Hooray! First fic! Welcome one and all, to my fan creation inspired by RWBY and Fallout. More specifically, Fallout 3 (mostly).

This story came to me as I read some other fics in this category, and once I decided to write it, I went all out. I already played through Fallout 3 once, but I decided to do so again to prepare for this fic, roleplaying the Lone Wanderer as I envisioned him for the story. It was a ton of fun going through things as I believe Jaune would, and I invested a little over a hundred hours in the playthrough. I played vanilla Fallout 3 with no mods and all the DLC on the Very Hard difficulty, completing the main campaign and then some, reaching level 30 and visiting just about every map marker. The result is an extremely detailed backstory for our Lone Wanderer, as I actively took notes about his experiences and development. This Jaune is directly based off of the in-game character that I played, with his stats and inventory coming straight from the game and being translated to RWBY.

However, he does come from an AU version of fallout 3; my playthrough served as inspiration for this story, which includes a lot of original thought. Although Fallout 3's plot has generally stayed the same, some non-canon events and a few OC's have had a great effect on our hero's development, one OC in particular. This same OC is largely responsible for most the AU and changes to the game's plot, but I promise that the main plot points of Fallout 3 have remained the same. How it all happened will be revealed in due time, as the events of Fallout 3 actually constitute Jaune's backstory in relation to this fic.

Aside from changes for the sake of plot, I also made some changes to try and make sense of things and better mesh Fallout and RWBY. These are largely just mechanical changes. I'll list some of them here: the pip-boy is not a magical storage device and Jaune must actually carry all of his own stuff, stimpaks are much more rare and of varying quality, stimpaks aren't as quite as miraculous as they are in-game, Jaune left vault 101 at the age of 16 and is 17 at the start of this fic.

Other aspects of Fallout 3 will be explained in the story, including the Lone Wanderer's stats. Rest assured, his abilities in this fic will reflect all of the skills, perks and SPECIAL attributes that the in-game character had. I did my best to interpret Jaune's Fallout abilities in terms of realistic applications and how those will carry over to Remnant. I'm not gonna tell you exactly what his stats are, because that'd just ruin the fun! I'll say that I made decisions I wouldn't have made otherwise in terms of stats just for the sake of roleplaying as Jaune. I'll also drop details and references throughout the story that should help you figure out what his stats are. I'll give you one meta hint right now, but don't expect any more: I failed far more speech checks than I ever succeeded, in true Jaune fashion.

This fic will have a good bit of violence and other adult themes in it, but I think of this as more of a romance than anything else. The pairing will be revealed in due time.

Also, even though this Jaune is essentially the same person at heart, expect some big differences from canon due to his experiences.

Alright, let's get this show on the road!

There was pain, and there was darkness, and there was nothing else.

"Why hello there," it said. Correction: there had been nothing else. Now there was something terrible. "I must say, you've proven to be quite the persistent creature, hounding me incessantly. You filthy animal. I can only imagine how twisted your genes are, you radiation-addled abomination. Any good, pure human would have long ago recognized your actions as despicable. To be fair, you look normal enough from the outside. Well... you look human. Ugly, but human. It must be on the inside. I wonder what it looks like in there. Do you have two hearts? Three lungs? Three stomachs? Well, I think I'll cut in and find out. Don't worry, I'm well practiced. I've performed plenty of vivisections before. You've seen the logs."

He had, and that's why the Lone Wander began to struggle.

The figure chuckled, a light, airy sound that rang warm and carefree. Broad shoulders shook slightly as it did so, hidden underneath a crisp officer's uniform. The monster stood in front of him, the only other occupant of this pitch-black space where Wanderer was now trapped. He could not spit and curse as he wished, for there was a thick wad of cloth stuffed in his mouth. He could not escape, for rope was bound tightly around his arms and legs. He was strung up by his hands like a carcass in a butcher's shop, and the butcher was about to go to work.

A warm smile filled with perfectly white teeth only got wider as the monster in front of him perused a set of knives on a table that seemed to have come from nowhere. Blue eyes passed over their sharp edges, the cold irises sparkling with excitement. Their frigidity was the only evidence of the thing's true nature. The eyes are the window to the soul after all.

After an agonizing eternity, the monster turned back to him, having finally selected a long, tapered scalpel. "I wonder what you'll look like," it said. That voice. It was infuriating, that something so awful could speak so softly, charismatically.

The Lone Wanderer pulled as hard as he could, but the ropes only creaked ever so slightly, holding firm. Any hope for escape bled away as the blade gently came to rest on his cheek.

"Now, I'd hate for you to go through any unnecessary danger through this, so I'm going to withhold anesthesia. Some people can have adverse reactions to such chemicals, so you'll just have to bite down and try to ignore it. I hope you appreciate all the care I'm putting into this." The monster leaned closer, and he could feel his breath against his face, faintly cool, smelling slightly of mint. Professional. Cold. Sterile.

"I'm going to do terrible things to you. I really am. I am going to make you suffer for all that you've done, for all that you've ruined. You've destroyed order and civility, breeding only anarchy and chaos." It roughly grabbed the Wanderer's chin and yanked him so that it could glare directly into his eyes, stabbing straight into him with that cruel gaze. Its grip was firm, yet restrained; the Wanderer knew full well that it could easily crush his jaw with that grasp. "You doomed humanity," it said, cold blue eyes becoming dangerously hot as rage boiled just behind them. Nevertheless, that friendly smile remained, ever deceptive.

"You ruined everything," it said, "You ruined me." The scalpel pressed against the Wanderer's cheek, drawing a dribble of blood. "I will do terrible things to you," it repeated. "Well… I will when I find you."


"But for now, I think it's best if you wake up."


The monster reared back the scalpel. The blade gleamed dully, now coated in a thin, dark sheen of blood. That dark glimmer promised suffering, and it was a promise to be kept, as the scalpel shot forward, headed straight for the Wanderer's eyes. It was all he could do to close them and wait for the pain…

He woke with a jolt.

Surprise. Confusion. Relief. All in the order.

A nightmare, nothing more than a nightmare. The Lone Wanderer let out a deep sigh, then tried to pick himself up off the ground, shortly finding he could do no such thing. In fact, he was completely trapped. Experimental attempts to move his limbs proved fruitless, and he couldn't even turn his head. Not only that, but he was shivering in the cold. Why was he cold? Well, he was soaked with cold water. Wait, why was he soaked with cold water? He could feel it sloshing around him, lapping at the goose bumps on his skin, probably giving him a nice dose of radiation too.

So he was cold, wet, irradiated, trapped and it was stuffy, wherever he was. His breath pooled around him, coming out faster as he began to panic. No. No that wouldn't do, just calm down.

Breath deep. Hold. Release.

Okay, better. Now where the Hell was he? The Wanderer raked his memory. The last things he could recall was a great flash of light; yes, that strange lab had started spewing lightning, tearing through the compound. Before that, he'd... he'd killed it. Yes, he'd certainly killed it. The mini-nuke had landed right at the things feet, and a quick glance back had shown nothing but rubble in the air, intermingled with smoke and radioactive fire. That bastard would only ever appear again in his dreams, like it had just now. It was dead, finally.

The thought put an incredible grin on his face.

The smile quickly died, however, as there was no time for elation right now, and, remembering his prior situation, the Wanderer now knew exactly what had happened. His power armor must have become disabled. A strike of lightning had shot out straight towards him, obviously ruining his suit and likely trapping him under some rubble if he hadn't yet been rescued. How long had he been out? Judging from just how sore his body was, it may have been a while. The lightning and the fall had definitely done a number on him.

Wait, fall?

Yes, yes a fall. He recalled it now. He must have knocked his head, for the memory had been quite hazy. Yes there had been that flash of light, but also a subsequent feeling of weightlessness, of wind soaring past him as he dropped through the air. The lightning must have launched him up and into the sky... but they'd been underground, hadn't they? Yes, they'd been pretty deep into compound. Well then, whatever energy he'd been hit with must have blown a hole right back up to the surface or through a large room. Sheesh, thank God for power armor.

Anyways, less thought, more action.

Alright, now try and recall the lessons he'd been taught on power armor. It'd been awhile since he'd first gone through training for it, and he'd never used it much; the last time worn it had been at the Air Force Base, and only a few times before. In order to keep a working suit and the facilities to maintain it, he'd need to have the necessary garage and materials, and that would only really be available if he was a member of the brotherhood, or at least an honorary knight, like he used to be. Used to be.

They'd given him a crash course along with the suit when he agreed to go on this mission with them, for being inexperienced with power armor was still a lot better than not using it at all, especially when facing off against enemies who would be walking around in the humanoid tanks; who knows whether or not he could've survived that lightning strike without it. At least the manual and directions given to him by the brotherhood engineers had been succinct and effective. He recalled it now, that every suit of power armor was equipped with an emergency opening system which would immediately pop the suit open, non-reliant on electricity, specifically designed for situations like this. Perfect... now where was it? He'd had to use it back at the Air Force Base, but, seriously, where was it? Somewhere in the right hand? No, somewhere in the left hand? Was that it? It was!

With a hiss and a squeal, the suit around him unlocked and unhinged itself, allowing the Lone Wanderer to scramble out. He stood up and experimentally moved his limbs, which all thankfully seemed to be in working order. He hadn't been trapped under any rubble or such, but then why hadn't the brothers come to... get... him...

Oh, that was why.

He was standing on the shore of the ocean, and it was incredible. Since when had the ocean been blue? Wait, since when had the sky been blue!? A-and those clouds were pure white! Scenes like this didn't exist outside of picture books!

The sun was shining incredibly bright, still fairly low on the horizon and drifting lazily upwards. Its warmth fell gently on his skin as he looked, slack-jawed, to the horizon. Pure blue, as far as the eyes could see, with only the glittering sun and a few peaceful, wispy clouds breaking the color gradient. The Lone Wanderer's mind was blank for nearly a full minute, soaking in the incredibly sight, before a thought finally penetrated his numbness.

"We weren't anywhere near the sea."

He and the brothers had trekked inland, and there certainly hadn't been a body of water this large anywhere near them. Alright, this was strange. Many, many things in the Wasteland could easily be called strange, but waking up to a view that simply shouldn't exist? He looked around him, seeing that the beach didn't have a speck of sand; grey rocks dominated the coast as far as he could see, and a sheer cliff not twenty yards away from the water blocked any view of what was further inland. However, something certainly caught his eye.

"A lighthouse, huh?" he said. A large metal tower arose from the beach and hugged the cliff as it rose vertically, striking upwards and past the precipice edge until it loomed at least two-hundred feet high. At the very top, the tower was left open to the air, and what seemed to be some sort of large strobe-light rested under a pointed roof. It instantly brought back images of Point Lookout, not just because of what the structure was, but the way it looked.

It was a dilapidated mess. The paint had peeled off almost completely, leaving only a few forlorn streaks of white to shine dull amidst a heavy coating of rust, the color of curdled blood. The light at the top had shattered and seemed obviously inoperable. The door to the beach was lying flat on the ground, having long since fallen off of its hinges.

It was a great relic of some past time, left to rot.

"Finally, something familiar," the Lone Wanderer muttered.

Why would they need a lighthouse out here anyway? Weren't these things supposed to warn off any incoming ships? He stared back out across the ocean, which appeared to be serene and clear, but as he squinted and looked closer, he was just able to perceive shadows under the gentle waves. Rocks, large and sharp, extended far out from the coast, spelling disaster for anything that sailed too close.

It seemed that things here weren't quite as nice as they appeared.

The Lone Wanderer looked back up to the tower. The top extended well past the cliff and would give him a great way to see further inland, and maybe there'd even be another door further up for him to reach the top of the cliffs. He looked over at the almost perfectly vertical wall of sheer rock that jutted up abruptly from the coast. Yeah, no way he'd be climbing that. Lighthouse it is.

First, however, some scavenging was in order. He crouched over his power armor and tried to drag it out of the ocean. With a few minutes as well as some, panting, heaving and frustration, he was able to wrench most of it out of the water so that he could at least pick apart what was useful. He pulled off the large pack which had previously been fastened to the armor's back; he ripped free Crocea Mors; he took the utility belt and its contents; he unlatched his pip-boy; he salvaged both Metal Blaster and Enclave's Bane, or what was left of them.

The Wanderer grit his teeth. The unique laser rifle and tesla cannon were both destroyed, likely crushed under the weight of his armor when he fell. Together, they were worth small fortune, but that wasn't what really made him mad. Metal Blaster had been with him for so long, and Enclave's Bane was the first of its kind, given to him once again by the Brotherhood for this particular mission after first serving him at the Air Force Base, the last time he saw any of them…

He shook his head. Being sentimental wouldn't help, especially since he could probably repair both of them once he got back to the Citadel, not that he'd be staying for long. If he needed to, he could swing by his safe house to pick up some different weapons, but it'd still feel unnatural without Metal Blaster.

At least it seemed that everything left in his duffle bag had made it, safe within the thick, waterproof, military-grade sack, and the pip-boy as well as Crocea Mors were both hardy pieces of advanced machinery that wouldn't let some water put them down.

An experimental taste of said water found that it was definitely salty, and didn't that raise a few questions? Either he was by the ocean, which was now inexplicably clean, or he'd been blown by a massive lake which had been polluted by loads of salt, yet still seemed to be inexplicably clean.

Curse this weird new place and its inexplicable cleanliness! Curse its saltiness too! It was all so damn confusing!

Enough of this, back to reality already! Alright, how many rads had he gained from the water? Just reboot the pip-boy, set it on the wrist, let it shoot a needle into him and test his blood and... nothing. He'd gained no rads whatsoever. The Wanderer's brow furrowed. He was only at 25 rads, a number he remembered being comfortable with when he'd checked it yesterday. He glanced back at the water. Was it really free of radiation? He certainly didn't feel sick, and by now, he was an expert at picking up on the symptoms of radiation poisoning, both in himself and others. Where the Hell was he?

To answer the question, he checked the pip-boy's map function. It connected to old pre-war satellites to provide a real time GPS for him, so certainly this would be able to…

Nothing. The map screen was completely blank. Alright, there must be a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. Probably just lost the signal to the satellite, or got damaged by the water? Uhm… yes, something like that. God, this was really getting weird.

Shaking his head, the Wanderer started cleaning out his utility belt. The MF cells were still good, designed to be waterproof, but with Metal Blaster decommissioned, they'd be worth little for now. The same went for the electron charge packs. Four stimpaks, all produced by the Brotherhood, much better than most that you'd find in the wasteland. Two shots of Med-X. A few bobby pins. Occam's Razor. Two frag grenades, but both hand-crafted and neither waterproof. However, the anti-armor plasma mine which he'd rigged as a grenade was still in working order. He also still had three of his little trump cards, only using one of them in the previous battle. Those would certainly come in handy.

His military duffle bag had everything else he'd need. Strapped to it was a canteen of aqua pura, which he took a greedy swig from before rooting through the bag's contents. More MF cells and ECP's. A few repair tools. A light blanket. A nylon, rainproof poncho that could also double for a small tent. A monocular. His Magnum, along with some rounds for it. Several MRE packs. The Gamma Shield Armor. The Filtration Helmet. A single bottle of Nuka-Cola. Two bags of Radaway. His food purifier. Two doses of Rad-X. A Punga Fruit. A dose of Buffout. A pack of mentats. Spare parts for Metal Blaster and Enclave's Bane, though not nearly enough to fix them in their current state. A pack of cigarettes. A lighter. A flask of moonshine. The only three photos that mattered to him.

He strapped on the armor, the familiar weight pulling down sturdily, and put what he salvaged back into the bag. For now, he hitched the helmet to the bag, while fitting the magnum to the right side of his hip and Crocea Mors to the left. He strapped the bag onto his back, and although this much equipment was best carried with power armor, he could haul it without difficulty. He looked disdainfully back at his power armor, ruined. He'd just have to tell the brotherhood about it once he reconvened with them; they'd be mad, but they could probably still salvage it.

He scowled and turned away, gazing up at the lighthouse before him. It looked fit to tumble over and fall into the sea at any moment, but hopefully he'd still be able to get to the top. It seemed to be the only easy way off the beach, not to mention the best way to get a grip of his surroundings.

He marched up to and inside of the lighthouse. He grimaced at the interior, which was covered in rust and mold. The building had been picked clean and left to rot, just like everything else in the wasteland. Nothing unfamiliar. There was a rickety-looking metal staircase that circled all the way to the top, which he eyed warily, but took a deep breath and approached nonetheless.

It creaked ominously as he scaled higher, but at least it held. He tested each step laboriously, making sure to keep a good grip on the side railing, which seemed sturdy enough. Hopefully.

Sheesh, what a fantastic start to this new adventure. Wake up on a beach with a load of your equipment junked, then make your way up and unstable tower. At least it might be safer than trying to swim through the ocean filled with rocks and who-knows-what kind of monsters, weighed down by a load of gear. What was better, dropping or drowning?

The Lone Wanderer looked down. He'd now reached a height which could very well be lethal. He'd never had a problem with heights, but he did have a slight problem with dying. He needed to connect with the Brotherhood and see that bastard's mangled, burnt corpse, and he couldn't do that if he was dead.

After that, it wouldn't matter if he dropped or drowned. He couldn't care less.

He advanced past an upper platform which had another door (this one intact) that probably led out to the lip of the cliff. Still, he'd need a good view to find out where the Hell he was. He'd traveled with the Brotherhood through a combination of tunnel systems and overland roads, following rail-lines all the way south to Richmond. They'd not been near the ocean, not at all.

And why the Hell was the ocean blue? Why was the sky blue? Why hadn't the water been irradiated? Had he somehow been blasted to a 'clean' part of the coast? Impossible, since they'd still been nowhere near water. Even if they had been, it wouldn't explain all of the blue. Nothing was that sort of blue! There wasn't even a single trace of smog in the sky, just nice, pure white clouds. Every cloud back in the wasteland looked malicious, and he always made sure to periodically look up at the sky to ensure a storm wasn't coming. The sky here, however, was... it was pleasa-

The Wanderer's thinking was interrupted when the step beneath him creaked and bent, making him nearly slip and fall off the stairs. He furrowed his brow. Alright, enough with the speculation, back to the 'not dying'. That was his life in a nutshell nowadays. Not dying. Nothing more and nothing less.

It was a hasty and quick affair, trudging the rest of the way up the lighthouse. Each step creaked ominously, but most seemed fairly trustworthy, and he'd long since gotten used to the sound of rusted metal cracking underfoot. It was just another part of the cacophony of decay that dominated the wasteland. Alongside it stood such sounds as distant gunfire, not-so-distant gunfire, explosions, bestial roars, bloodcurdling screeching and anguished cries. In all honesty, he was more at home in the neglected lighthouse than he had been on the beautiful beach. Here was familiarity. The sound, the look and even the immediate possibility of death embraced him like an old friend.

He finally reached the top of the final landing, which had only a short ladder that ascended to the ceiling, leading to a hatch. The Wanderer quickly scaled the rickety rungs and pushed open the hatch, hauling himself up and into the air. In front of him rested the lighthouse's great bulb, now shattered. Cobwebs had long since taken the place of light up here.

He got up to his feet and faced out at the ocean. Blue... so much blue. It was bizarre, honestly. Incredibly so. The sky hadn't been blue in hundreds of years, neither had the ocean. However, this wasn't the time for sightseeing, best to just turn around and try to get a sense of the surroundings.

So he did just that, and every muscle in his body froze.

The green.

It was because of the green that every fiber of his being was rendered numb.

It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Green... so much of it. An impossible amount, but it was there. Trees stretched out as far as he could see, all healthy and strong, banded together in a vast crowd of natural vitality. Pressed against one another, their leaves spread up and around to mesh together in a great canopy that drank in the sunlight and reflected back a dull emerald glow, soft and alive. Alive. There was life. So much of it. Nothing, nothing he'd ever seen could ever compare to this... this... forest. A forest! An honest to goodness forest! This was insane! He'd been startled and astounded by Oasis, and he had ignorantly proclaimed that paltry garden to be a forest! Ridiculous!

The trees here stretched out all the way to the horizon, sloping upwards into a short range of mountains in the distance that rose from greenery, lifting the fauna up higher into the sky to let the leaves reach out and mingle with the wispy clouds. No smog. No destroyed buildings. No echoes of distant gunfire or explosions. No screams of the dying or the damned.

The Lone Wanderer needed to reach out and grasp the railing, caring not if it would hold his weight. He just needed something, anything, to help him stay up on his own two feet, for his legs had become too shaky to be trusted on their own. His throat constricted painfully. His vision blurred as tears threatened to well up. He'd never thought he could see something like this.

It was incredible!

It was awe-inspiring!

It was unreal!

It... it was unreal.

There was no way this could be true. The Lone Wanderer shook his head. No, he had to be asleep, certainly. There was simply no way he'd somehow gotten blown up and landed in some mysterious place that actually seemed to be alive. It would require a herculean effort involving incredible resources, labor and scientific acumen to pull of something like this. His father and a team of scientists had barely managed to purify the basin, let alone an entire countryside. Then again, perhaps this was a place like Oasis, just bigger?

The thought of having to deal with another Harold made him sour.

No, there was simply no way a place like this could exist. Just look at the sky! Even if you managed to purify the land, then the atmosphere would still be polluted. It wasn't like you could just shoot a bunch of GECKS into the clouds!

Or could you? How would he know? He didn't have the slightest idea about how the atmosphere worked, or how GECKS worked or really how anything that his father or Li ever did worked. Maybe... maybe this was real? Maybe someone somewhere had managed to do something incredible?

He shook his head again. No, that was just wishful thinking. There was no way this was real. If it was, then surely some caravan would've come across it at some point and spread the word. Certainly, he and the Knights would have seen it. And from here, he couldn't see the ruins of Richmond anywhere, and they'd been in the middle of the damn city, again, nowhere near the ocean. That meant he was still dreaming. Dreaming, or he'd died and gone to Heaven.

Fat chance of that.

Breath deep. Hold. Release. He sighed and let go of the handrail, getting back on his own two feet. He cursed himself inaudibly for stupidly giving in to such a fantastical notion, wiping his eyes as he did so. Nothing in the wasteland was as alive as this. This had to be a dream, and he'd wake up sooner or later. Yet he felt so… real, in control, just like if he was awake. It must be a lucid dream, then. He looked down at his hands. If that were case, then he should have the powers of a God here, right? It was his own mind, after all, so it'd certainly be worth checking out. With a shrug, he envisioned conjuring fireballs in his hands.

Nothing happened.

Oh well, it was worth a shot. Fantasies aside, what the Hell was he supposed to do? Just wait around until he woke up, until some molerat gnawed on his face or the Knights finally found him? Well, there wasn't exactly much else he could do, was there?

He took another look at the forest, then at the adjacent sea, and he idly hoped that he'd be able to remember this dream. It was nice, the colors and the life. Maybe he'd make another stop by Oasis once he woke up, just to see a similar sight. Maybe he'd go back to the Arlington Cemetery and check in on those flowers. Maybe, maybe, maybe. So many maybes, and not a single one of them mattered, because nothing he did anymore mattered. Nothing had for a long time.

Ugh, if there was nothing other than the ocean, a forest and a rotten lighthouse, then this dream would get pretty boring pretty quickly. Maybe he'd go swimming? The water had looked placid enough, at least near the shore. He'd already gone through the effort of getting to the top of this tower, though, might as well make the most of it before going back down.

He drew his monocular just to get a better look at things. It was shoddy, really just half of a broken binocular he'd found and snapped in two after noticing that one of the lenses had long been shattered. It provided a grainy and imperfect view of whatever he focused on, but at least it did its job and allowed him to see shapes further away. He absentmindedly scanned first the trees, then the far-off swell of the mountains, then lazily traced the horizon along the sea, where the deep blue of the ocean met the light blue of the sky in an oddly intimate change of palette.

He focused away from the distant and onto the near, looking back across the rocky shore and then the nearby forest. That's when he noticed a road. It was largely hidden under the canopy, but it seemed to open up by the lighthouse's entrance at the edge of the cliff. Maybe the lighthouse wasn't just a single creation resultant from the dream, but perhaps a part of a bigger puzzle assembled by his unconscious?

His interest piqued, the Wanderer began to scan the forest with a greater attention to detail. Whereas before he'd been lazily looking over the trees, he now attempted to gleam any similar semblance of civilization, for no reason other than a way to satisfy his boredom in this unconscious interim. Plenty of practice in the wasteland had left him with an eye more than keen than most, and he was generally able to find things without too much difficulty.

It didn't take him long.

There was now no missing it, what appeared to be a few small structure not too much farther along the shore. Some sort of seaside settlement? Much of it was probably hidden behind the forest or another cliff like the one his own lighthouse was nestled against, but there was definitely a few buildings set amongst the trees not too far down the coast.

He absentmindedly wondered if there would be anyone there. Maybe it'd be a nice, quaint town populated by kind people who would keep him company while he waited to wake up? Maybe it'd just be another ghost town, like most of the wasteland? Maybe it'd be populated by tutu-wearing super mutants who would insist on performing a grand ballet for him? Who knew? It was a dream, anything could happen.

The lighthearted musings came to an abrupt end, however, when the scene before him started to develop. Black smoke began to roll up into the pure sky, malevolent and dark. It writhed and simmered in the air, pouring up from an angry orange fire below that only grew and grew, shortly engulfing one of the buildings that had been sitting idly and peacefully just a minute ago. It was too far away to actually make out any detail, and certainly too far to hear anything, but the Wanderer doubted that such a fire was intentional. Or, if it was, then it certainly wasn't without malice.

He put his monocular back into his belt. He quickly pulled off the filtration helmet from his bag and fastened it over his face. It was sturdy, and the tinted lenses afforded protection from sudden bursts of light, shrapnel and scratches. The gas mask kept him safe from smoke, chemicals and a good deal of radiation. The Gamma Shield Armor was strong and forged from good steel, lead-lined to ward off radiation. Every inch of his skin was now covered and protected in armor outmatched only by the powered sort. It was worn and looked terrible, but it still held together well, and it would continue to hold until the day he died. It was an outfit that was always ready for battle, just like him. Even if Metal Blaster and Enclave's Bane were shattered and in his bag, he still had both Crocea Mors and his Magnum. The Lone Wanderer turned and began to head back for the hatch, before taking one last look back at the smoke. It had began to grow, flowing up further into the sky, and it was no longer alone. Others black streaks began to snake up in the air, likely from other buildings that had been set ablaze. The Wanderer's hand came to rest instinctively on the hilt of Crocea Mors.

Perhaps this dream wouldn't be so boring after all.


Okay then, first chapter! Expect an update around next Friday. I'll try my best to keep updates as regular as possible, but college life may make that a little tough. I'll shoot for between 5-10k words a chapter. Sorry for the big AN at the top, but I figure it's sorta necessary to explain some things about this fic, it being a crossover and having so much AU stuff. Any questions and reviews are encouraged and appreciated!