The bullhead squealed away into the air and the Courier just let out a disgruntled huff. His helmet was off, and he held it to the side leaning against his left hip. Disregarding the petulant woman and her flying mobile, Jericho stopped and looked around. It was trees as far as the eye could see, red's and grays were the only color besides the pretty blue sky just above them.

A deep breath revealed an assault from all the things Jericho had never smelled quite like this. Damp wood, musty leaf's, flowers and bushes. It was all so new to the young man he didn't exactly know what to do other than gaze around in wonder.

There were animals making noises, returning to their regular routines after the bullhead flew away. The chirping of so many different birds, the sound of bugs like bee's and flies and none of them were coming to kill him. It was just so peaceful. He was stood still for so long that one of those aforementioned honey bees flew right up to him, bumping into his jacket buzzing happily in search of flowers.

These were all things he had never experienced, only read about or heard in bars with surly explorers who were too deep in their cups. In the Mojave everything would try and kill you. Bugs beasts or bastards it really didn't matter what it was, if you heard a noise it was probably something that wanted to eat your still living corpse.

But not here, right now it was just wondrous.

After a few minutes of simply basking, Jericho collected himself and began taking stock of his situation. He had been provided with a basic survival guide by Salem, who commanded Cinder to give it to him. Along with that was just a simple bag with a few miscellaneous items; she knew he didn't need much. So, he didn't need to begin experimenting with the different plants to figure out what they did. That didn't stop him from collecting however.

Like a little girl unknowingly lost in a garden, the gruff and stoic, badass and indomitable, conqueror of the wastes and killer of ghosts himself, went around picking flowers. And moss, and grass, anything really. Of the few items he was given, a large amount of disposable plastic bags were among them. So for each distinct flower, berry or leaf or anything of the sort he found, he put in those bags like some demented and heavily armed botanist.

He hummed happily to himself as he moved along, humming the tune to 'In the Shadow of the Valley' as he casually wandered in the general direction Cinder had pointed out. Momentarily forgetting his woe's while simply enjoying this new life.

It was unbroken peace for hours, nothing accosted him and no one approached him. His duster kept him warm and kept the sun off of his shoulders. Something in the back of his mind was telling him that he was making this perhaps one day jaunt into a two day walk, but he really didn't care. His first experience with anything resembling this place was Zion and the moment he walked into that canyon he and most of his companions were shot. Then he had to fight a war. Not exactly enough time to smell the roses so that was exactly what he was going to do right now while he had the chance.

'Was this the kind of world America was before the war? Damn them!' Jericho thought, punching right through his good mood. How dare the people of the old world destroy not only themselves but everything with them. He had never really considered the question of why the world was the way that it was, even as he wandered through the Divide and its scenic broken highway's. He was always to busy not getting eaten by a Deathclaw.

But seeing all this beauty really put everything into perspective. His life and lives of so many others could have been more than just surviving the damn desert, and those people almost two hundred years before, had to go and fuck it all up.

He had to go fuck it all up.

With a growl he pushed thoughts of the Mojave and the world left behind to the side. He had lost track of time, finding, collecting and marking down each of the bits of flora he could match up to the survival guide and the sun was beginning to set. The sky was cast in a warm orange glow, and Jericho was only just now noticing he was almost at the top of a hill. The light through the tree's warped that warm glow into a haunting crimson, and the horizon that revealed itself to the young man as he crested the large hill was awe inspiring.

He could possibly spend another hour or two wandering around the forest, make a bit more headway on towards Vale, but he paid that niggling thought no never mind as he began setting up camp on the top of that big hill.

He was content just leaning against a tree watching the sunset turn into night, searing that image into his brain and marking the location he was currently at on his handy dandy little scroll. He might have to come back here.

Before the light was entirely gone however, Jericho set about building up a campfire and clearing a little place to sleep. The stars were out now and it felt like he could see the whole universe from here. The moon was a sad sort of gorgeous. To the Courier it represented his failure, and just how alien everything here was, but it still had its beauty and he could appreciate it nonetheless. He was just dozing off next to the toasty fire when his sleepy eyes caught a glimpse of it.

Vale, way in the distance he could see it. Not because of the moon's glow, but because of the enormity of the city and all of its lights. It was like Vegas all over again. And overlooking it all was an enormous tower on a cliff, seemingly a Beacon to all around. The tower was grandiose marble and white stone, surrounded by similar in aesthetic buildings and ringed in a strange sort of aqueduct. All of it could be seen from the tall hill Jericho sat on, enraptured in wonder at the sheer majesty of mankind.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Jericho couldn't sleep, time ticked away in the back of his mind like an incessant clock, the constant knowledge that he needed rest doing nothing to provide any respite. The sky was unfamiliar, the constellations were all wrong and the moon was broken! He couldn't bring his thoughts away from it, making him feel like an alien in his own skin, an outsider, a stranger in a strange land.

The fire was still burning hot, bathing the top of the hill in a warm orange glow, just deeper than the sunset. Jericho whipped his hand to his belt, snapping upright and drawing That Gun and pointing it in the direction of Vale.

He could just see it, a figure in the dark, just on the outside of the campfire. He couldn't make it out, his tired eyes not helping in the slightest as he squinted at it. His breathing picked up as the figure began to creep into the firelight. When the figure was fully visible Jericho found he couldn't breathe much at all.

Robert Edwin House stood in front of him, young, suit clad and smarmy. The ghost took out a cigarette from a packet he pulled from the inside of his immaculate suit jacket and lit it with a gold plated flip lighter he drew from his right pocket. "Jericho." He said politely, in that perfect upperclassman's voice. He took a drag from the cigarette and moved a little closer, taking a seat on a nearby rock, leaving him looking down at the still unbreathing Courier.

Finally shaking off his stupor, Jericho shot him.

It didn't do much. Oh, the Courier would have hit him, no doubt about that. It just seemed he wasn't there.

The sound of a gunshot rang out across the night, causing a flock of crows to go fluttering, but The House just looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"I think you got me the first time." He drawled sardonically, taking another drag on his cigarette.

Jericho, shaking and scared, almost dropped his pistol.

The House continued on, not even blinking at the Couriers state. "No gods, no masters." He said, brown eyes boring into the poor Courier. "That's what you said when you shot me the first time. And it's what you said when you shot Caesar, and it's also what you said when you let Kimball get shot."

"No gods, no masters." Another drag from the cigarette as Jericho slumped back down into his little nest.

"If there is one thing I can't abide, its hypocrite's. You at least, I could respect because you were consistent, but now? Well… I'm not so sure." He looked around a moment. "Do you remember what I said to you? We don't have to dream that we are important, we simply are? You would take orders from that witch woman just because of a little bit of kindness and some fluttering of the eyes?" He continued, eyes never straying from the downcast mailman.

"The Wasteland Wanderer, Courier Six, killer of the son of Mars, breaker of the Bull, crippler of the Bear. The fucking Mailman." He said mockingly. "You conquered the Mojave, saved Zion, destroyed the nuclear stockpile in the Divide, and forced the brains of Big MT. into submission and did all the things I could not. And now look at you. It almost makes me regret taking you on as my agent… well, more than I did when you shot me." House stated matter of factly though not without a hint of bitterness.

"Centuries of work you ended for that stupid little phrase and then you just left it all behind for what? A lead on the Rose?" He scoffed. "Helpless infatuation with that woman aside, it seems to me that all you did was replace all those people who were your supposed 'master' with yourself. Your anarchic democracy seemed more like despotic monarchy to me, but of course it just had to be you running the show didn't it?" House said, finally letting his tone drawl into anger.

Jericho was looking down in shame, defeated.

"And now you what? Meet the new man on the silver mountain and just go right back to playing the good little tool and doing what you were asked. No gods no masters Ha! What a load a' shit." House laughed bitterly, as if he genuinely expected more from the out of his depth nineteen year old.

"You spent hard years of your life trying to escape those infuriating 'masters' and all you do is go crawling right back to the first one to give you a meager bit of purpose. That is not the man I know! Not the agent I crafted, and most certainly not my successor! You aren't some reedy little boy anymore Jericho, you can't just wander from place to place aimlessly in search of purpose. You're supposed to be a man!" House said, now shouting into the wind.

"It's not like that!" Jericho shouted back.

"No?! Prove it boy, you might still think you are the goddamn wildcard but right now you are nothing more than a Joker now get this through your thick skull. You. Are. Courier. Six! Not some woman's whipping boy, not some lunatic's punching bag, not some petulant trout's tool, NO GODS, NO MASTERS!"

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Jericho woke up with a start, screaming out into the cool morning air, reaching desperately for his pistols as he dodged the wild swing of a sneaking wolf Grimm. Three bullets carefully placed around its armor put it down forever, and left the young man sweaty and shaken.

He scrambled wildly over the dull embers that were the only remains of the fire from the previous night, before finally stopping. He waited a few moments while the Grimm dissolved, before letting out a heavy breath and placing the top of the gun against his forehead.

He got up, screamed angrily and kicked a rock down the hill in impotent rage. Who was House to judge him? The ancient, shriveled man never had to experience the trials of the wasteland, never had to fight for a bottle of water or defend himself from packs of Deathclaws. It was easy for him to look down on the wasteland as he sat safe in his vault, surrounded by concrete and steel, and guarded by hundreds of Securitrons.

House turned him, someone who should have died in a shallow grave into one of the greatest legends of the wasteland. And a mass murderer. One can't come without the other, but Jericho had an affliction. He had an almost perfect memory. He could remember every single swing or every single bullet that killed someone by his hand. He could recall in perfect detail the mangled corpses that were left in his wake, and all the other horrors of the wasteland.

He was foolish to question ol' No-Bark, No-Bark was the sanest one of them all.

No Gods, No Masters. Greed was the only reason for it. Greed and anger. He walked through the wasteland on the Legions orders and got to see it in all its ugliness. Saw the NCR and its general failure as a working state. And saw the Mojave under the control of House. He would have done better than all of them. None of them knew the wasteland like he did. Not even Ulysses.

The Mojave was his by right, he claimed it, defended it, and solved its problems so what if he killed his competitors to get there? House was a ruthless capitalist, someone would have to lose if he ruled as he wanted. The NCR would drain the Mojave for all its resources and forget about its people. And the Legion would have nailed everyone to a cross. Jericho was the only one who cared.

His companions stood by his side, Boone was surprising enough considering his upbringing and wasn't that a terrifying story to tell to the former 1st recon sniper. He put the man in charge of regional defense of the Mojave, a position he excelled in once he was given free rein to do it.

He had Cass given back her caravan and gave her exclusive trading rights to many valuable goods that flowed through Vegas, and with help from Raul she actually made a pretty good go of it before she disappeared.

He let Lily go back to the mountain, her mental state was deteriorating more and he didn't want to watch it, as cruel as that may have sounded.

And with Arcade, Veronica, the Brotherhood and surprisingly the Enclave remnants, they managed to begin production of computer parts and even some robots. Before Jericho left they were working on producing more Securitrons.

He was doing well, people were living and things were slowly turning around for the Mojave under his leadership, so what by right did House judge him?

Jericho finished his internal rant and lament, sitting down and taking some deep breaths. With a final sigh he pushed the dream out of his mind and set about packing up his meagre campsite. He had places to be and he had spent enough time dilly dallying around the forest.

The walk was actually quite brisk now that the Courier had some angry energy to burn. The Forever Fall Forest began to bleed away into more normal green leafed trees. It was still a beautiful sight to see, but Jericho didn't stop to smell the roses this time around. He encountered a few minor Grimm, who were according to his handy little guidebook, attracted to negative emotions. Apparently his anger qualified for attractive in the demon's eyes.

They died like everyone else who crossed the Courier's path until finally at around midday he was at the great gates to Vale. A group of armored folks milled around a barricade just outside the open gates. Now that he was closer he was beginning to wander amongst a steadily increasing throng of foot traffic. Whether they be travelling by vehicle, animal, carriage or the good old fashioned walking. It was reminiscent of home.

He waited patiently, honestly having nowhere else to be other than in the city until it was finally his turn to talk to the border guards.

The woman he approached looked him up and down with an interested look on her tired face. She took stock of his guns and then his armor. He approached her with his helmet on, so she couldn't see his face.

"Are you a huntsman, stranger?" She asked politely.

Jericho was a little confused until he recalled the mention of huntsmen from his little bit of time in Salem's library. "No, Courier." Was all he said.

The woman looked him up and down again before she gave a quick, amused huff. But she didn't question it. "Alright Courier, what's your business in Vale? Delivering something?"

"Yeah." Jericho said intelligently. He wasn't lying, he was delivering himself as instructed.

Again, the woman smirked bemusedly. "Alright then, keep those guns holstered and your hands to yourself and we won't have any problems. If you have any questions ask over there." She finished, pointing to a small complex of information kiosks and actual people.

Jericho was a little surprised the questioning wasn't more in depth than that, but he didn't question his good luck. Maybe they were a bit busy and just wanted him out of the way.

Jericho didn't have any questions, but it was a good idea to get all the information he could before wandering into an unknown place. So he walked over to a kiosk and collected some pamphlets. Most of them were advertisements for shops, but he did find an actual physical map which he immediately pocketed.

With that finished, he finally entered the gates and was struck dumb by the metropolitan magnificence of the City.

He didn't really know what he expected out of Vale, he assume it would just be a bigger Vegas with bigger problems. But he was wrong, Vegas was big, at least for the wasteland. Flagstaff was very big, even compared to pre-war towns. Shady Sands was a city born anew, but none had the size, activity, or sheer presence this city bombarded you with.

Each of those cities still felt like the wasteland, you always had to watch your back. Vale, you could clearly tell when the dangers of the outside stopped and the casual life of the people in the city began. It was another mind boggling experience.

Jericho wasn't really sure he needed any more earth shattering revelations about just how bad the wasteland was at the moment, so he began focusing on things he could change or get a handle on right now.

He needed money, which was just a basic fact. Salem hadn't provided him with anything other than the bare essentials for travelling, so he needed to find some odd jobs he could do. He was a Courier by trade after all, and with all the skills he had picked up here and there, he had plenty of marketable abilities people would kill for.

Then he needed to find someplace to sleep; for now a back alley would do fine, he had roughed it in Freeside before, but soon he would need something a little more substantial. Then, he needed to find Cinder, because apparently he now answered to her. That thought burned in the pit of his stomach more than he thought it would, again the image of house shouting his own mantra at him flashed before his eyes.

He continued to ramble in his mind for a bit as he wandered and browsed the nearest shops. Distracting himself with the many oddities and items while surveying the people around him. None of them looked like they had been outside the walls before, they were like the Shady Sands upper class, but it was all of them. They were carefree, living their lives as best they could but with all the advantages your average waster never got. It made him angry, sad and regretful all at the same time. Why couldn't he have had this life instead of the one he got?

It just wasn't fair.

Before he could continue spirally down a train of useless thought, someone seemed to think they could pull a fast one on him. A quick bump would have left anyone else stumbling, but Jericho wasn't exactly a small or unskilled man. He felt a hand darting into his duster, most likely looking for coin, but it ended up wrapping around the handle for Big Boomer just as he wrapped his own hand around the arm.

The girl it was attached to was both mighty surprised, and mighty scared. Jericho sighed, sad that even here in what he had deemed the perfect city, there was still cutpurses. He held on tight to the girl so she wouldn't get away as he looked her over. She was obviously malnourished, gaunt, and pale even against her chocolate skin and her hair was mint. She seemed to have weapons of her own, which her other hand was scrambling towards.

"Don't." He growled, squeezing her wrist. She stopped and winced at the pressure before she looked up at him pleadingly.

Jericho sighed but didn't take his hand off of her arm, though he did loosen the pressure. She seemed to have one of them Aura's Salem had talked about, the amount of pressure he put on her could have broken her hand, but there didn't seem to be any residual discomfort.

He was stuck, he didn't know what to do about this. No harm was done but these were matters of respect more than they were about the money. "What's your name?" He grumbled unhappily.

"E-Emerald." She stuttered, not enjoying looking at his mask.

"Are you hungry Emerald?" Jericho asked. He didn't have money, but he had some supplies. The Courier might have been quite literally heartless but he wasn't emotionless, he recognized what was going on here. The girl seemed to think she needed to steal to survive, he had seen in plenty of times. At least she was doing it in a relatively harmless way, he had seen plenty of folks who were a lot less friendly.

The girl nodded frantically, though when she realized she was nodding she immediately stopped. She didn't want to reveal anything to a stranger, that got you killed on the streets.

Jericho just nodded and said "I'm going to let you go now, you can run off if you like. However, I have extra supplies I won't need to carry, and I'm willing to share. It's your choice." And with that, he calmly let go of her arm.

Emerald took two steps back and rubbed her sore wrist. She seemed like she wanted to run, but both her curiosity and her stomach got the better of her.

Jericho took that as her answer, so he reached up to his helmet and took it off. While the desert ranger armor was a symbol worthy of respect in the wasteland, here it was just an impersonal mask. He had enough experience with skittish thieves, diplomats and soldiers to have built up a bit of charisma so he shot her a disarming smirk and said "My names Jericho." Before he gestured her to follow him. He spotted a park a little bit away that would be a good place to eat.

After a bit of hesitation, the mint chocolate themed woman followed behind.

The park was large, tree's dotted the broad rolling green landscape of hills and clean cut grass. Folks played or visited happily amongst themselves, safe within the walls. There were fire-pits scattered about, picnic benches adjacent to them. Jericho set off for one of these places in particular, and while he may have wanted a fire just for the warmth and ambiance it provided, he didn't have anything to burn. So he took a seat on the bench and began rifling through his gear, producing some leftover trail rations, a can of beans, and a few other miscellaneous foods. It was by no means a high class meal, but it was better than nothing at all.

Such was a sentiment the younger girl obviously agreed with, considering she didn't complain one iota about what was being presented to her.

Jericho simply gestured for her to take what she wanted, which finally got her sitting down across from him. Jericho sat quite comfortably, however Emerald seemed to fidget in place, not entirely comfortable with silence in the presence of the stranger she just tried to rob.

"Why do you carry so many guns?" She asked intently though she didn't turn her attention away from the food.

"Guns are my religion." Jericho replied dramatically. It wasn't necessarily true, but it was close enough to the truth to suit his needs for this conversation. "Of all deities people have tried to pawn onto me, none have had my back better than the guns I carry."

Emerald looked at him askance, "How can guns be a religion? Aren't those supposed to be based on faith and fear?" She said a little petulantly, and a little confused.

Jericho looked at her quizzically, "I have plenty of faith in them, I maintain them and use them after all. And who isn't afraid of the bullet?" Jericho was big fan of self-determinism, he didn't feel he needed the hand holding of some god. Graham found his comfort in the big G himself, Jericho only needed his weapons to feel safe.

Emerald again shot him a strange look, as if he was an oddity. He supposed he was, in a way. Not many would openly feed those who tried to rob them and then declare their spiritual allegiance to the cold death dealing gun.

"Forget I asked…" She mumbled. "So why are you back in Vale? What did you hunt out there?" She asked, wrongfully assuming he was a huntsman.

"This is my first visit actually, I'm a Courier and I'm supposed to meet with someone." He retorted simply.

"Then why are you here and not there?" Emerald waved her little trail fork at him accusingly.

"The woman I'm supposed to meet is a bit of a bitch." Jericho said with a flat expression causing his dining companion to suddenly bust out laughing. The Courier cracked a smile at her before scooping some more room-temperature canned beans into his mouth.

When Emerald recovered from her little giggle fit, Jericho decided to change the direction of the conversation back around on her. "So why is someone like you pick pocketing us lowly civilians out on the street?" He fired at her, not antagonistically but instead with curiosity and sympathy.

Such was a combination the slightly younger woman didn't seem to get too often, as she took a moment to process what she was going to say. "No one wants a street-rat do they?! Even when I was growing up I never got more than a few lien to help feed me! They just leave me out on the street in the rain to die!" She vented, "I don't have any official papers so I can't get a job or a place to stay, and I've got no friends…" She stopped, voice cracking as she realized she was talking to a complete and utter stranger.

Jericho just nodded. "I understand." And he did, he'd spent enough time on the road to know what it was like, and even then most wasters lived a few steps below most of the homeless in Vale seemed too. "You can come with me then. As I said I've got some people to meet and I could always use someone to watch my back." He said, satisfied with his conclusion. He had pulled people into adventures on less, so what was the difference with Emerald?

The girl in question spluttered, taken aback. "W-What?! Why would I go with you! I don't even know you!" She stated loudly.

"Yeah, and? Real question is why not go with me? What's keeping you here other than your stealing?" He accused. He didn't remember Veronica being this hard to recruit, though that may have been because she asked to come along.

Again, Emerald seemed shocked. So much gaping all in one day couldn't be good for a girl. But truthfully, what was keeping Emerald here? Why not go with him? She began asking herself these questions until she came to the tentative conclusion that it might not be the worst idea she had ever been presented with.

Emerald took almost a minute to reply, and her face went through a mix of emotions before settling on wary curiosity. "Ok… But if you try anything I'll make you regret it! I'm not just some tool to be used! I'm going to be great and powerful one day!" She barked at him, gaining some fire as she spoke.

Jericho took note of her last statement but didn't say anything specifically about it. Though it did bring his memory back to the dream from the night before. He nodded before speaking again. "Wouldn't dream of it." He stopped talking then, finishing up his food as he spotted a familiar dress on one of the walking paths in the park.

He collected his disparate things –Emerald having finished eating almost before they started talking- and stood up. "You know, a friend once told me something that has stuck with me. We are of a different stock you and I, we need not dream that we are important, we simply are." He finished, looking Emerald directly in the eye, hoping to convey that he understands.