Washington DC, a city of ruin, carnage, vice and despair. The atomic war had turned this once vibrant city of enterprise, the home of the American government, into a radioactive ruin. Democracy was replaced with slavery, trade was replaced with looting and prosperity was replaced with despair as the rules changed overnight and all spoils went to the fittest, the strongest and the most brutal.
Those who sought to bring change to this hell hole often met a sticky end; they were shot, beaten, enslaved, butchered, devoured or mutated for their efforts. Even so, some still weren't discouraged; there were people like Elder Owyn Lyons, who betrayed his own order, to pursue his goals of bringing change to the wastes. Then there were organisations, like the Regulators and the Railroad, who strove to bring some form of justice to the Capital Wasteland but they were few in number and their successes were only minute, they could never even have hoped to make the slightest bit of difference to the wasteland's injustices.
Wherever there is good, evil is surely to linger and there were those who sought to prosper from the misfortunes of the wastes. People like Eulogy Jones, Alistair Tenpenny and Colin Moriarty, who profited from the suffering of others, who are the cause of most of the death, violence and despair in this place.
Our story begins with such a man, a prodigy in cruelty, a saintly figure for the erratic and those who lack any morals. Thomas Hamilton had a stake in every slice of evil that DC had to offer and within a few years, he found himself to be the right hand of Eulogy Jones. He was a special agent, to both Eulogy and Alistair Tenpenny, who was highly sought after for his competence, resourcefulness and professionalism. Hamilton was not afraid to get his hands dirty, no job was beneath him, nobody was off limits and he feared no one, not even those he served.
Thomas' influence over Tenpenny Tower and Paradise Falls grew and though he made it perfectly clear that he never wanted the responsibility of leadership, both of his employers secretly feared a coup as Thomas had a reputation for being rash and even erratic at times. He showed no signs of disloyalty but, overtime, he found that he was no longer finding fulfilment in his current duties. Everything was so easy and with his resources and influence, he had little to no difficulty carrying out his thankless tasks. Hamilton missed being nobody, exceeding the expectations of his 'superiors' and working with nothing but a rustic knife and a jammed 10mm pistol.
It has been several years since Thomas left the Capital Wasteland and he feels that it is long due for a check up. What he doesn't realise, is that life in the Capital Wasteland has changed and the world that he left behind is just a memory to those who survived his 'reign of terror…'
It was noon; the sun's rays beat down on any unfortunate travellers, punishing those who wandered the wastes beneath it. The wind protected the travellers from the heat, blowing a cool breeze, along the ground but scattering dust, ash and sand through the air in the process.
The dirt blew into the atmosphere, creating a brown fog, resembling a sand storm. The area, surrounding Warrington Station had been completely obscured by the dust, which lingered for a few minutes before finally settling down and revealing a lone figure, standing in the eye of the storm. The figure wore a grunt mercenary outfit, with a balaclava and goggles on his face, protecting his eyes and mouth from the dust. He wore a roving trader hat and most noticeably a Pip-Boy 3000 on his left wrist.
He didn't look like he was travelling light, carrying a large rucksack on his back, which looked pretty full. A combat shotgun hung off the side of the bag and a heavily worn out 10mm pistol was tucked into the holster on his thigh, whilst he held a machete in his right hand.
He reached up and removed the goggles, pulling them up and resting them over the bill of his cap before ripping the balaclava off of his face and tucking it into his back pocket. He revealed his heavily scratched face, his cold brown eyes and untrimmed goatee, with wispy hairs growing around his cheeks.
A smile crept across his lips as the dust had completely died down, revealing the looming tower in front of him. He knew it well; he knew it as a place of civilization, a place of shelter…
Home…
Thomas knelt down, as if he was going to tie his boot laces but instead, he tucked his machete into a holster, which was strapped to his right leg. He slowly stood up and marched over to the front gate, the soles of his boots peeled off as he walked, practically hanging off and flapping, whenever his foot was raised off of the ground and it was no longer pressed against the rest of his boot. He stopped at the intercom, leaning his elbow against the wall and taking a deep breath, composing himself before hitting the little green button, which rested under the speaker.
The speaker made a quick, loud buzzing sound, which made him cringe as it was incredibly vexing. He sighed heavily, in both frustration and exhaustion, as he had been walking for days and the pain in his feet was crippling. After a few seconds, the speaker started to crackle and a gruff voice received him, much to Thomas' surprise.
"Hello?"
"Erm…" Thomas paused, he got the feeling that something wasn't right here, the voice didn't sound human...
"My name is Thomas Hamilton; I live here, in case you didn't get the memo."
There was a pause, though there was no sound, suggesting that he was checking the records in his brain, instead of the ones on the computer or in the filing cabinets. Needless to say, it didn't take long to search the 'archives' as there wasn't much to search through.
"How long have you been living here smooth skin?" The voice asked, confirming Thomas' suspicions that he was in fact dealing with a ghoul. This didn't bother him too much as he didn't have that much of a problem with ghouls, they weren't that different to humans, just as profitable and evil at heart.
"I'd say… the best part of five years." Thomas answered, truthfully, hoping that he'd just check the list and see his name. He was amazed that this ghoul was allowed residence in the tower, normally the 'rotters' were shot on sight, the lucky ones got off with a rant from Gustavo himself and a hail of foul mouthed abuse.
The sound of pages turning made its way through the speakers as the ghoul began to check his records. Either the records were shorter than he remembered or the guy didn't look very hard as the book was quickly shut and the ghoul returned to the speaker.
"No 'Hamilton' here smooth skin, nice try though…" With that, the ghoul cut off, letting his words echo in the immediate area and leaving Tom perplexed at the gate.
"Are you f…" he didn't bother to finish as he hit the button again, getting the annoying buzz once more, somehow it felt fitting this time as it felt like a outburst of his anger towards the ghoul.
"God dammit, I told you, we don't have any Hamiltons here, so get your God damn ugly ass out of he…"
"No, shut up!" Thomas snapped, cutting right through him as he drew his face closer to the speaker.
"Go, get Gustavo, he knows who I am."
There was a pause as the ghoul seemed to have loosened his grip on the button, looking away to verify the facts before looking back to the buzzer.
"There ain't no Gustavo here either…"
"Oh for fu-
Fine, go and find Burke, he knows me, I worked for him for two years!"
There was another pause, conveying that the ghoul was confused about something, his finger slipped off of the speaker and he leant in to push it again.
"Burke?"
"Yeah, your boss!" Thomas reminded him, though he sounded even more confused than the ghoul was. Was Burke dead? Was Gustavo?
Neither of them would want a rotter living in the tower, especially not on the security team, Gustavo would have sooner become one himself and Burke was so well known that nobody would dare forget his name, least of all the security staff.
"L-Look… Somebody in there will know who I am, get someone to talk to Tenpenny, I'm sure that…"
"Tenpenny?" The ghoul asked, cutting off Thomas' plea for access to his home and making the situation even more uncertain…
"Shit…" The ghoul muttered, taking his finger off of the speaker and seemingly leaving Thomas on hold. Thomas raised his hands in frustration, what was he supposed to do now? He did the only thing he could do; he stood idly, awaiting the imbecile, behind the intercom, to return.
"Hello?" Another ghoul voice asked, instantly getting Thomas' attention and prompting him to turn around and face the speaker.
"Yes?" He replied, wearily, he just wanted to sit down at this point and if he wasn't in agony, he would gladly go elsewhere.
"I looked through the old records, says here that a Thomas Hamilton used to live here before Philips took over, though he was gone by the time that happened."
"Away, not gone…" Thomas corrected him, looking over his shoulder, in case a deathclaw was stood behind him, licking its lips.
Knowing his luck today, that wouldn't surprise him at all…
"Yeah, it never said that you checked out…" The ghoul commented, the sound of the ledger snapping shut leaked through the speaker.
"Well, I'm sorry kid but your 'home' belongs to someone else now. The place was bought out six month ago…"
"It wasn't yours to sell…" Thomas snapped at him, through gritted teeth.
"On the contrary, smooth skin, this whole Tower is ours to sell, so I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Thomas grumbled, stepping away and shaking his leg, seething at the excruciating pain as his foot touched the ground. He wouldn't make it to Megaton like this or paradise falls…
"Look, I need a place to stay; I'll even pay for entry." Thomas bargained, he wasn't the best barterer but the sound of caps rubbing together is enough to earn anyone's ear.
"How much are we talking?" One of the ghouls asked, Thomas didn't know which one as they all sounded the same to him.
"Two hundred, it's all I have…" This was a lie as he had another hundred in his backpack but he wasn't eager to share that piece of information.
The ghoul sighed; it was better to let him in and make a profit, than refuse him entry and have to put up with his whining all afternoon.
"Fine, you're allowed entry, for one night only."
The gate opened, as the guard finished speaking, the metal gate slid through the groove in the floor. Despite the fact that the groove had been dug out to allow easy access, there was still a great deal of friction and the gate made one hell of a noise that was comparable to dragging nails along a chalk board.
Thomas stepped back and began to hobble over to the gate, the pain shot through his foot whenever he tried to take a step. He did his best to hide it as the slaver had no desire to show his weaknesses to those around him.
He took two steps inside, standing before a fountain, which had long since dried up, a pity as Thomas would give anything for a shower right about now. He looked to his left and saw the older of the two ghouls approach him, he wore the old Tenpenny Tower security team uniform and had an assault rifle slung over his shoulder.
The ghoul wasn't in the mood for any nonsense and so, he held his hand out, expecting Thomas to cough up the promised bribe. He reached into his pockets and withdrew the coin purse; reluctantly placing it into the security chief's hand.
The ghoul smiled at him, bearing his rotten teeth and gums as he pocketed the bottle caps.
"Welcome to Philip's tower, the second largest ghoul city in the Capital Wasteland.
You're free to use our stores, café and bar, so long as you don't bother any of the residents and you stay away from the executive suites."
Thomas nodded, resisting the urge to sigh as one of those suits was his home and he wasn't about to just let it go without a fight. He didn't even dignify the ghoul with a response as he began to stumble over to the front door of the former hotel, gritting his teeth tighter and tighter as he went. He began to imagine what his feet currently look like, he could swear that his socks were damp but perhaps this was just his imagination playing up.
Thomas stopped at the front door, leaning against it and pushing it open, with his shoulder. His arms didn't have the strength to open the door and so, his whole body weight was required. He stumbled through the lobby, noticing how little had changed since he had left, the décor was exactly the same, the main desk was still used as the central hub of the security staff.
He stopped at the center of the room as many of the tower's residents began to emerge from the shadows, staring at him as they walked past. He didn't like it, feeling like a freak in his own home, like he was the one whose face was rotting off.
He straightened his back and composed himself, trying to form a plan in his head but he wasn't able to scheme on an empty stomach, with feet that felt like he had just done a two mile trek, through a field of glass.
The Slaver brought his pip-boy up to his face, to check the time, it was only 1PM and he could quite easily get some food…
Food…
A smile crept across his lips, as he thought of eating once more. Even food that had been prepared by a walking disease farm sounded appealing to him, in his famished state.
Making his decision, he shambled on, wandering over to the café hoping to get his first meal in days.