Chapter 1: Bloodied Hands[]
Four ladies asked to go to Fyrestone one day.
"Fyrestone" meant two things: information, and a place to send a hated co-worker or an ex-spouse. But Marcus Kincaid, Gentleman Gunseller, was a business man first, and being a father figure wasn't worth a damn. They'd paid upfront to go to Fyrestone. So off they were to Fyrestone, warts and all.
Two of them sat together, a little girl in a cape and an older blonde. A pale girl in the seat over. And the last, the leggiest of the bunch, walked all the way to the back of the bus, her upper body wrapped in black and white and her legs in tight purple. They weren't Vault Hunters or criminals by any stretch of the imagination. He expected those types.
He exhaled and pulled the door lever, aware that he was driving a bunch of little girls across the desert to be eaten by wolves. None of them looked prepared for the dangers on Pandora. It would be a massacre the moment they stepped off the bus.
A shame, really. The blonde had a nice rack on her, too.
RWBY
Seven Days Nowhere
"Bloodied Hands"
"Ruby," her late uncle had said, "Pandora isn't all giant rock formations and deserts. There's treasure there, and adventure, ripe for the taking!"
The first part was definitely true.
Pandora was the museum of giant rock formations and deserts.
In every direction: wasteland. When she'd gazed out the window an hour ago, giant rocks and canyons. Fifteen minutes ago, ooh, an even bigger canyon. Had a meteor come down and wiped the planet out, shattered Pandora into bits of dust ... nothing of value would be lost.
To those who didn't know about the Vault.
According to the pamphlet she'd picked out of the bin in the front, Pandora's sun rotated so slowly that a single day on Pandora lasted 90 hours. She blinked, read it again, and continued. Major settlements included Oasis, Sanctuary, Haven, Overlook, Jaynistown, and Jakob's Cove. Weird. Haven and Jaynistown were crossed out. She flipped the pamphlet around. It was dated almost twenty years ago, and there on the back cover, a picture of a town and children playing around in luscious gardens, carrying toys and playing tag. A woman, who she guessed was the mother, was carrying a pan full of brownies with little steam trails above them.
Ruby quietly put the pamphlet back where she'd found it.
Looking out her window again, the images repeated: Rocks and desert, sticks erected in the ground that doubled as pet graves, picket fences, surrounding rubble, and piles of ash with wooden planks poking out of them. White, willowy bubble gum shapes drifted overhead. Dilapidated buildings broke the scenery apart, but not the decay. Trucks lay melted with the slashes and rends of animal teeth, and mazes of scaffolding crisscrossed the mountainsides, shacks nestled on top of, or in-between them.
She grabbed her stomach when they crossed a dead body on the side of the road. Some of it. The leg, missing; a mess of entrails over a slope; she focused elsewhere.
Pandora made for an excellent corporate junkyard. How blisteringly clear that was, when a cylinder-shaped robot grazed the side of the armored bus with a laser. Their driver hardly seemed concerned and sped on by. It wasn't the first robot she'd seen on the trip. Many, like the turbines, tires, and miscellaneous, beaten-up vehicles strewn about, were half-buried in the dirt.
Skags surrounded the first lake they passed, a lake the most disgusting shade of green ever witnessed, populated with Pandora's premiere predator. The spiky, blood-eyed, triple-jawed omnivore that her uncle had apparently nick-named the 'skag' after watching one eat a man alive in front of him. He'd watched it all with cold eyes, and turned to his next prisoner, promising a similar death if he didn't get the answers he wanted. It didn't have anything to do with what Ruby had asked him, about why he gave them such an ugly name. But now, now especially, the memory brought plenty of comfort.
The Skags didn't stop at people. They didn't have a problem nesting around a giant, bubbling, toxic soup, and the eerie, emerald-glowing ones seemed to be drooling puddles of acid, from the freaky hinges that she guessed counted as mouths. She had to take a picture.
A hand grabbed her shoulder, and her sister leaned over, on top of her, pointing out the window. "What's wrong with those ones?"
The glowing ones, she guessed. "They've been exposed to the waste chemicals so long, I think their biology just mutated to accommodate."
"They look diseased," said Yang, her blonde hair swaying to the left when she tilted her head.
When Yang finally got off of her, she added, "See those tiny puffs of smoke by their feet? They're drooling acid."
"How can you even see that?"
"Can't you?" she said, smirking. A speck of aura made her eyes flash silver. Hadn't Dad sent her sister to school first because she'd unlocked her Aura on her own?
"You and that eye thing," Yang huffed, "every chance you g-" She paused.
"Hm? What was that?" Ruby asked, focusing on the window.
"That girl was staring at us."
Ruby turned. Right across from them, a white ponytail flipped in the opposite direction oh-so-inconspicuously. Icicles grew from the back of the girl's skull.
"Um, did you want something?"
The girl practically whipped her head at them, blue marbles glaring. A crooked, red shape ran along the left eye, staining the alabaster. A bang of snowy hair hid the scar. The pale skin around that eye tightened. "Excuse me?" the girl asked.
"You were staring at us," she heard Yang reply.
"I was looking out that window, that's all."
She swung her head back around, crossing her arms, giving Ruby a better look at the back of her head. Ah. So the icicles growing off of Living Snowflake's head were just a tiara. Yang shrugged; so they went back to staring out the window.
"Military bases, you think?"
Large, bland gates with numbers and letters painted on them. RX-78-26. TX-55 Gear. Suda 51.
Ruby nodded. "So military bases."
Faint shapes skittered along the horizon, sometimes running into the dark throats of caves, where she could only imagine what sort of terrible, night-dwelling parents skulked.
The corpse displays became more creative with time, and the bus managed to strike a bump in the road every time.
Her stomach crawled; bodies nailed to pikes, slabs, anything sturdy enough. Sometimes charred, maybe burned alive.
Of course, not that any of it frightened her. Not the masked people stalking the wastes, glancing their way every now and then. Not the rumble the bus made when they passed a broken-down billboard and something hit them. She bounced in her seat and grabbed the seat in front of her. A laugh gurgled from the front of the bus. She squinted ahead. The bus's driver pressed a button on his dashboard and the windshield wipers came on, smearing away the hideous spray of black and crimson. A putrid, yellow eyeball rolled free, smacked by a wiper blade, before a mist of silvery, purple liquid splashed across the front windows.
She almost missed the thing that rushed past her window. The poor, most certainly dead Skag flailed in the wind, flailing through the air until it clonked against the dirt, rolled a few seconds, and gave.
"Ha hah, time to wake up ladies!" said the bus driver.
"It's a beautiful day, full of-"
"What in the world was that?" shouted Living Snowflake.
"A Skag," Yang answered.
And a Skag that was still being cleaned off the windows, at that. Nothing beautiful at all.
Living Snowflake put her hands on her hips. "Driver, why don't you watch where you're going?"
"Oh ha ho! Don't be fooled by appearances, Pandora is not a planet of love and peace, princess." The driver made a peace sign with his hand. "We're coming up on Fyrestone Depot, so gather up that sword and that poofy dress of yours and-"
"It's – a combat skirt!" she fired back, clenching her teeth.
"Yeah yeah, well, on Pandora, we frown on teensy liddle' pigstickers." His eyes darted at the overhead mirror. "What you're going to need is Marcus guns. We've got all kinds here: Jakobs, Torque, Hyperion, Atlas..."
"Guns," the girl replied, raising her chin. "are a crutch for the uninitiated."
The driver snickered. "Heh, it's your funeral."
"I beg your pardon-"
"You there in the back, ba-ba-black sheep," he cut her off, attention now on the person all the way at the back of the bus, avoiding all conversation. "I see that sheath on your back."
Living Snowflake huffed. Her eyes pinched shut and she folded her arms over her chest. They were already folded, but somehow she pushed her arms in even tighter. Ruby peeked at the dark-haired girl in the back, curious about the sheath the driver mentioned. A black bow rested firmly over her head, and her amber eyes sharpened. Her pale forehead furrowed at being called a sheep, but calmed a moment later.
In a knowing tone, Marcus said, "I hope you're quick on your feet then, because the only thing you'll be good for is carving up Skag or Rakk. I don't care what anyone says, Skag tastes terrible no matter how you prepare it. I'd arm-wrestle a Bullymong before you'd get me to eat Skag again."
The dark-haired girl didn't reply, and went back to looking out her window. Another bump rattled the bus.
"And you, little red riding hood over there."
Ruby pointed at herself. "Me?"
He nodded. "Yes, you." Not the worst nickname she'd ever gotten. "You're the biggest weirdo of the bunch."
Her jaw tensed. "Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" she flared.
"Let me tell you, I've been around the border worlds, missy. Bad men make their homes on Pandora, bad men who do bad things to little girls like you."
Yang started to get up, but Ruby blocked her with an arm. "You think I can't take care of myself?"
"I think you haven't met the Flynt Brothers, or any of Sledge's psychotic brethren," he warned. "Trust me, you want no part of this insanity."
Ruby shot from her seat, jabbing her thumb at her chest. ""Oh trust me! I want every part of this insanity! See this?" She turned sideways. "This thing on my back? You want to know what it is? It's a collapsible scythe."
The driver lifted an eyebrow.
"You want to know what it transforms into? A gun. A really, big gun. And as soon as I have the money, its going to be part-scythe, part-anti-everything gun!" Ruby fastened her hips, puffing out her chest. "What - do you say - to that?"
He didn't answer for half a minute, and then.
"I don't believe you."
"Oh you don't huh? Well then, mister driver. Just stop this bus for a second and I'll-"
The driver sneered. "On second thought, I believe ya. You want to know something else? Pyrrha Nikos is my grand-daughter! Ah haha haa haa haaha!" Ignoring her frown, his attention strolled away from her. "So let's make fun of the blonde with the big headlights now, eh?"
"Excuse me!?" shouted Yang, already out of her seat.
"I don't see any weapons on yo-AUH!"
A wail made the bus jolt to the left, the steering wheel abandoned. Ruby snatched the back of the seat in front of her. Inertia threw the bus forward before jerking back, making her crash against her seat.
Ruby heard her sister's voice, faintly, "Can we try that again?"
She took a moment to regain her balance and rub her spine, realizing that her sister's seat was empty. She spotted the orange scarf now at the front of the bus, and the arm that reached over the driver's seat. The muscles on that arm tensed, causing the bus's driver to let out a curse.
"I-I'm-sorry Miss!" he cried.
Yang released; straightening as the the driver took a huge breath, heaving against the steering wheel. "Thank you Mister Kincaid. Now that wasn't too hard, was it?" Yang spun around, clearly enjoying the music as she moseyed back to her seat, a single, red eye winking back at her sister before the red cooled back to blue.
Ruby held her palm low, and waited.
Yang sat back down.
Clap.
The tiny smirk on Weiss's face drooped, remembering that, as well-deserved as it may have been, the childish retaliation had almost put them in a ravine.
She'd heard that they were coming up on Fyrestone Depot at least. The white-fanned windmills along the hills, signs of civilization, and the series of gray towers with trails of wire dipping between them, along with the gigantic sign ahead of them that spelled "FYRESTONE" said as much.
Once the driver recovered, the bus started again, following the road toward an opening in the far mountains. She cared little that the greasy, perverted man, Marcus Kincaid, came from seven, sexually-depraved generations of merchants, or that Pandora was the roughest neck of the woods. Both were rather obvious , but still, he rambled on.
The words sloshed from his mouth as he talked about the badasses that lived on Pandora, and their even more "badass muthas". What an undignified, native tongue. She had no intention of doting in this place any longer than she had to.
Her stomach clenched.
Everything fizzled, the wastes, the filthy bus. White noise scratched her ear drums, and something wriggled inside her skull, gelling and swooshing. An image filled her vision. The image of a pale woman with a blob of static behind her. The woman stared back, eyes gleaming in a way that burnt the faded skin around them. Dark hair flapped against the sides of her face, suggesting wind.
Alarming as it was, Weiss remained still, aware of the scream trapped in her throat. Her eyeballs, earlobes, nostrils, and fingers turned numb. She was trained not to believe in something as contrived and stupid as apparitions.
"Don't be alarmed," the woman instructed her, in a voice frighteningly human. Behind her, sprays of water crinkled and hissed through the air. "I need you to stay calm, and don't let on that anyone is talking to you."
The ocean sprays increased, louder, fiercer, breaking into planks of silver and gray; two, great arms trying to strangle one another. The woman's face faded in and out of sight, eyes peering at her, flipping through the pages casually.
"In a moment, you'll be greeted by a funny little robot," she explained. "Do everything he says. You'll know what I mean when it happens. I'll contact you later."
The image dissipated, returning Weiss's surroundings. She looked around, whirling in her seat, blinking rapidly at the other passengers. Outside, the bus passed a rocky archway, heading toward a pair of rusted gates she assumed led into Fyrestone. Each gate hung open, allowing them entry.
A psychic attack? Weiss stared absently at the back of the seat in front of her, trying to analyze the situation. The girl wearing the cape opened and closed her mouth, exchanging glances with the blonde next to her. Weiss scowled. She'd sensed an aura from her before and the blonde moments ago.
It only made Weiss more suspicious. She stole a glance at the girl sitting in the back, the black ribbons that covered her arms, and the way her eyes focused ahead. She'd noticed something too.
"-hey, have any of you been listening to me?"
Weiss swallowed, ignoring the irritating driver's voice. The caped girl apologized, asking him to repeat what he'd said.
"I was saying – once you get into Fyrestone, check on Zed for me. He'll set you up at the New-U station and a shield. Don't expect anything quality out here in the sticks, but a crappy shield is better than catching bullets with your teeth."
"Zed? Who's that?"
"Were you even listening? I said he's the town doctor in Fyrestone. If you get into a tough scrape out there, just tell him that Marcus Kincaid sent you and he'll patch you right up. Just make sure to tell him that you only want to be patched up and don't let him inject you with anything, or give you a cybernetic arm, no matter how many machine guns or chainsaws he offers to put inside it."
As if she would ever let anyone from a backwater planet like Pandora operate on her.
The bus slowed to a stop. To their left, a gas station, or a motel for all she knew. A rickety, tiered sign above said "FYRESTONE", and a separate sign below it said, "MOTEL". Okay, motel then.
Protecting the town in spirit, a metal fence ran around Fyrestone's entrance, and if she squinted, she almost couldn't see the tears in it. Marcus told them to depart without preamble, or asking for a tip. Satisfied with both of these things, Weiss excused his rude tone and hurried off the bus as an ugly thought scurried into her brain.
No. She refused to believe that, that oaf could be some king of psychokinetic predator, or that he'd managed to catch her off guard. She dumped the thought, wanting to get as far away from the reek of the bus as possible. The silver-eyed girl hopped off of the bus, outdoing the blonde and the dark-haired girl after her.
Stomping her boots into the dirt as she landed, the cloak covering the girl's red and black corset pulled away to reveal a row of bullet casings. Short hair, curled bangs, and odd rosiness to her face, boots with red lace, a skirt - bullet casings? Weiss wanted to take a closer look.
But of course, the girl stood and turned around. Damn her.
Weiss hoped she wasn't the culprit, those big, silver eyes of hers. Weiss's attention fell on the large, red rectangle attached to the girl's hip. The "soon-to-be-anti-everything gun" that supposedly transformed into a sniper rifle and a scythe...
...no.
Weiss blinked a couple of times. Her brain rolled over and paddled and kicked. It couldn't be.
That giant, mechanical duffel bag she kept on her back, if Weiss believed her at all, sounded familiar. A High-Caliber Sniper Scythe, one of the deadliest weapons in the known galaxy. Weiss processed that for a few moments. An HCSS on her back. The she'd sensed from her earlier, back on the bus...
An engine growled, and Weiss watched Marcus yank back a lever that made the bus's doors close. In no time at all, the bus grumbled away, following the skeleton pavement through an adjacent pair of gates.
Then a guffaw trickled through the distance, a mechanized voice. Near one of the gas station pumps, a rust-yellow robot approached the four of them. It teetered along on a single tire, its midsection, an inverted pyramid with a horizontal white stripe across it, jigging this way and that. A green-lit antenna stuck out from the tip of its flat head. The paintjob was cracked in several places, but Weiss recognized the Hyperion corporation model, in spite of the obvious neglect the robot suffered.
"Welcome to Fyrestone!" the robot greeted, "I am CL4PTPTP. You may call me by my locally designated name: Claptrap!" A panel flopped open on the robot's front, and a pair of arms, thin as rails, reached inside, grabbing a stack of devices. "Before continuing, please accept these ECHO communication devices, provided free of charge by the Dahl corporation!"
"Woah, a robot," Weiss heard, discovering that the voice belonged to the scythe wielder who was gawking at the robot with glassy eyes.
The Hyperion robot – Weiss found its nickname childish – handed over four, palm-sized tablets. A latch on the side opened a smaller compartment with a black pill inside.
"What's this thing do?" asked the blonde.
Heart rate activity. Oxygen content. Brain wave patterns. Exact measurement of blood lost during battle. Blood circulation. A portable weapons display-
"A good question!" the CL4PTPTP unit replied modestly. "Pandora's ECHO communication system is a way for users to connect and share content with their friends, family, and friend-enemies! You can record audio journals, submit personal information about yourself for scientific research purposes, and access our corporate geomapping satellites all over Pandora!"
"Huh," the girl drawled, rolling the dark pill between two of her fingers. She closed one eye and examined it. "So... what's this pill do?"
"That pill is a disposable nanomachine that must be consumed to provide access to the ECHOnet. To make a long contract service agreement short, simply ingest the pill so that our satellites can home in on you and inundate you with news updates and nifty deals!"
"Oh. Okay, I guess..." and with that, she swallowed her pill. Her friend, and the other girl, did the same.
"Another awesome feature of the ECHO communication network," the robot continued. Ah-ha. Here was the catch, "is that by obtaining a digital copy of your bio signature, your DNA profile can be copied over to any New-U station operating within the current region!"
"What's that?"
"Another stunning question." Truly. The robot beckoned them to follow, making a whir as it spun around; they all followed, Weiss staying a few paces behind the rest, the pill squashed beneath her thumb, soft and round. She chucked the pill around her waist.
Clap... the Hyperion robot led them to a tall pole in the ground, a slightly, red-ringed disk at the bottom. The pole rose a few meters and stopped at a red light, two thin rails hanging on either side. A light blue, holographic panel was situated at the base of the machine.
To their right, a trail of tires embedded in the ground in some manner of garden path, or maybe a border line, each spaced about a foot apart, yet still lacking any organization.
"Step right up! This is the New-U station. When you use this device, your DNA profile is automatically identified and stored. Please activate the New-U station now!"
The dark-haired girl strolled forward, black coattails waggling behind her. The device beeped after she placed her hand on the panel, and she stepped aside, allowing the blonde to do the same. Again, the machine beeped.
It was Weiss's turn, but she remained right where she was. "No thank you."
"But madam, I haven't explained the purpose of the New-U station! Should an unfortunate incident occur-"
Beep. The silver-eyed girl placed her hand on the panel.
"I won't be requiring any of that," she said, closing her eyes.
The robot shrugged, and its single, camera lens-shaped eye flickered, gazing at the other three. "Misses Belladonna, Rose, and Xiao Long. Your New-U service contracts are guaranteed to last so long as you remain within 200 klicks of Pandora, provided you are connected to the ECHO network!"
Her mouth opened to argue.
Then someone shoved a spike through her right shoulder.
The Schnee heiress tumbled, rolled, and snapped up, clutching her shoulder. The gunshot rang in the distance, and her eyes sliced every direction, searching for the shooter.
Blake had already reached for Gambol Shroud.
"Bandits?" she heard the little robot panic, "Not again! Ruuuuun!"
Claptrap bailed in a hot second, beelining for the town's entrance. Her weapon buzzed as soon as it left its sheath, the blade folding back into pistol form, its sheath now a cleaver.
A shirtless figure hollered at them from above a smooth outcropping nearest the entrance to Fyrestone, a rifle in his hands. At the top of his lungs, he screamed:
"We got NEW AH-RYE-VALS!"
Car engines churned unseen, until two huge shadows drove above the outcropping, lunging through the air. Tires smacked against the ground, kicking up clumps of dirt. The other car sailed in the wrong direction, smashing into the town gate. The grind of metal ended with a crash, smoke and fire shooting into the sky.
Three more cars entered the vicinity. Each was a brown pod with four, ovular pods over each tire, barbaric turrets guarding over them. The drivers and their gunmen wore ragged outfits, metal plates stitched around their joints; their faces masked in white, gazing through blue eye sockets. Two cars made it to the ground and raced toward them.
The third car split horizontally, tendrils of mangled steel dividing the driver and the turret operator. A blur of crimson fluttered past it. By the outcropping, the shirtless gunman loped his way down, trying to get a better shot, rifle nestled under his armpit. He'd barely opened his mouth when Blake noticed the attack that slipped past her right side. Spikes, shards of crystal blasted from the ground and speared upward, rife with a cool mist. A white figure darted past her, but Blake salready potted a new target. The tires of one of the other cars gurgled, spitting up dirt as it neared. The cars had scattered in different directions.
In one powerful leap, she soared over them, katana and cleaver readied. Blurs of red and black, of gold and red assailed the other cars in violent flashes. One by one, the engines quieted.
Gambol Shroud flew from her hand, and buried itself in the throat of one bandit. The black ribbon attached to the weapon went taut. Blake shifted, clinging as the armored car drove on. A second Blake manifested, only to fizzle out of existence as Blake lanced downward, ribbon bending after her.
Her boots thumped against the car's frame, extending her hand. The black ribbon animated, pulling the katana from the bandit's throat and wrapping itself back around her arm. Once it gathered, Blake swung the sheath with her other hand, the driver unaware. Crunch. She braced, hugging the roof of the car as it skidded and stopped.
Before her, a wall of white crystal, the size of some behemoth creature, had torn from the planet's very crust. The wall cut through the road by the bus stop, stopping short of the smooth outcropping.
Near that end of it, the snow-haired girl stormed toward a shuddering bandit, who'd well soiled his orange pants by that point, his firearm missing. Blood darkened her sleeve and scrapes lined her knees. She made no effort to sheath the rapier in her left hand.
"Please don't kill me!" another voice begged.
Blake spied a fluttering cape, and a scythe held below it. In front of the scythe wielder, another bandit lay wounded. Before she heard the girl's reply, another gunshot cracked the air.
Metal groaned under a golden fist, by an overturned car. Then the blonde faced them, and went to where the caped girl was. Another car had flipped over, dented in multiple places.
The air cracked with more gunshots. Heads turned.
To the entrance of Fyrestone where one of the cars had knocked down the gate and gone up in flames, where a single man lumbered out, his outfit dark and shredded, his blue-eyed mask blistered. The bandit let out a garbled yell, and raised the pistol in his left hand.
Blake hurled Gambol Shroud before he could fire, a single, powerful round propelling it forward. Shick. His arm winged upward and the pistol flashed, the bullet flickering into the sky. She popped the weapon back after, and the bandit heaped forward with a gash through his neckline.
She joined the others, their weapons drawn as they surrounded three of the survivors. The closer she was, the more confusion stirred. She glanced privately at the scythe that the girl in red carried, the absolutely-larger-than-the-person-carrying-and-slashing-through-cars-with-it scythe. Judging from the way the bandits shuddered, they recognized it too.
"Tell us who you are," demanded the girl in white, now on her left, "and why you attacked a bunch of tourists. Now."
The bandit in the orange pants cried: "I'm going to put so many fresh holes in you before this is over!"
Blake's eyes thinned.
Tire treads chewing along the gravel when the CL4PTPTP unit returned. During the bandit attack, the machine had taken cover, hiding in some excuse for a shack scrapped together with some sheets of metal and a roof. Uttering his thanks for removing the bandits, and not the least bit hiding his shock, his programming dictated that he introduce them to Fyrestone and the remaining locals. He guided them into a few "back streets", for lack of a better term.
"How disgusting," muttered Weiss.
The bandits claimed to be working for a man named Nine-Toes. But that mattered little. It was blind terrorism, hardly an organized attack. At best, one of them had gotten in a lucky shot that grazed her shoulder at best. She'd responded by destroying their vehicles, and in the process, learned that the other passengers were nowhere near as defenseless as they seemed.
Here she was, five minutes off the bus and nursing a bullet wound. She hated Pandora.
Tenements waited inside these 'back streets', side-by-side. A gravel path led into the town proper, where banners of red, white, black, and green hung overhead, many patched together, tattered, or riddled with bullet holes. Scrap metal walls sectioned the street in a faulty attempt to keep out wildlife. The street ended, in a place where the CL4PTPTP unit tried to open a gateway that was basically a giant, metal plate someone had stripped from a vehicle, attached to several, smaller plates.
It led them into what had to be a garbage dump. Weiss almost drew her rapier and demanded to be led back into town. Everything looked septic. Piles of broken robot parts covered piles of trash and rotting meals, littering the area. Tall, corrugated planks rose and leaned against rocks and one-story, dome-shaped houses that populated the town. They hadn't found a soul, but the reek from the latrines and exposed toilets suggested otherwise.
The Hyperion robot stopped to show them a large, mechanical chest along their route. The dull red paint showed, but the chest contained green sensors on its front, indicating occupancy.
"Please, open this container, brave travelers!" it said with a gesture.
Weiss waited, and the girl with the black bow complied. When she touched the chest, it flickered to life and the top flipped open, revealing a single, dust-covered repeater pistol.
"Ooh. That looks it could really do some damage!" the robot claimed.
Weiss closed her eyes, exhaling through her nose.
"Yeah...not really," said the girl with the bow.
"Huh?"
"She's right," Scythe Girl piped up, picking up the pistol, which was larger than her own hand. "That's a really basic design, probably no higher than a Class 3. It wouldn't help any of us in a fight, and I doubt we could scrounge together ammunition for it anyway." With an eyebrow raised, Weiss watched her walk over to the robot and offer the weapon over. "How about you hold onto it?"
"Me?" sparked the Hyperion robot. "You're... you're handing me a gun?"
She gave him a nod. "Well yeah."
The blonde protested, "Uh, sis? Are you sure that's a good idea?"
Huh. Those two were sisters then. But what had the robot called the blonde again? Miss Xiao-what?
"Look, the four of us aren't going to be around here for long, and with those bandits around, I don't want the nice robot to get hurt, or be defenseless all the time."
Accepting the firearm, Weiss stepped back when the robot bounced around on its axis. "Thank - you - madam!" it declared, dropping the pistol into the same drawer as the ECHO devices. "I have a feeling that you and I are going to be great friends!"
When they finally entered what was supposed to be a town, their surroundings improved marginally; buildings more closed-in, gates with fewer holes in them. Even a vehicle garage to their left, with a beat-up vehicle parked there. A huge, gunmetal gate blocked another garage. The girl with the bow hadn't spoken a word since, while the sisters chattered about how they'd dealt with the local ruffians, and their frequent stares and glances were rather irritating.
Tattered overhangs rustled along roofs, sharing the same dirty shade of red as the posters plastered all over town. On each poster, a fiendish, red-eyed shadow of an armored soldier stared back, spouting the same, emblazoned text: "THE CRIMSON LANCE". Such torrid propaganda. How much influence could the Lance possibly have over a ghost town like this with bandits attacking the new arrivals?
"Attention citizen of Fyrestone!" called CL4PTPTP. "There is no cause for alarm. Our new visitors have revolved the problem! Permanently!"
Her eye twitched. Citizen, it had said. Not citizens.
"Well shoot," said a voice on her ECHO device. "I had to lock up the place after that last attack. Thought I was a goner this time." Weiss turned the device over, idly curious as to why she'd kept it in the first place. A man in a surgical mask and frock, and a shirt with a corporate logo on the shoulder appeared on the screen.
"Please come outside Doctor! There's a young woman out front in dire need of medical attention."
The Hyperion robot stood... sat... crouched... waited, in front of a door to the second garage, a large 3 painted on the side of the building. Weiss stood behind the other three, keeping Scythe Girl and her blonde sibling in her line of sight. "Come on! Damn it, blasted circuits are on the fritz again!" The man speaking to them through the ECHOnet bore a heavy, frontier planet drawl in his voice. "Give it a go from out there, would ya? I'll let ya folks right in, seein' as you saved mah' bacon and'all."
Clap... the Hyperion robot hummed a tune and pressed one hand on a panel by the building's front door. "Way points, way points," it chirped, over and over. Great. She'd already lost the feeling in her right arm, and now the CL4PTPTP was malfunctioning.
But whatever it had done, the garage door rattled and lifted, squealing on the rusted tracks. A pair of blood-splattered boots stepped out. Her eyes traveled up and down, from the blood-splattered boots that moved from the shadows, to the blood-stained gloves that waved at the five of them.
"Name's Zed," he greeted. "They don't let me operate on people no'more since I lost my license. Now I keep the med vendors around her running – more or less."
Her jaw widened. Blood dripped from a buzz saw in the graying doctor's right hand. A bloody, bloody buzz saw. His looked directly at her. "I take it you're the one in need of some good-ol TLZ? Heh heh, you're lucky I keep the morphine on tap."
She really was going to leave Pandora with some manner of disease, wasn't she?
The doctor rounded on her, the three girls in front of her clearing a path for him. He peeked at the tourniquet around her shoulder that she'd fashioned from part of her sleeve, the light blue fabric now damp and unsightly. He put both hands on her arm, examining the injury. She made a mental note of which side of her hip her weapon was on. He drummed his fingers along her arm. She winced; his fingers tugged at the makeshift tourniquet.
"Hmm. A corrosive from the looks of it, but just a graze. Nothing magical science can't handle." He waved at the other four. "Come on inside before more bandits show up. I don't want 'you girls or any of mah equipment getting' shot up."
They complied, and Weiss shook her head. "Wait a moment. Corrosive? You mean an acidic round?"
"That's k'orrect, darling."
She pulled her arm away. "That doesn't make any sense."
Zed shrugged, closing the garage door behind the other three, and the robot, who wheeled itself inside and started waving the pistol around in its hand.
"Ooh, ooh! Zed! Check out, the, uh, piece that one of the newcomers bestowed upon me!"
"Claptrap," growled Zed, "if you don't put that thing away, I'm tying you to a fence and leaving you outside for the Skags!"
"Aww, but Zed, it's a really cool gun!"
The 'medical station' as it were wasn't any cleaner than the rest of Fyrestone. Searching for a light switch, Weiss spotted the medical table pushed toward the back, and the body on top of it.
The lights flashed on.
Weiss made out blond hair. Where she expected fingers, instead, a white gauze covered in red splotches, going up as far as the person's wrist. It was a boy wearing jeans and a black jacket. The operating table was, in fact, just an ordinary table with a sheet over it. Not a shred of carpet in sight, and something dripped by the front of the table. Weiss glanced at Zed and the buzz saw. Then back to the table; the dripping sound; the gauze.
And the severed hand laying on the floor.