He asked.

The merchant's eye twitched a bit. "You know, that radical group of Infected!"

Six shook his head. "I'm from out West," he explained. "I wouldn't know anything about some union."

Something about that name did ring a bell, though. Croissant might've mentioned it when they first met.

Kovalenko had this forlorn look on his face. "…I see. Suppose Westerners have other concerns these days. But why were you in that ghost town?"

"I was looking for shelter from a Catastrophe. The ruins were the closest place for me at the time, so I took a calculated risk," Six lied. "Ran into some trigger-happy mercs scavenging the place. Got that gun off of a sniper."

The man brought the rifle up to his face. "Airgun, huh?" he said. "Guess Arts is not your forte. And I assume 'Scout' is poor sod that attacked you."

Six shrugged. "Or the merc got the drop on them first. Never found a dog tag on the bastard."

Kovalenko removed the rifle's clip and dumped out its contents. "Bolts," he observed. "Pretty easy to forge at workbench. Lots of different insertion points for magazines too. Probably for darts and ball bearings. Hmm, 6x scope and sniper stock. Clearly not made with close encounters in mind."

The middle-aged dogman returned the rifle to him. "Rifles like those are highly customizable," he said. "I got all sorts of magazines and mods if you fancy yourself a tinkerer."

Six sat his goods on the table. "And I've got some wares that you might like," Six said.

The parties commenced their exchange. The Courier paid 200 LMD for several BB rounds and bundles of bolts. Kovalenko handed him 350 LMD for a blade, ax, and a couple of crossbows. He kept a spare bow for modification and handed it to the older man.

"Strength isn't my forte either," he confessed. "Could use some cams to compensate for my noodle arms. Maybe a magazine for rapid firing, too."

The man smiled. "I think I have better idea," he said.

The weaponsmith removed the strings and replaced them with a pneumatic system. A heavy stock was added to stabilize the weapon, while some simple reflex sights and a green laser were added for accuracy. The icing on the cake was the magazine, holding up to eight shots. The end result was this world's closest equivalent to a Tommygun. A jury-rigged, semi-automatic version of Wolf's Bane.

The modifications cost the Courier over 600 LMD, but it was worth it in his book. And speaking of books, he decided to purchase some on the side. Some texts on the Ursus territories, maintenance for bows. He also bought some extra filters for his gas mask. The offworlder tipped an imaginary hat at Kovalenko as he bid him farewell.

He passed by a blond-haired local on the way out. One of those mutants with the Equus tail and ears. She was dressed in a white long coat and had some armor-plating strapped onto her limbs. He didn't get a good look at her weapon, but it appeared to be some type of polearm.

She stuck out among the crowd, more so than him. She didn't strike him as a scavenger, not with how flashy her attire was. It all screamed 'regal' to him. Why would someone like her come to somewhere as rustic as this?

Six then noticed a large tent at a corner of the village. There was a strange symbol crudely painted by the entrance. The best way to describe it was as a six-pointed star inside of a rectangle. Curious, Six walked over and peeped inside.

This was a medical center. Beds hidden behind screens, doctors' bags lying around, cabinets standing behind a rickety old desk. Makeshift surgery trays and tables were all over the place. Hell, there were even body bags and a cart of severed limbs. It brought back memories of Forlorn Hope. Most of the souls under the tarp were either scavs or medics, but two women stood out among them.

The first was a statuesque woman in black-and-white robes. A tattered jet-black cloak covered her fair skin, hazel eyes gleaming underneath. She had bone-white horns protruding from her hood while platinum hair flowed down her shoulders. But what puzzled him was her sword. It appeared to be two-handed, yet she held it in its scabbard like a staff. She couldn't just strap the damn thing onto her back?

The other girl was dressed primarily in white and was lither. Not as well-endowed as her colleague, but she still carried a sense of grace. While her friend had jagged horns, hers were ebony and curled forward. The staff in her hands had a lantern dangling from its tip. One that housed a glowing crystal inside. It didn't look like Originium to the Courier.

Both of them had this atmosphere of mystery surrounding them. The one in black intrigued him the most. She might be a poker face, but he could sense experience behind her eyes. He also couldn't help but find her to be rather alluring. If circumstances were different, he'd consider asking her out.

The white one, on the other hand, was rather eerie. Little Miss Bo Peep was staring at him with a blank expression on her face. He could tell that her friend was putting effort into maintaining her stoic facade, but her… those icy blue eyes seemed rather dull, devoid of life. What the hell was she? An android?

One by one everyone still awake or conscious started to take notice of him. Some of the scavs were whispering amongst themselves, passing glances at the outsider. Six scowled as he mentally facepalmed. He should've gotten a disguise from Kovalenko when he had the chance. Ah well, he can do that later.

Six cleared his throat. "This the medical center?" Six asked.

A Feline in a bloodied t-shirt mustered up the courage to approach the Courier. "Da," he confirmed in English. "I take it you're new around here?"

"You could say that. Just trying to get a good layout of the place. Maybe do some odd jobs on the side."

The doctor was still apprehensive. "Well, dat's good to know. Keep your nose clean and you'll be fine."

Six gave the man a curt nod. "You have any medical supplies for sale?" he asked.

"Just these old medkits. And by 'medkits', I mean 'cases of morphine'."

"What about gauzes or stitches?"

"Running through them like toilet paper patching these debily up."

"Oi!" jeered a scav. "At least we're smart enough to come running here for treatment. Give us a little credit, mate."

The medic sighed as he clasped his gloved fingers against his temples. "Only other item we have in abundance is alcohol. Homebrewed."

"Tastes like crap, but where else can anyone get a cheap vodka?"

Some prospectors joined in the laughter.

"Well I guess some painkiller is better than nothing," Six said. "How much?"

"500 LMD."

"Oof, kinda steep."

"Regrettably. Empire's economy has seen better days."

Six forked over the money and was given a small orange box. Inside were a bunch of needles and a pamphlet. It was a dead ringer for the Soviet medkits of his world. The Courier gave the man a curt nod and pocketed the goods before he departed.

He cast a glance back at the horned duo. That blonde girl was still eyeballing him as he walked out.

Lyudmila was already up and dressed by the time he got back to their room. "Enjoyed your breakfast?" she asked.

Six was about to say something, but his stomach beat him to the punchline. Lyudmila snickered.

"Don't worry," she teased. "I bought a bottle of vodka while you were away. Wanna split?"

"Has it been opened yet?"

"What, afraid that I slipped something in it?"

"Yes," Six said in a deadpan tone.

She made a short 'tsk' sound and pointed at the table. Sure enough, there was a bottle of vodka sitting on it. Six gave the cap a quick tug. It hadn't been opened yet.

"Assuming that it stays like that by the time I get back, sure," he said.

Lyudmila crossed her arms. "Are you always this paranoid?" she asked.

"When you live in the wasteland for as long as I have, you learn to sleep with one eye open. ED-E, stay here."

Lyudmila rolled her eyes and grumbled under her breath as the Courier left the room. A minute passed and he returned with a plate and glass. The only food on the former was a couple of scrambled eggs. Six took out a bar blade from his pocket and popped the bottle cap off. He poured the liquor into their glasses before taking a seat. He gently removed his helmet and set it beside his plate. He gave his meal a quick scan with PIP-Boy before he dug in. Vodka wasn't that different from his world's, judging from the stats. No signs of poisoning either.

It didn't take long for him to gobble up his eggs and vodka. Part of him wanted to spit the liquor back out but he fought the urge. He had tasted far worse back home. After sipping the last drop of his drink he checked the time. 7:01 AM.

"Ready to see your fixer?" Six asked.

Lyudmila nodded and finished her beer, motioning for the dynamic duo to follow her. They walked back downstairs to the bar. The bartender greeted her in Ursine and the two conversed with each other for a bit. Then he pointed her towards the back of the establishment.

An Ursus bouncer was standing beside a door, with a multilingual sign like the one outside. One of the lines read 'Manager's Office. They walked over to the man and Lyudmila cleared her throat.

"YA mogu vam pomoch'?" asked the brute in an annoyed tone.

"Mne nuzhno uvidet' malen'kuyu ptichku," she replied.

The man snorted. "A kakaya u ptichki lyubimaya pesnya, a?"

"Panikhida po Terra."

The man paused, then gave three knocks on the door. A metal bar slid open to reveal a pair of gray eyes.

"What is it, Morozov?" the stranger asked in an English accent. "Can't you see tha-"

He stopped in his tracks when he noticed Lyudmila.

"You?" he said in disbelief.

Lyudmila waved at the stranger sheepishly. "Hiya Chayka," she said.

"What do you want now?" the older man snarled. "I've already had my fill of revolutionaries in this life. And I'm not taking payments from any mo-"

He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed the Courier. "Who the hell is this?"

"Just an Ex-Courier," Six claimed.

"This one needs help getting into Lungmen," Lyudmila explained. "Preferably without drawing the attention of the Shadows."

Six tilted his head. Shadows? He thought to himself.

Chayka narrowed his eyes. "And why should I?" he asked. "You barely got out of there alive, if I recall correctly. You paid me to cover your trail and now you want to dig it back up? To lead the Shadows back to me? No thank you."

"We're only asking you to sniff around for a new entryway. We've already got the gear needed for the job."

"But not the training? And you still haven't told me the 'why' of it all yet."

"That's for him to tell us."

Six swallowed. He knew this was coming sooner or later. Hopefully this time he can come up with a better cover story.

"Well?" he asked in a chafe tone. "What's so damn important about this, huh?"

"Something was taken from me," Six said. "Something dangerous."

"How dangerous?"

Six walked right into the door and locked his eyes with the fixer's.

"[Barter 30] I'd rather not say out here," he whispered. "Not without risking a bounty on both of our heads. Why don't we discuss this someplace privately? Somewhere away from prying eyes. If you're as paranoid as I am, you can bring your buddy too."

Chayka paused for a moment before closing the shutter. The door opened to reveal a middle-aged Liberi. He was stout, balding, short, and rather crabby.

"Alright, I'll hear you out," he said. "But only because I'm bored to tears. Come on in. I just cooked some fowlbeast."

---

Date: October 2nd, 1099

Location: Rhodes Island

Time: 4:00 PM

The flight back to Rhodes Island had been rather uneventful. While it gave everyone onboard to rest and lick their wounds, it didn't really raise their spirits much. They were all still reeling from the clusterfuck in Kazdel.

Nian was vomiting into a barf bag while Maggy held an ice bag against their skulls. Projekt Red was complaining about headaches (no doubt a side effect of that Radaway stuff). Schwarz has been on edge since the Deathclaw incident, refusing to leave Ceylon's side. Sesa had his leg in a cast, grumbling under his breath while he played some games on his handheld console. And poor Mudrock was still mourning her fallen comrades.

Franka, Jessica, Myrrh, and the Chiave Gang stayed behind at Müllstad to help the locals rebuild. Franka wanted to see about getting an outpost set up near the Courier's LZ, but she couldn't leave the village just yet. Not until some proper security was set up around the zone. Liskarm volunteered to report back to Rhodes Island in her stead. In the meantime, she lent her knowledge of biohazards to the villagers. If anything radioactive reared its ugly head again, at least they'd be prepared for it.

Saria was sitting directly opposite Liskarm's seat, keeping an eye on Maggy and the feral Ghoul. It'd still make a fuss on occasion, but a glare from the Guardian always shushed it. Liskarm was a bit surprised by this, but not by much. If anyone could intimidate those monsters, it was Saria.

The ride back to base had been shorter than she anticipated. When the ship landed and she stepped out onto the hangar, she felt a current crashing into her body. She cast a side glance to see the land rolling by Rhodes Island. Chiave wasn't kidding when he said the base was at full tilt.

Rangers was handling the Ghoul's gurney while some Medics were getting Sesa and Magallan into wheelchairs. The Liberi protested of course, but Saria wasn't having it. Schwarz likewise was escorting Ceylon, despite her assurances. Red sped past everyone towards the nearest restroom, knocking over some Guards. Those fellows were here to cart away all of the evidence the away team dug up. Sesa rolled away with the alien weapons while Ceylon and Saria followed the body bags to the laboratories.

Gavial was pushing Nian towards the medical bay. "A little early for you, ain't it?" she remarked. "Or do you just miss us?"

"Zip it," Nian groaned.

Gavial snickered as she rolled away with the shard of divinity. Liskarm, meanwhile, made her way to the Doktah's office. There, sorting out papers on his desk, was the face of Rhodes Island. She smiled as the Vouivre entered.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Liskarm. How was your flight?"

"Uneventful," she said. "Though I suppose it was a much-needed reprieve. I have an audio tape regarding our interrogation with one of the Iron Devils."

"You mean the raiders?"

"Well, the last of them to be precise. He… expired from his injuries."

Amiya's brows furrowed. "Ms. Liskarm," she said attentively. "This is a delicate situation. There's no need to mince words. Please, explain."

Liskarm sighed. "Schwarz walked into the interrogation at some point and eavesdropped on us. She executed him just as we were finished."

"... I see. Did they say anything that might've provoked her?"

Liskarm crossed her arms. "She did mention hearing about the gang's usage of slave labor. She tried to justify her actions as avenging the fallen villagers on their loved ones' behalf, but I never bought it."

Amiya nodded in agreement. " She certainly has a punitive streak. I suppose that I shouldn't be surprised either, given her background. I assume that she's with Ms. Ceylon?"

Liskarm nodded back. "Have you heard from Team Rainbow yet?"

Amiya shook her head. "No. I was about to arrange a search party for them when you arrived. I know you're probably exhausted from recent events, but…"

Liskarm smiled. "Don't worry," she said. "I got some before we flew back. I'll be happy to retrieve them for you."

Amiya smiled back. "I'll leave the marshaling to you then. Be ready to mobilize in thirty minutes."

Liskarm nodded, then procured a file from her backpack. "Before I forget, here. This is a portrait of Courier Six. One of the locals at Müllstad drew this up for us during our investigation."

Amiya briefly inspected the drawing before setting it aside. "Thank you, Ms. Liskarm. And good luck to you."

"Likewise."

Liskarm briefly bowed her head before departing. As soon as the door was shut, Amiya pulled out a folder from a drawer. Inside were screenshots of security footage from Pete's subhouse. Penguin Logistics was able to salvage recordings in the aftermath of the mafia's assault. Each image was that of the Courier and his robot at some angle or another.

The one she was focusing on was taken just the day after he arrived onto Terra. He was walking down to the shower in a hooded bathrobe. That was the only recorded instance of him ever exposing his face, but the angle and resolution of the image smudged it somewhat. The drawing Liskarm handed her was the best visual representation of him they have.

She turned her attention to another picture on the disk. One in a small frame. It was a photo of her and the Doctor out in the savannahs of Rim Billiton. The Doktah doesn't remember that day of course, but she did. He taught her much during her stay on Rhodes Island. She owed so much to him.

And right now she needs him. Rhodes Island needs him. She placed the sketch in the folder and swapped it out with another one. This was a list of all operators available. She leaned towards the speakerphone and pressed a button. The person she was about to call was probably exhausted, but this was urgent.

"Mr. Rangers, please report to the Doctor's office. Repeat, Please report to the Doctor's office."

She fell back into her mentor's chair and took a deep breath. The butterflies in her stomach relaxed some, but they refused to settle down. Not until she knew for certain that the Doctor was safe.

---

Back in the future at Grinkhorn…

The team was sitting in Chayka's office, enjoying some fried fowlbeast. Well, the natives were at least. Six personally found it to be too greasy for his personal liking. The old Salisbury Steak dinners back home didn't have this much fat.

Six had played the Chinese- erm, Yanese- portion of the holotape for the locals. To say they were incredulous was putting it mildly. Already they were firing question after question at him. Some he was hesitant to answer, and some he just couldn't.

"Teleport? Your thieves are teleporting!?" Lyudmila asked.

"Certainly seems that way," Six replied.

"And you have a teleporter yourself?" Chayka asked.

"Found it in the ruins of a drive-in theater years ago. I had security set up, but they managed to trash it apparently. By the time I received an alarm and rushed over there, it was too late."

"And it was destroyed when you tried to retrieve it?"

"Yep. And I got flung all the way to Kazdel for my efforts."

"How many people knew about it?"

"Not many. And that's what worries me."

"But the device was destroyed, right? They can't transport themselves across the world."

"They probably had a chance to study it, though. They may have been looking to build their own teleporters. And if they've succeeded, well… we can kiss the very concept of security goodbye."

Lyudmila crossed her arms. "Why didn't you tell me about this?" she asked.

"You mean aside from the fact that we just met?" Six retorted. "Or that y'all are looking at me like I'm fucking crazy? Or how we're right next door to a couple of empires in a dick-measuring contest?"

Chayka had a contemplative look on his face as he made an audible 'hmm'.

"That tape mentioned a 'grand opening' in Great Lungmen. Any idea what it could mean?"

Six shrugged. "Sounded like they wanted to showcase something."

"Like what? I'm already having a hard time believing your whole 'teleporter' story. I doubt that your thieves would want to share such technology with others. But they did mention something about synthetics. What could they mean by that?"

"Artificial organs, maybe? Or perhaps augmentations."

"What? They're using slaves as guinea pigs for super-soldier experiments?"

Six's trigger finger twitched at the mention of the word 'slave'. Lyudmila and Chayka noticed this.

"Looks like you've got a bone to pick too," the man noted.

"You could say that," Six said.

"Then why not just get a passport and hire a private detective in the city? I can forge an ID for you."

"Two reasons. One; the authorities might try to confiscate my collection of weapons. I've survived out in the wasteland thanks to most of them. I'm not about to part ways with my guns anytime soon."

Or allow the locals to reverse-engineer them.

"And the other reason?"

"Because I doubt that they'll keep their hands to themselves. If they found out about the teleporter, they might try to build their own. Maybe even capture and interrogate me. They're still part of Yan, after all."

The man's eyes furrowed. "Alright, you've made some fair points," he conceded. "But I'm not just going to smuggle any stranger into the largest economic center on Terra. Even if half the stuff you say is true, I don't entirely trust you either. I made the mistake of helping gung-ho types in the past. Never again. You want my help, you'll have to earn it."

Six sighed. He should've known this was coming. "And do I do that?"

"Simple; Community service. I've got some bounties on the board outside. Headhunting, recon, resource collection, artifact retrieval. That sort of thing. When you have completed them, see Nadia at 'Cupid's Arrow'. It's the building with the neon pink sign. Can't miss it."

"And how much would I need to earn your trust?"

"Oh, let's say five. Maybe more depending on how you handle some missions. Our medics are also a little understaffed at the moment, so that's another avenue. Prove to me that you're at least competent, and maybe I can find someone that can clear a path for you. Deal?"

Six initially wanted to say 'no'. Time was of the essence after all. But then he remembered that this little conspiracy wasn't just isolated to Great Lungmen. Even if that particular cell escaped from his wrath, he can at least track the slavers up north. He almost grinned at the prospect of putting those fuckers to the sword.

He shook the Liberi's hand. "Deal," he said.

---

A/N:

I'm back…! *Coughcough* Sorry about the long wait. But I had some personal things going on. Dog's health deteriorated further after the last post. He… kicked the bucket not long before I posted this chapter. So I haven't exactly been in a good mood for a while. And even before that, I was starting to feel a bit fatigued working on this. I had to take a break, get some breathers. Tried to find someone to do some proofreading for me too, but couldn't find any volunteers at the Discord I frequented.

Alright, enough doom and gloom. Let's get some stuff out of the way. First and foremost, I merged the prologue back together. Sorry about the confusion that caused.

I also wanted to take a break from all the action that's been going on. Take things slow and let everyone plan their next steps while they lick their wounds.

So first up. The Followers. They're a group that I wanted to add to this story for a long time. And if not them, then some other wanderer like Whisperain. Sadly this chapter was already bloated as is, so any real interaction between parties has been pushed back. Same goes for any medical drama. Ah well, better late than never, I suppose. Not much to say about Rhodes Island at this point. Just some cleanup and an infodump on the Wasteland.

And now the current pitstop for Six and friends. It's basically an homage to the Rookie Village from S.T.A.L.K.E.R. I honestly didn't learn of the series until I saw the trailer for S.T.A.L.K.E.R. 2 during Xbox's livestream (and a certain fan video). I found the whole concept behind it to be fascinating. It kinda reminded me of Metro and the SCP Mythos. Speaking of the former, there's an easter egg or two from the former series in here. I lifted a certain weapon from Exodus because I thought it'd fit in this X-Over (and give Six another local weapon to fall back on).

So next chapter… Bounty-hunting and questing here, interacting with the Followers there. Probably some Integrated Strategies too. Not too sure if it'll be set during Crimson Solitaire given the timeline, but I imagine that the Crimson Troupe has set up multiple safe houses at the very least. And who doesn't love haunted mansions anyway?

As for Rhodes Island… maybe a meeting or two with some influential people and a couple of search parties. Tone in next time for chapter 12: Apostles of Another Apocalypse! …for real this time. Hopefully…

PS: That tidbit about fermenting Metal Crab meat was inspired by

Hákarl. It's an Icelandic dish that uses cured Greenland shark meat. Apparently it's usually toxic due to high levels of ammonia. I figured that if certain metals like lithium were toxic to humans, then perhaps the same logic could be applied to Metal Crab shells. As for how I came across Hákarl. I think I was looking up Surströmming (A food Magallan features in her skin) when I found a YouTube video on Hákarl.

UPDATE: Bad news. Caught C19 shortly after posting this chapter. Was already vaccinated and boosted thankfully, but it still hit me like a freight train. Already having a coughing fit and my brain doesn't feel like it's fully optimized. So it's probably gonna take longer to write up the next one. Son of a fucking bitch. I do have some good news, though. I decided to port this story to Archive of Our Own while I'm recovering. I was gonna wait until Six reached Lungmen to do that, but seeing as how I'm taking a little break... why the hell not? Still figuring out how it works, though. So many fucking tags!