Ryan James Sinclair is a mercenary and soldier. He's a hunter and assassin. He's a gambler and ladies man who likes taking risks for big paydays. He travelled for awhile, albeit shortly with the Lone Wanderer from Vault 101, but he had an offer he couldn't refuse from a shady character that remains nameless. The deed is done and he now travels home to make amends with his parents and family, when he arrives he soon realises that things never really change and finds himself in the middle of a raging war between crime bosses in the crime riddled city of Eden Falls. Whose side will he take in the slaughter that will undoubtedly follow, will he be just another gun for hire to the highest bidder, or is this going to get personal. The story begins as he makes his way home, relieved to finally be back, but all is not what it seems and it is just a matter of time before he his dragged into a war that will change his life forever.

Along These Lonely Roads of Broken Dreams I Travel

Chapter1: Going Home

'Rykers Crossing – 27 Kilometres, Eden Falls – 54 Kilometres, Little Hampton – 3 Kilometres.' Ryan read the painted signpost, squinting through narrow slits with his hand over his eyes as he tried to shield his face from the merciless noonday heat. The words were daubed over a white painted background in thick red letters. He let his sunglasses drop down onto his nose, a welcome relief from the glare. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old rag, wiping it over his sweat soaked face and neck.

He lifted his backpack off his shoulders, relieved at having shed the sixty pounds of weight that he was carrying with him. He placed his assault rifle next to the backpack, then took his sniper rifle from his shoulder and placed that on the ground. He carried in total 12 water flasks, six were empty, four contained water and two contained whiskey. He took one of the water flasks and unscrewed the top. He took a long refreshing gulp of water and placed the top back on the flask. He stretched his aching limbs and then sat down at the side of the empty road next to everything he owned in the world and was determined to relax for just a little while.

He thought about taking off his boots, but getting them back on could prove troublesome considering how much his feet had ached for at least the last fifty kilometres of his journey. He rummaged around in his food sack which was becoming dangerously empty. He could only hope there was food to buy at his next stop. He took a slice of mouldy bread and a block of cheese that had gone a troubling shade of green. But food was food and there was precious little else to eat out here on the highway. He took a bite out of the bread and then bit off a piece of cheese, savouring the taste and imagining it was food fit for a prince.

That was a damn joke, prince of nothing out here in this bloody wasteland. All he could expect were gangs of raiders who would likely beat the life out of you, rape you, skin you, and eat you. There were the slaver caravans who were always on the lookout for seemingly helpless wastelanders to sell to the highest bidder. Those worth anything would end up in Eden Falls, the nearest thing this part of the wasteland had to a city. They would be sold to the whore houses and anyone looking for a bright young thing to keep them warm at night. Luckily super mutant activity had lessened in the area over recent years. Nobody ever wanted a run in with those psychotic freaks.

The ever so holier than thou Brotherhood of Steel were as rare as rocking horse shit in this part of the wastes, and many were glad for small mercies. The last thing the crime families of Eden Falls wanted was to have the interfering do-gooders of the BOS sticking there noses where they weren't wanted. There were always the tribals, unpredictable and deadly when they were out in force. There were all manner of criminal types, it was hardly surprising considering the kind of place Eden Falls was and the fact that every piece of trash and scum in the wasteland was either going there or coming from there to carry out whatever nefarious deeds took their fancy.

Another growing problem was the increase in wild critters in recent years. This damn area had become something of a hunting ground for all manner of scary bastard creatures. The deathclaws were by far the worst, you just had to hope they didn't get your scent or you were in for one hell of a battle, and if they were in a pack then you really were up shit creek without a paddle. But the most likely were packs of wild dogs, wolves and molerats, all dangerous when there was enough of them. But at least they provided food out here in the wastes, if you were good enough to kill them that is.

The Enclave was seen occasionally, but they seemed to keep a fairly low profile. The only ones who really had any dealings with them were the crime bosses in Eden Falls. The bosses supplied them with all manner of goods and the enclave got access to weapons technology and medicine. Already their was a lot of competition to create new designer drugs and trade in high tech weapons was big business for the crime families who were always trying to get one over on their rivals.

Ryan wondered what the city would be like now. It had been years since his last visit, twelve years to be precise. He had been just a young man then, setting out on his journey to god knows where. He wondered what life would be like in Rykers Crossing, his home town. For now all he could do was think about what lay ahead. But it wouldn't be long now. He had spent months walking home and finally it was within spitting distance. He looked forward to seeing his ma and pa. He looked forward to seeing his older brother Verne and his growing family. He hadn't seen them for twelve years but just knew there would be new additions to the Sinclair household. And what about young Lillith, his younger sister who was just a child when he left, she would be a young woman now.

He thought for a moment, should he travel the rest of the day without stopping and try to reach home by tonight. The other option was to stop off in Little Hampton and rest up for the night. It was a long time since he had passed through the small town but they did have a few saloons, flop houses and more importantly a bath house with female attendants. Now that sounded just great to Ryan, months on the road with barely a village every hundred kilometres or more. It had been hell, and he had cause to fight for his life on more than one occasion. But that was simply the nature of the beast. The wasteland was no place for the weak or the meek. It was kill or be killed, plain and simple. He fiddled with the pistols in their holsters and adjusted his ammo belts so they didn't quite dig into his flesh so much. He examined his auto shotgun packed onto the outside of his backpack, making sure it was available for close encounters. There was nothing like a few shotgun blasts to clear the way through a pack of mean critters.

His binoculars hung around his neck. He took a hold of them and scanned the horizon in every direction. There was no sign of life whatsoever. It had been the same for most of the journey. It was just arid scrubland for miles around. He could only hope the settlements around here had fared better. He finished off the bread and cheese, happy at least to have at least something in his stomach. He lay back, resting his head on the backpack. He felt tired enough to sleep, but that was too dangerous to even contemplate. It would take less than an hour to reach Little Hampton, and he could finally get a hot bath, a warm meal and a comfortable bed. At least he hoped he could, twelve years had gone by. Small towns had a habit of becoming ghost towns in the wastes.

Half an hour later he was ready to move. He packed everything up, careful not to leave anything behind. Immediately he felt the weight of the backpack pulling him down. He would be glad when he could finally unpack and make himself at home. One thing that did still worry him was how he would be greeted after all these years. What if the town had been abandoned? What if his parents were dead? He had left under something of a dark cloud, what would their reaction be seeing him after all these years? He couldn't help but hope for the best yet fear the worst; such was the way since he left home.

The sun beating down on him he took a step forward and then another until he once again took up that same old stride that had seen him travel across half of America and back. He took out a pack of roll ups from his pocket and placed one in his mouth, lighting it and blowing out a mouthful of smoke. It was potent stuff, he had paid twenty caps for twenty roll ups, each one guaranteed to lift your mood and make you relax until all your problems were a distant memory. In minutes his long stride had become a much gentler stroll and for all the world he couldn't work out why he was laughing to himself, not quiet laughter but gut wrenching, teary eyed laughter that brought him to a sudden stop before he had even gone more than a few hundred metres. His head swam, his sight blurred until the sky appeared to have an unwashed tint of yellow and green, creating a dirty haze through which the relentless rays of the sun shone down on him. He picked up his pace again, still chuckling to himself about nothing in particular.

He imagined reaching Little Hampton and lying down in a hot soapy tub. A young female attendant would be washing his back while he whistled to himself and drank a nice cold bottle of beer. And if that wasn't going to happen he would settle for a comfy bed and sleep the night away so he was fresh for the journey home in the morning. He would be thirty three in two weeks and four days. He had wanted to get home for his birthday and had made excellent time, easily reaching his destination with weeks to go.

That last contract had been shear hell and he was glad to be out of it. It had earned him enough caps to get the hell out of there while he still could and put as much distance between himself and Washington DC as possible. Miss Vault 101 had been something of an inspiration, and also a bullet magnet that attracted trouble wherever she went. But her fight wasn't his. They played on opposite sides of the track. When the hit had been arranged on Alistair Tenpenney, and the twenty thousand caps had been paid, Ryan had done the job and left it all behind. He still saw the old man sat on his balcony, the .50 calibre round blowing a hole clean through his head. Whoever wanted him dead was willing to pay enough for Ryan to simply disappear for awhile, or for good. He had no intention of returning to the Capitol Wasteland.

He wondered what life would be like if he could simply fit back in with his family in Rykers Crossing. What would he do now? The family business was farming, looking after the crops and the Brahmin. He really couldn't see himself being content with that. Maybe he could open up his own saloon, although he would probably drink all the profits. He took out an old photograph, taken six months before he left. It showed his mother and father, his brother and his brother's wife Rena and their three children, and his younger sister Lillith, always up to mischief. He treasured the memory fondly and smiled to himself as he imagined hugging them all, he had to pinch himself to remind him they were only a day away.

The hour passed without event and soon he was looking on the small town of Little Hampton. The sign read 'Population 238, Brahmin 546, Pigs 817, Horses 34, Chickens 1259, Dogs 48' displayed proudly in the same red paint he had seen on the sign earlier with obvious signs that it had been changed many times to reflect the true number, although why they wanted to display their animal population he had no idea. The buildings were typically ramshackle, there had been a very small village here hundreds of years ago and the old houses still stood, albeit in a very decrepit state of ruin and disrepair. Dozens of them had been built around the old wooden manor houses. Before he had even had chance to enter the town he was approached by a party of six men, all carrying guns. He sighed and walked forward, here we go again he thought, more trigger happy locals with guns, will it never end.