Scott Starlyle stood on the edge of a cliff, looking over the irradiated, godforsaken hellhole that the Earth had become. He smiled, though, because it was his godforsaken hellhole of a planet. He found himself coming to places like more and more often. Maybe it was to watch the sunset. Maybe to reminisce about pre-War times. Before the bombs fell, Starlyle was an average guy. Neither rich nor important enough to make it into onone of the vaults. No, he sat and watched as the world fell apart. He was lucky, if you could call it that. Rather than dying off, like most of the rest of the world, he became a ghoul. It wasn't fast. It sure as hell wasn't pretty. But more than anything else it was agonizing. He didn't know what was happening, he just started dying. Cuts stopped healing, hair stopped growing, sleep became less necessary. For a while, he was in a sort of "Golden Age". He stayed the same, more or less, for about a year, until the radiation really started packing a punch. That's when he was really plunged into the insanity of the wasteland. civilization was already reforming: The yet-to-be-ghouls were exploring the surface, looking for a way to survive. Some traveled in groups. Some traveled alone. Everyone fought tooth and nail, though. Whether it was against others, the emerging abominations, or the wasteland itself, it didn't much matter. All that mattered was getting a leg up, getting above everyone else. Starlyle didn't much care for that time. Probably because he wasn't thriving during that time. He was just barely eking out a living. He had never been poor before the bombs fell, but he was sure this had to be worse. After the idea of a post-apocalyptic free-for-all began to fade, the pockets of humanity that hadn't died had formed extremely basic civilisations. None of the vaults had opened yet, and so everyone was either a ghoul or close enough to pass as one. Scott himself was part of one of these little groups, but they were long gone. he got a good look at what the bombs had done to people, and it would only get worse. The ghouls were then recognizably "Ghoulified" as Scott liked to say. At first, he had been pessimistic. It was the end of the world, so he definitely had a right to be. But slowly his bitter pessimism eroded and changed into a consistent glee. Yeah, it was the end of the world, and yeah, humanity was almost certainly screwed, but he was there to see it. And he would be there for a long time. That's what kept him happy. He had found the mythical "fountain of youth", and sure it was't pretty, but he felt twenty for the last century, give or take. At the cost of his face, it wasn't that bad.
A few hours later, he was walking through Goodneighbor. He caught a few waves and a few smiles on the way, regardless of his drifter status. He was a regular here, or at least when he was in the area. He made his way down to the Third Rail, giving an amiable wave to the bouncer. strutting up to the bar, he announced with a smile, "Hey hey, Charlie! Got any scotch left? I'd kill for a drink. Literally."
"Well of course! What do you think this is, some sort of seedy establishment? We've got all the liquor you could ever want! Scotch, neat, coming up, as long as you got the caps."
Starlyle handed over the caps and nestled the glass right in his hand, where it belongs. He sipped it slowly as the night went on, buying three drinks total over the night.
"So, you heard the news recently?" Charlie asked quietly, not looking up from the cup he was cleaning.
"Nah. Lay it on me." Scott said, matching his hushed tone.
"Hear there's a few folks looking for you. Said they needed to talk to you. Badly. Whoops," Charlie muttered as his cap slid off his head and onto the floor. while he hovered down to get it, he subtly gestured over to a seedy table towards the back. "Those guys back there. They look pretty tough, you better watch yourself."
"Have a little faith in me Charlie." He said confidently, standing up from the bar and sauntering over to the table, drink in hand. "Heard you fellas were looking for me. Something you needed?"
"Yeah," Said one of the guys in a deep voice. There were three in all each bigger than the last. The guy that spoke was in the middle, smaller than the biggest, but bigger than the smallest. He was wearing a gas mask that covered his face. The other two wore helmets with visorvisors, obscuring most of their mugs. "We got word a few guys who would pay big money for you, and we heard you were in town so I decided to swing on bye." His tone was friendly enough, but everyone knew what he meant. Besides one hushed conversation, the bar was silent.
"Oh really? Mind telling me who asked for my head on a plate?"
"Boss wouldn't be happy if you knew."
"Alright, I guess it'll be that way then." Scott looked over to Charlie, who gave him a nod in return. then from the sleeve of his nice blue suit popped a plasma defender, the kind from Vegas. "You fellas ever seen one of these?" He asked kindly. They all shook their heads. "Special kind from out west. Plasma model. Kicks ass. Now let me tell you guys something." he leaned in over the table. "Everyone here is packing heat. If you shoot you sure as hell won't be the one cashing checks. You'll have more holes than Swiss cheese, bub. So you think about what you do next reaaaaaalll carefully. Alright?"
Scott leaned back in his chair, waiting. After a few minutes, the goons got up and left, and he went back to his seat at the bar.
"That was unnecessarily ballsy." Charlie commented.
"Well yeah, but it's been at least two hundred years, so if I died, it wouldn't be all bad. Besides, everyone here loves meme. Speaking of, a drink for everyone, on me."
"How do you expect to pay?"
"Call it a solid?"
"Yeah, alright. You owe me. Big time." Charlie grumbled.
"Seems fair to me."
After a few hours, a third glass and a lot of thank you's and smiles, Scott left the bar to take up his room in The Rexford. He was a regular here, so they had a room, just for him. Of course, other people slept there, so it was mostly an honorary title. But it's the thought that counts.
He paid his fee, and with a couple of waves and smiles, he went up to his room. He didn't sleep. He rarely did. No, he bought that room to prepare for his pilgrammage to New Vegas. He started taking inventory of everything he had, and then after that everything he needed. The New Vegas trip was one he had made before. Not many times, but he had done it. He first assessed his weapons. He had his trusty 9mm pistol, stamped to his side in a handmade-holster. This was his before the bombs fell, and it was a miracle it still worked. He repaired it regularly but didn't use it much in fear of breaking it. Then he had his plasma defender, which he used much more frequently. This he picked up on his first journey to Vegas, and he didn't necessarily aquire it honestly. He kept it in his pocket, which wasn't really a great idea in case it misfired, but he kept it there regardless. after that came the laser rifle strapped on his back, under his backpack where he kept caps, ammo, and anything else he may need. His last weapon, which he rarely used but really loved, was a tommy gun hidden under his combat armor chest piece. He preferred mini-guns, but those were a pain in the ass to haul around, so he kept any he found as souvenirs, hidden in suply caches across the wasteland. He set these up on his first trip to Vegas, and has lived to love it ever since. when he wasn't wearing combat armor, he wore a faded blue suit, reflective shades, and a dusty cowboy-esque hat. It really wasn't a great fashion sense, but he didn't mind. that was one of the great things about the wasteland: You could make whatever choices you wanted and rarely face judgement. It was like a societal reset. For the rest of the night, Starlyle checked, double checked, and triple checked his entire inventory. He got an hour or so of sleep, which was surprising. He rarely slept that wrong, but Scott didn't complain. That morning he left around 5. Long before anyone else in Goodneighbor was awake, unless they hadn't yet gone to sleep. A few of the party animals saw him leaving and asked what he was up to. "Wherever the wind takes me. And, right now, the wind leads to Vegas." His answer didn't really matter; none of them would remember it the next morning anyway. Waving goodbye to the late-nighters, he left town for his adventure.
A/N: Hey! Thanks for reading the entire story, unless you skipped to the end. I have no clue why you would do that, but stranger things have happened. Anyway, there are a few things that should be cleared up. First: A lot of the story will focus on the trip to Vegas. It might end there, I'm not really sure. Second, I'm going to assume that the Lone Wanderer sided with the BoS, the Courier fought for independent Vegas, (Which may be against my better judgement; I'm torn between NCR and independent Vegas, but NCR seems at least mildly corrupt,so I went against it.) and the Sole survivor sided with the Minutemen. Now, I will right these chapters in advance, so by the time this is uploaded I will already be writing later chapters. Well, not entirely. I'll upload this one and then write chapters in advance. So, if you have a cool idea later on thatthat you'd like to share, I may not get it soon enough to change it, but you may as well try and get it in. Besides that, I guess you should just enjoy the story. If you don't, tell me why and I'll try my damnedest to fix it. Thanks!