Ruby let out a frustrated sigh, crouching beside a pile of broken circuitry tangled with old cables. The air reeked of scorched rubber and irradiated metal, a grim reminder of the bombs that had turned the world into a graveyard. She wiped a smear of grime from her cheek with the back of her glove, eyes flicking through the debris for anything valuable—food, water, or, if luck was on her side, weapon parts. God, she needed parts.

Nothing made Ruby’s heart race more than the clink of scrap components—polished gears, plasma capacitors, or a pristine barrel assembly hidden among the trash. That’s where she thrived, piecing together death machines from relics of a world long gone. If anyone knew Ruby Rose, they knew she didn’t just love weapon parts—she hoarded them.

She once turned down 4,000 caps for an Ignis Core—a battery powerful enough to run a Gatling laser for days. The merchant had practically begged her to sell, throwing in stimpaks, RadAway, and even a working Pip-Boy. But Ruby had only given him a deadpan look and muttered, “Not today.” And on a good day, she might’ve sold it—might’ve—but not for less than 5,000. Some things were worth more than survival.

Ruby stood and kicked aside a chunk of twisted metal. It clanged against the cracked asphalt, sending an echo through the hollow streets of the ruined city. A radioactive breeze swept past, kicking up glowing green dust and swirling scraps of pre-War advertisements that clung to the walls of broken storefronts. One old Nuka-Cola poster fluttered lazily before tearing free and drifting into the sky. Ruby squinted down the road, adjusting the goggles perched on her head. The midday sun wasn’t making things easier, and the heat was draining what little energy she had left.

She tugged her jacket tighter and muttered to herself, “Come on, Yang... you’d better have found something good.”

Yang always had better luck on these runs. Ruby’s older sister had better luck