Author: WarrenDSherman

Remnants of a Wasteland

Chapter 1 : Ain't that a kick in the head?

Disclaimer : I don't own RWBY or Fallout New Vegas. They belong to their respective creators.

War.

War never changes.

Years ago, it was a great war that left our world on the perilous precipice where it now stands. The day the nuclear bombs fell, the world as we knew it, ceased to be. All that is left now is a remnant of what it once was. Incomplete. Broken.

However, humanity's resilience pulled through again, and they survived the cataclysm inside underground bunkers called 'Vaults'

As years, even centuries, passed, one by one they began to leave their shelters to brave the unforgiving world outside.

Like always, humanity began to thrive once more, forming tribes and building settlements, trying to survive the hostile world that they found themselves in. As time passed, what once had been the old world southwest came to be united under the flag of the two-headed bear.

New California Republic, the NCR.

A tribe dedicated to the old world values of democracy and the rule of law. Under its flag, there was peace, and life thrived. For a while, humanity flourished like a light shining in the darkness...but soon, the light flickered and sputtered, and darkness rushed in to consume it.

This darkness didn't rush in from outside, though there was a lot of it, to be sure. No, this darkness came from within men's hearts. Like the darkest part of a lamp is under it, the heart of the Bear was rotten. Short-sighted greed and want led to an increasing corruption within this new republic and before this fledgling nation could put down roots, there arose anarchy : Fiends and Raiders causing havoc within the borders of the republic.

As the NCR declined, another power arose in the lands east of the Great River, united under a different flag. A golden bull, rampant in a field of red. This was the Caesar's Legion, a slave army created by the unforgiving conquest of 86 tribes. Led by their ruthless and cruel overlord, they used brutal tactics to wrest order from the anarchy. Yet, their spartan and strict rule won them no admirers, and the legionnaires were detested by all those who preferred liberty and personal freedom, and they faced bitter resistance wherever they went. Many tribes preferred to die out in combat against the legion, than serve within it's ranks.

Thus, despite all the troubles that plagued them, the two powers continued to grow and expand. Two diametrically opposing aspects of how 'civilization' should be.

They existed in an uneasy ceasefire, both coveting but neither desiring to fire the first shot in an uncertain war.

This all changed when the Great Dam was discovered by the NCR scouts.

After this discovery, it was not long before the Legion's frumentarii...the legion's elite scouts, followed the trail and saw the mighty Dam for themselves. It represented power. It represented control. A relic of the old world, a defiant symbol that still stood strong, it captured Caesar's imagination like little else, and he was determined to do anything to have it within his grasp. The crown jewel in his desire for conquest. In earnest, he began amassing an army to have the dam for himself. Recruits were trained, new weapons and armor was forged and supplies were gathered by the forced labor of slaves. Leading them all was the Malpais Legate. Joshua Graham. A name as feared as Caesar.

It sent out a simple message : "Bequeath unto Caesar, that which is Caesar's"

Running out of options and threatened with the possibility of losing the newly-found valuable resource, the NCR came into an agreement with the elusive Mr House of the New Vegas strip.

No one really knew who the man was. He communicated solely through Securitrons, robotic guardians of the City of Vice.

What he was, was ruthlessly effective.

Sensing an opportunity, he forcibly "civilized" the tribes inhabiting the neighborhood. Cannibals, Criminals, Raiders and Vault Dwellers alike. He brought them into the Strip, gave them casinos to run and with the NCR's manpower, brought the Strip back to life.

So it was, that once more lights shone brightly in the deserted wasteland, a defiant beacon.

The Legion was not to be denied for long. Before long, the massive army that Caesar had spent time to build painstakingly, amassed at the other side of the river and made their own bid for the edifice. The conflict that ensued was called the Battle for Hoover Dam.

At the battle, the Legionaries were soundly routed by the NCR, their simple tactics paling in comparison to the clever stratagems deployed by Chief James Ironwood, leader of the Rangers. The massive casualties that the Legion suffered forced them to retreat. Instead of leaving outright, they established a camp across the river. So they remained, a diminished but ever-present threat over NCR's control of the Mojave.

The same year that the Dam was successfully defended, a rather unremarkable event occurred : a young girl came of age and was given a choice. To join the NCR or to see the world.

It was something of a family tradition, from what she could tell. The same choice had been given to her father by his parents, and a couple of years ago, her uncle had given the same choice to her older sister, who had decided to join the NCR as a new recruit, hoping to become someone important in the army, like her uncle and her father.

The young girl however held no such desires. Even as a child, she had chafed under the strict life that she had led. Understandable, when your whole family is filled with high-ranked soldiers under the NCR.

She didn't want to become another grunt. What she wanted, was to set off on a wild journey, to roam the wild lands and go on awe-inspiring adventures that would become stuff of legends.

Like the famous vault dweller, who had founded Arroyo half a century ago, she too wished to become a story that was whispered gleefully by soldiers and civilians alike, and she had said as much to her uncle...who had merely laughed and pointed her to the Mojave Express.

To become a courier.

The young girl, now a courier, got her wish...to an extent. She saw the world and roamed far and free, and even had many adventures and scrapes and shootouts, but as it turned out, they were par for course for those who lived outside the insulated life that she had led. Raiders and Fiends were commonplace and a constant danger to caravans, as were creatures like Bloatflies, Cazadores and Deathclaws.

As time passed, she grew more efficient and more deadly with her weapons, gaining an expertise in long-distance marksmanship, and her small and lithe figure assisted her in traversing without being detected and busting the amateurish ambushes planned by the numerous criminals. She might not be a soldier herself, but she was raised as one. She was well versed in ambushes and trickery.

Once, after helping to defend a caravan against a party of the dangerous Powder Gangers, the grateful merchant had given her his prized possession, his old Vault 21 Pipboy. Since then, the courier had learned to use the nifty gadget and had found it's numerous functions extremely useful, most notably the Vault Tec Assistance System, VATS as it was called. She didn't know exactly how it functioned, likely something neuro-spatial or some other such big words...all she knew was that she seemed to go faster and react quicker and aim better whenever she activated it. It was incredibly addicting, but she had been warned of the dangers of overusing it, once she had shown it off to her family.

She had heard of the schizophrenic Nightkin who had gone crazy by overusing Stealth Boys. She was not eager to become a drooling, crazed mess this young. So she listened.

For four long years, the Courier had traversed the Mojave, making friends and occasionally visiting her sister at her outpost, who smothered her with her overbearing affection. She thought that she had seen all that the desert had to offer. She was wrong. For four long years, she had delivered packages for the Mojave Express to far-flung locations, even going as far as New Cannan and Hopeville and the end reaches of the Long 15. This time however, the delivery was taking a turn for the worse.

The courier bit back a wince as she felt the 10mm bullet barely graze her neck. Gasping, she threw herself on the ground and scrambled for cover. She wasn't happy about this situation. Not one bit.

Not since her rookie days had she been caught so flat-footed. Trying to take a gauge for the situation, she dared to take a quick peek out from her cover, and ducked immediately to escape the spray of submachine gun fire. Dangerous, for someone used to taking in details quickly and efficiently, that one glance had been enough.

The tell-tale black leather, the crude plate armor and the penchant for submachine guns, it was obvious that the ones who ambushed her were the Great Khans, a raider gang who operated chem labs. They usually kept to themselves, conducting their business quietly, unless provoked. They were dangerous, tenacious and entirely unexpected foes and to make matters worse, there were at least six of them.

At these close quarters, her sniper rifle would do her no good, nor would she be able to approach them close enough to use her machete successfully. It was time for something more compact and accurate.

The Courier took off her backpack and tucked it securely against the rock where she had been taking cover. Taking a deep breath, she did her best to steady herself and ignore the maddening noise of the constant gunfire. Once she felt calm enough, she drew her hunting revolver from the hip holster and went to work.

The VATS was instrumental in her initial foray. Rolling out of her cover, she activated the VATS system and as the neurological system activated, she seemed to speed up. Unflinchingly, she took a quick aim at the Great Khan warrior hiding at a cliff top and was taking pot-shots at her with her hunting rifle. A single fire of the revolver sent a .45 round through the Great Khan's heart, silencing her forever. With that she completed her roll, bringing her to rest against another large rock.

Pleased at the success of her maneuver, she tried to repeat this little trick but was thwarted by the answering bursts of fire from the remaining Great Khans.
By this time, her adversaries had advanced on her position. A great big brute of a man rounded the cover and came face to face with her. Both were caught by surprise but the courier responded more quickly. She grabbed the man by his shoulders and kicked his legs out from under him, and threw him down flat on his back in a classic takedown. A swift kick to his windpipe ensured that he soon fell unconscious, either dead or dying.
There were four more enemies remaining , who were enraged by the deaths of their friends and the sound of their yelling and cursing was almost as loud as the sounds of the battle.

As the courier peeked out of cover once more, she saw an anomaly that she hadn't spotted before. A well-dressed man in a white suit and a bowler hat who was hanging back, looking over at the skirmish with apathy, smoking his cigar without a care in the world.

This was evidently the man who had ordered this little scuffle, but he was incongruous in his finery, clearly not belonging to the Khans. What then was his reason for instigating this and why were the Great Khans, a tribe known for their fierce independence, following his orders?

These were all good questions, but unfortunately, the courier had no time to ponder upon the answers.

With a combination of skill and luck, the courier managed to injure and put down two more of the Khans and began to feel a sliver of hope that she might just survive the day and live to fight on. That hope was however dashed by a loud explosion a few feet behind her which threw her against the rock with a crushing force.

A concussive grenade.

The courier cradled her injured arm, and tried to shake away the effects of the close-range explosion, before blinking in surprise as a shadow loomed over her. She barely had the time to take in a slight waif of a woman grinning down at her, who raised a foot and brought it down on her head, knocking her out.

As the courier came to, she found that she was alive. That was a shocker in and by itself. While the Khans did have a twisted code of honor about killing unarmed opponents, the ambush had led her to believe that they were hungry for her blood.
Right now, two of the said Khans were busily digging a pit. She could see them from the limited range of vision as she lay on the ground. She tried to stir and failed, idly noting that her hands and legs were bound with thick cords of rope.

She cleared her throat, trying to get the attention of her captors, when a pair of shiny black shoes entered her field of vision.

"Look who's waking up already. Hello there Little Red." The oily, urbane voice spoke in cultured tones. "Oh, this is no good. I cannot talk while she is prone on the ground like that. You two, get her up and let her kneel. I want to talk to her."

The Great Khans walked up , grumbling and muttering upon themselves, sparing her a strange look - a mix of sympathy and respect. The aforementioned two walked behind her and leaned in close, almost making her gag with the stink of chems and unwashed leathers, and hauled her up roughly to her feet.

This time, the courier got a good look at the man who was responsible for her impending demise. He was clean shaven and smartly dressed in pristine white finery. His red hair, which looked almost orange in the dying light, was perfectly combed and tucked under a pretentious bowler hat. He clasped his cigar aristocratically in his fingers and smoked it still as he sneered down at her.

"Ah, now we meet at last, dear courier. You have no idea how long I have waited for your arrival at this little hick-town. Now Now, I know what you might be thinking...How did I manage to get the drop on you...it's simple really, money talks, Little Red. If you have enough of that to throw around, all information is ultimately bought and sold for. As for how we managed to knock you out, you have my associate here to thank for that." He gestured to the waifish woman standing by his side, who bowed mockingly. She was a strange one too, her long hair dyed in two different colors, while her eyes that stared out cruelly at the courier had different colored pupils.

"Why am I even bothering to tell you this, you may wonder? Well, that is because soon, you will cease to exist...which means you will cease to matter. I have got what I came for Little Red." He leaned down, leering at her grabbing her cheeks in his gloved hand, tilting her face to get a better look at her even as she struggled to squirm away from his grip. "Though it seems such a shame to kill a pretty young thing like yourself. You would have fetched a good price if I had sold you to the Omertas of Gomorrah...or maybe even kept you for myself. Oh well." He sighed theatrically and let go of her, pulling himself up to his full height.

A burly Khan, clearly the leader of the surviving lot, urged her captor to get it over with, to kill her quickly. The other tribesman was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he was out, keeping watch. On the other side of him, the slight looking girl gazed down impassively, her heterochromatic eyes glinting with cruel amusement.

Her captor sneered down at his Great Khan lackey, "Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain't a two-bit thug, you understand ? I owe it to her to have some closure, to have some answers over why she was killed." Then he turned his cold gaze down to her, "As for you , Little Red...it's not personal, I want you to know that. You were just the wrong person with the wrong thing." He pulled out a silver chip from his coat pocket, her intended delivery. "This. Such a little thing to die over, it might seem to you, but oh, it is dear."

He drew his pistol out, leveling it at her head. Even for one who had wielded them all her life, the barrel of the gun seemed impossibly large as it bore down at her, "From where you are standing...oh what am I saying, kneeling...this must seem like an 18 karat run of bad luck." He cocked the gun, his hand at the trigger, ready to squeeze and spit out metal death at her. Idly, she noticed the Great Khan lackey looking away, uncomfortable with this execution. The girl on the other hand seemed to positively bounce on the balls of her dainty feet, eager for her blood to be spilled.

Her captor leaned in closer, close enough to smell the cigar smoke on his breath and the stink of ambition on his too-fancy suit. "Truth is, Little Red, this game was rigged from the start."

The trigger pulled, followed by a loud bang, and as darkness took over...Ruby Rose knew no more.

'Play the guitar, play it again, my Johnny

Maybe you're cold but you're so warm inside'

The melodious tune floated in the air from what sounded like a badly tuned radio, crackling and breaking in places. The familiar tune was nostalgic and annoying in equal parts.

'What if you go, what if you stay, I love you

But if you're cruel, you can be kind, I know'

So many afternoons, Ruby and her sister, Yang, had spent listening to this song on the rare times that her father was home. Her dad would reminisce about her mom, and tell them stories of her. The song was of special importance to the two, and Ruby had quickly learned that hearing the song play was a good way to make the man nostalgic and liable to talk. The first time she had heard it, she had loved it. That changed after the hundredth time.

There was also the memorable time when her Pip Boy's radio had broken down, and played nothing but "Johnny Guitar" for two months straight. She still tried to repress those terrible days.

'There was never a man like my Johnny

Like the one they call Johnny Guitar'

With an exasperated groan, Ruby tried to open her eyes and sit up, only to hiss in pain from her aching head that threatened to split in two.

Her little mishap had attracted someone's attention, as seconds after, someone cried out.

"Hey, little lady, why don't you try to relax for a second ? Let's see what the damage is" the grizzled voice spoke, as Ruby blearily blinked her eyes open.

"When that clunky tincan brought you in, I thought you were a goner...but I guess you were too tough to put down." the unknown speaker continued as Ruby tried to sit up, working her way to consciousness, fighting through the throbbing ache in her head.

"W-where am I? Who are you?" she asked, shading her eyes from the bright light as her vision swam. Her palm was cool and dark against her eyes and she didn't want to move. It hurt. A lot.

"Oh? It's good to hear you speak...that's very encouraging. As for me, I am Doc Mitchell. As for the where...you are in the fine town of Goodsprings."

"I...I r-remember passing through before the...before the ambush. I was shot" She slurred, her tongue heavy in her mouth. Probably the effect of chems.

"That's an understatement. You were shot in the head, little lady. It's very surprising that you survived that."

"F-fuck" she muttered emphatically, finally blinking her eyes open, taking in the sights of the makeshift operating room. Dingy, weather-beaten and shabby...like most homes in the Mojave. The floral wallpaper that covered the room was peeling in places, but the place was very neat. There was no mess to speak of, and all the medical instruments were tucked away in a little doctor's bag towards the far end of the room.

With a lethargic swing of her legs, Ruby sat up on the edge of the bed and smiled wanly at Doc Mitchell.

"Well Doc, ain't this a proper kick in the head?"

A/N: Well, this is it. The beginning of the New Vegas and RWBY fusion. Let me know if this is an idea that you guys want to see be continued and have a part two.

Have fun reading!

Character Summaries :

1. NCR : New California Republic, a democratic empire dedicated to old school values and rule of law. It is one of the largest powers in the Wasteland at the time. They have their share of problems, which include anarchy in their trade routes and corruption.

2. Caesar's Legion : A slave army owned by the mysterious Caesar. His origins are currently unknown. They have conquered 86 tribes and forcibly brought civilization to the anarchic masses. Wherever the Legion turns it's eyes, death and destruction of way of life soon follows.

3. Great Khans : A raider tribe styled after the Great Khans of the Mongol Plains of the ancient world. They gained knowledge of medicines and chemicals by insidious means and used it create drugs, and began drug peddling. They have become scarce in the recent years and usually keep to themselves.

4. Powder Gangers : Escaped convicts from an NCR Prison. They have a penchant for explosives and gunpowder, hence the name, Powder Gangers.

5. Bloatflies : Mutated Flies. Big, large and ugly. Their sting can cause wooziness.

6. Cazadores: Mutated wasps. They are relatively new predator of unknown origins. They are more dangerous than the venomous Radscorpions and the Bloatflies.

7. Deathclaws : One of the most dangerous mutated creatures of the Wasteland, they are strong, agile and dangerous. A pack of Deathstalkers is enough to lay waste to an entire town.

8. Omertas of Gomorrah : They were once a tribe called the Slither Kin who specialized in treachery and murder and styled themselves after the pre-Great War era gangsters of Las Vegas. After Mr House, the owner of the New Vegas formed an agreement over the Hoover Dam with the NCR, he invited them to settle in the New Vegas Strip where they opened a nightclub called Gomorrah. They oversee most of the prostitution in the Strip.

Solvdrage's Author's Note: Welcome everyone to a collection of ideas, oneshots, etc. I'll be jointly posting stories with WarrenDSherman. He's the talent behind the coverart for In Vino Veritas and the excellent From Embers to Dust and Invictus (Fate Zero and One Piece). Give his profile a go. Highly, highly recommend his fics.

As for my stuff, I'll throw some ideas up here occasionally. Like, say... within a few minutes actually... For all my Naruto followers, good news! I'm about 1/4th of the way through the next chapter of "Misstep in the Right Direction" as of the posting of this chapter.