Chapter Text
"Also in the headlines... the NCR flag has been hoisted over former Legion outpost Nelson after heavy fighting. NCR officials are calling this a big win for troop morale."
"Hmph, course they're not going to say who did most of the heavy lifting."
"Not only that... NCR Rangers are being pulled from the front lines as a part of a campaign to "secure existing NCR territory," according to anonymous sources."
"Sounds 'bout right, can't exactly expand on fragile foundations."
"Those are our stories this hour. This is Mr. New Vegas signing off. Just kidding. I'm not going anywhere. My love for you is too strong. Gonna play a song for you right now. It's about that special someone you find only once... in a Blue Moon."
An exhale escapes me as I switched off the radio to my Pip-Boy, Anti-Material rifle in my arms as I trained my sights onto my quarry. Since my recent cut-ins with the Fiends, and the subsequent eliminations of their top dogs, the power vacuums left in their place pushed their underlings to grasp for as much power as possible. Drug-addled as they are, all it takes is one smart feller and we're back to square one.
The NCR had been doing a decent job mopping up after I had done in the previous head honchos, but there's only so much a conscript can do.
Unfortunately, this requires a more precise hand.
Fortunately, I'm willing to lend that hand.
Every off'ed 'leader' lines my pockets with caps, and they are rid of another thorn in their side. Win-win on both sides.
His center mass sighted in, I steadied my breath, waiting for the right moment-
BANG
-His chest caved inward as the fifty-caliber round utterly eviscerated his top half, viscera and bone splattering the poor bastards closest, sending panic into the group as they raced for cover.
Target sufficiently annihilated, I packed up my gear, Anti-Material Rifle slung across my back as I made my way down from the city ruins. Shattered concrete scattered under my feet with each step, no matter how I attempted to scale down from my impromptu sniper's nest.
Though of course, I'd made sure that my little stunt remained under wraps. Unless they were actively on the lookout- which they very much aren't- they'd never find me. But there will always be another crazy ready to take the last one's place.
I shrugged. Did my part, it's up to the NCR to do the rest.
Just before I made off for McCarran, a swift pat to my rig confirmed my worst fears.
"Damn, runnin' low on smokes again."
Bad habit, I know, but I ain't got lungs to ruin anymore. Not since those augmentations done to me back in the Big Empty. Heart does a real bang-up job filtering out all the bad stuff in them too. Not exactly addicted to the chemicals in them, just out of habit. Can't do much about the bad breath though... but that's what the helmet's for.
Also, need something to help me think, after all.
The Autodoc said somethin' about an 'oral fixation'. Apart from sounding like a poor attempt at an innuendo, it's something to do with how my brain works. Well, ain't done any harm so far.
As I made the trek back to the Strip, I removed my helmet, turning it in my hands to face me. Giving its visor and respirator a quick look over for anything out of place, I attached it to my hip.
Despite the extensive list of armor I'm privy to, Ranger combat armor always seems to lure me in. First awarded to me for the aid I've rendered towards the NCR, I then learned why veteran Rangers were afforded such pieces of equipment. Though not quite power armor in terms of defense, it nonetheless provided sufficient protection against small arms, even proving itself against rifle rounds and the occasional grenade. Paired with its helmet, a Ranger would find themselves protected against most of the dangers the wastes could throw at them.
Good against the weather too, duster does wonders against the heat and... well, dust.
With practiced movements, my hands produced a cigarette, skillfully removed from its pack with Benny's lighter to the side. Always wondered why I kept the bastard's keepsake, but I do have to admit, it is a pretty damn good lighter.
After a few sparks, its flame finally ignites, lifted to light yet another bit of poison for me to intake. I take a drag, taste bitter as always, yet somehow a comfort. I exhale, smoke to the air as I walked.
Eventually, my- admittedly hazardous- intake of smokes catches up to me, the last of the cigarettes in one hand, the other grasping the empty pack I took it out of. Well, waste not, want not.
I light it, sticking the cig in my mouth as I patted myself down for-
"Now where'd I put that damned thing..."
-Truth be told, running out of poison for me to smoke isn't exactly a concern of mine. Ever since that little event at the Starlight Drive-In, and my rude introduction to the Big Empty, its resources and... ahem, its 'brightest' minds are at my disposal. Kinda.
Hand wrapped around a familiar polymer pistol grip, I pulled it away from my pouches, the fragile device emitting the faintest of electric hums as I held it up.
The Big Mountain Transportalponder.
My only way in and out of the place, it's one of the more... quirky items in my inventory. Not too sure of the details, but the eggheads in the Think Tank boiled it down to 'teleportation' for my 'lobotomite' self to understand. In all reality, it translates my matter, every single atom of my being, to the Sink. One failure, one misfunction could spell my end, but it hasn't failed on me. Ain't counting on it doing that either.
Besides, still gotta get my hands on some more smokes. Can't die just yet.
I pulled the trigger on the device, and my vision goes white. Except nothing of what happened was supposed to happen. Normal translocation happens instantaneously. No change in vision. No pauses. Just one moment I'm in Vegas, the next, I'm in the Sink. The singular, fading moment after I pulled the trigger instantly dropped my augmented heart into my stomach.
Just before my consciousness faded to nothingness, I felt something I hadn't in a long, long time.
Warmth.
"Son of a bitch..."
The constant and rhythmic vibrations of something in my seat stirs me from my slumber. A faint sense of ease rested in the back of my mind, the weight of comfort preventing my eyes from opening easily. Then startling realization spikes my heart rate, adrenaline and combat stimulants flooding my veins.
My eyes shoot open, one hand against my holster containing my .45 Auto, the other slipping towards Blood Nap in my boot. But somehow, just somehow, neither one leaves their holding.
The window to my right is the reason why.
Ever so slowly, my head turned to my right, and I swear I had to blink more than a few times to adjust my vision, to understand the baffling view. Because I could've sworn that I'm passing by trees. None of those dead, lifeless twigs sticking out of the ground.
But trees. Real, alive, and green trees.
"What in the god-"
"-Oh, you're finally awake-"
-Within the instant the voice spoke up behind me, I twisted in my seat, .45 Auto loosened from its holster, barrel pressed firmly into their chest, with Blood Nap out and about all the same, its edge just shy of cutting them a new mouth at their neck.
Whoever they are choked back their words, eyes widened in fear, shock, and awe, hands raised to the air in surrender. I then realized my helmet isn't on my head. Lowering the Bowie knife from his neck, I returned it to its sheathe on my boot, before unlatching my helmet away from my hip, working it onto my head.
"Now then." I spoke simply, .45 Auto pressed just a bit harder into his chest.
I nodded my head towards the seat next to me.
"How about you take a seat?"
With a hesitant gulp, they nodded, slowly easing themselves down next to me. Silence, save for the faint rumbling of the vehicle I now realize we're in, washed over us. Taking the moment to take stock of the situation, I glanced around, eyeing the additional seats that lined the inside of the vehicle, people sat sporadically throughout.
I lifted my head. We're in a bus of all things.
"So-" I lowered my gaze, eyes locked onto his. "-Where are we?"
He gulps again. "Is... is that gun real?"
I tap his chest with its barrel. "Betting on it not being the real deal?"
He shook his head vigorously.
"I'll ask again, where are we?"
His frown grows. "You... you don't know where you are?"
I remained silent.
He gulps again. "We're... well, we're in a bus headed to Tracen Academy." He nods his head upward once. "Everyone on this bus is a rookie trainer."
A nervous chuckle escapes him. "You're... er, I'm guessing you aren't a trainer, are you?"
I look him up and down. Definitely had the clothing of a teacher, with no discernable weapons or armor. Strange.
"Not the kind you're thinking of." I lower my .45 Auto, returning it to my holster. As I did, her obviously relaxes, relief taking the form of an exhale.
"What... what country are we in, then?" I ask, eyes trailing towards the window.
Then the most awe-inspiring view graced my vision. Expansive plains of green. Vast, brilliant and deep blue waters across the horizon. Windswept patches of trees swaying gently in the distance.
My eyes widened further. Towns- no, a whole city just a bit further out, with not a single one touched by the fires of war. Cars of unknown make bustled across the perfect streets that acted as the city's veins, with the faintest figures of people crossing about.
I catch myself holding my breath, as if breathing would destroy the sight.
A hand rests onto my pauldron, and I tense, hand once more finding its way towards my holster, wrapping itself around my sidearm. But I force myself to relax. This wasn't a hand of someone who wanted to bring me harm. This was one of... assurance. Warmth. Peace.
"You're a long way from home, aren't you?"
I loosen my hand away from my .45, turning my head to meet him.
"You could say that."
Briefly, the faintest of smiles crosses him, before returning to neutrality, eyes taking on a more... inquisitive look. Guess he ain't lying about being a teacher of something.
"Well... judging from your... ahem, clothing, you take on a line of work that's... dangerous, so to say, right?"
I nod.
A sigh escapes him. "To each their own, I won't press, but I will ask... how'd you end up on this bus anyways?"
I shake my head. "Beats me. One moment, I'm on my way home after completing an assignment, the next-" I gesture towards the bus.
"-I'm here."
He contemplates my words, eyes studying me up and down. It sends chills down my augmented spine, but I let it come to pass.
"You're really far from home... I take it you're from the West?"
I freeze, a moment he catches onto swiftly.
"...Guess I'm right."
"How'd you figure that out?"
He shrugs. "Your clothes, your... well, your equipment."
That raises a brow. "Equipment?"
He nods. "Your... guns. I see it a lot on TV, mostly on movies that are Western made."
"Plus-" He chuckles. "-The way you carry yourself."
"I... see..."
I return my gaze towards the window.
"And you said we're heading where?"
"Tracen Academy."
I lift a hand, gesturing for him to elaborate.
"To give you the short end of it- because trust me, it's a long story- it's an academy that acts as the training grounds for any aspiring Uma Musume, nurturing their talent, skills, and racing prowess."
"...You had me up until Oo-mah... Moo-soo-may?"
He chuckles again, instead lifting a hand towards the window. I follow his hand, glancing to see perhaps one of the largest buildings I've seen. With sheer scale, this place gives the Lucky 38 a run for its caps.
"Why don't you take a look for yourself? Maybe even learn from the best, the significance of Tracen Academy, and its wards."
I turn to meet his smile.
"...What?"
"Hello! And welcome, new and aspiring trainers! I am Hayakawa Tazuna, and I will be your guide as I show you everything Tracen Academy has to offer. Please, disembark and line up in front of me. We will begin our tour shortly!"
Stood in front of the towering gates of the academy is perhaps one of the most attractive women I've ever laid my eyes on. Dressed in a green uniform, topped with a cap of the same coloration, she politely guided the trainers off of the bus.
Perhaps due to her beauty, the men of the group followed her directions with no hesitation. Their thoughts- though unspoken- bled through their eyes, staring unabashedly at the lady. To my surprise, she doesn't bat an eye, unfazed by the dozens of eyes stuck to her like glue.
Then it was my turn to disembark.
Hesitance in my steps, I finally hopped off the bus, the doors immediately closing behind me as the bus disengaged its parking brakes, engine roaring as it began moving.
I was enamored within that moment. But not because of the pretty lady standing ahead of us. But because of the beauty of the scene that surrounded me. Not a single person here carried with them the weight of the wasteland on their backs.
Their eyes held life.
Not one filled with pain, with suffering.
But one filled with fulfillment, with happiness, with purpose.
I couldn't help but exhale in awe. But I also couldn't just stand around, basking in the genuine liveliness of this unknown land. Couldn't, because as I stepped outside the confines of the bus, attention all but fell onto me.
The feeling of multiple pairs of eyes burning holes into me narrowly forces me to unholster my .45, but I quash the sensation. This wasn't the wastes anymore. Hell, if anything, this was a world that never knew war. Perhaps even conflict itself.
But with this realization, the weight of my armor, my guns, my sins, all bore down onto me more so than before. I frown, eyes closed in defeat as I then realized strapped across my back is one of the biggest guns I have in my arsenal.
Eyes still closed, I stood still, the sound of heeled footsteps approaching me echoing in my ears.
"Um... sir?" A lady asked, presumably towards me. "I... I have to ask, as per academy policy... but since you arrived on the designated bus, are you a trainer?"
I opened my eyes, head lowering to meet the eyes of Hayakawa Tazuna. She stood just about a head or two shorter than me, but despite the height disparity, she held a sort of aura to her.
Ever so slightly, I turn my head, silently asking for help from the man on the bus. He notices my stare, and he smiles, giving me thumbs up.
I exhale. "I... yes."
My answer doesn't exactly inspire confidence within her, but sure enough, she relents. Brows raised, yes, but she doesn't press any further, instead gesturing towards the rest of the trainers, perhaps telling me to fall in line. I give her a nod, and walk towards the rest.
Obviously, my stature and wear stands out bad, given the slightly terrified looks on everyone's faces. This is then reinforced by the fact that no one's willing to stand within five feet of me.
All, except one.
"You're a lot taller than I expected." A pause. "And a lot scarier."
A sigh passes my lips. "I'm just surprised she didn't ask about my... guns."
"Tracen's filled with eccentric people." He looks up at me. "Perhaps you fall within that definition? You sure fit the description."
I roll my eyes. "Right... and I'm pretty sure I didn't quite catch your name."
"Yeah, having a gun pressed against you tends to do that." He snarks, before lifting a hand my way.
"Takehiru." He states simply. "Takehiru Yu."
I accept the gesture, returning the handshake.
"Name's Six." I smirk. "Just Six."