Part 1

I can see him now. The leader takes his pistol from his makeshift belt and presses it firmly into the terrified slave's eye socket. Through the haze I can distinctly see the maniac grin play across his face like a straight flush. I let out a barely audible sigh. This is not one I'm going to worry about later. I keep deadly still, old bones and muscles seizing up all the while. I know a single move could set off the sentries, blowing this whole 4-day camping trip for good and leaving me with a whole lot more shooting than I feel I'm capable of at the moment.

Sure enough however, my stillness pays off and no one so much as batts a studded eye-lid. That is until bolt ignites powder and powder propels tiny lead cone through ugly bastards cranial regions. I release the aching breath from my ancient lungs and remain as still as possible, hoping the violent storm playing overhead will disguise my gunshot for a few moments. It doesn't. The freshly blood spattered slave falls screaming to the ground as 23 rifles and shotguns of varying makes and qualities riddle my crumbled little wall with more holes than a pre-war billboard. Perhaps I was a little eager in selecting the moment to take my shot...

Bolting down the rubble inside the collapsed building I've spent the past few days using as a personal incubator, I snag both of my m19's and head for the exit- a rusted manhole I found the previous day to the sewerage system in the building's basement. I've just flipped up the hatch to the rusted tunnels when it occurs to me to trigger my failsafe. Who'd've known that lunch-boxes and a couple of caps can be such potent demolition devices. The colossal boom that nearly ruptures my eardrums released by the tiny package is clearly far more potent than I had anticipated. The building comes down. Almost on top of me, but it's clear that the old maintenance hatch will hold. Nuclear war and 200 years and this stuff still stands up to pretty much everything. I can hear a few muffled shouts from what I'm pretty sure are the slavers who may or may not have been caught in the crumbling building. I move off down the pipe, trying in vain to prevent a contented smile from spreading across my aged face.

I've just reached a crossroads in the pipe when I hear the wrenching of another hatch just up ahead and the distinct patter of three... make that four targets hitting the metal floor of the pipe. My pistols are up and the first one is on the ground in seconds but the others take the smart tack and duck off into side passages, spraying the narrow pipe with screeching, ricocheting bullets. I press myself flat against the wall and unload the remainder of my clips at the raiders, forcing them further into their hiding spots. I hit dry though and go for the reload. Now interestingly enough, one of the raiders must've been sober enough to count to 14 - the number of bullets at my disposal - and sprints round the corner trying to catch me unawares. He doesn't.

I've already reloaded and cocked by the time he's a foot out of cover. The faint whimper he lets out right before I paint the tunnel with his innards sparks a pang of guilt in my old heart but this quickly fades as I shift my aim to the two others now readying themselves to follow their downed comrade into what they think is a won battle. They come out from around the corner slightly apprehensive and I repay them for their troubles. The short bangs and muffled thuds resound through the newly settled silence and I follow them with a ragged sigh. Oddly ragged... I peer down my coat at the police armor hidden under my trench coat. At the steady flow of brownish-red flowing from one of the gaps in the plate metal. One of them has hit me.

I immediately apply pressure to the spot, not knowing if the bullet has gone all the way through. Being a nurse has come in handy since the war and the number of stitches that play across my body seems to match the number of years I've spent putting them there...

I make a quick check of the rest of me for any other wounds but a few grazes and scratches aren't enough to distract me from my own life flowing out of me here. It's then that I realize that I'm out of meds... I shuffle further down the tunnel, cursing my own stupidity for not stopping in at megaton on the way here. There were goddamn signs proclaiming a sale on bloody Stim's for crying out loud! I crouch -or rather fall- by one of the dead raiders, knees cracking, worn leather pants slowly darkening in the ever-flowing blood. I pat the guy down for anything, anything that could be of use but the sparsely dressed bone-sack is devoid of pretty much everything categorized as useful. Its the same story for the next two. I finally make my way to the last body, that of the man I killed first as he dropped into the tunnel. By this time I've lost almost enough blood to paint a boathouse but I'm still conscious enough to pry what I've been looking for from his shoulder pouch. A Stim-pack. I apply the large syringe directly to the wound, not enough energy even to wince as the flow of healing nanites enters my bloodstream. Not quick enough I think. Darkness closes. My head hits the floor and all is quiet...