Safe Haven
Disclaimer: I don't own Fallout, nor am I affiliated with Bethesda.
Chapter 1: Single-Minded
Her feet were trudging.
She knew they were, she could feel the weary drag of her heavy leather boots and the swelling of painful blisters on her heels.
But she couldn't stop now, the vicious barks were still echoing through the dense air.
The adrenaline rush was to much – and the possibility of enemies on her tail kept her from turning to check, she learned the hard way that turning mid-run was not a good idea.
She had only ever heard of the dangers of the Wastes, before her recent escape from the Vault. Her experiences in the Capital Wasteland had proved Vault 101's gang, The Tunnel Snakes, were nothing to the brutal and quick-tempered bands of Raiders that dotted the Wastes. Even the dreaded Radroach attacks on the Vault in the past now seemed minor compared to the many other dangerously irradiated creatures of the Wasteland.
Like those giant Fire Ants.
Ugh.
She shuddered at the memory of her peeling, blistered skin, and the scattered gooey carcasses of overly-mutated ants. But she knew every searing burn was worth it if only to assure little Bryan Wilks that nobody else would have to share the same fate as his father at the fault of a fire-spewing ant.
Haven was not one for the usual killing and maiming that was imperative for survival in the Wasteland. Her method generally consisted of sneaking, running, lock-picking, hacking terminals...almost always avoiding head-on confrontations, or close-kills.
She hated killing - and felt a little more human for it.
She slowed her pace to a slightly brisk walk as the red ticks littering her Pipboy's meter finally blurred and faded, she had finally outrun a pack of rabid dogs looking for their next meal.
With a shallow sigh of relief, she continued towards her newly acquired destination – The Museum of Technology, a mission requested by the notorious Three Dog himself. Of course, he agreed to share the information on her father, James, contingent on the retrieval and installation of a Communication Relay Dish, to restore his station's signal around the Wastes.
She had accepted it rather quickly – not necessarily on the terms of fighting the so-called "Good Fight" as Three Dog had titled it, but by admitting she would do anything if it meant the return of her father.
And she had meant it.
She was frustrated and confused over his abrupt disappearance, but she had never felt so...alone. Haven would find his reasons, his goals, and would help him in any way she could - then, maybe one day they could live quietly as a family in her new home - in Megaton. Right now, he was the only thing she had – he was her father, and finding him was the only motivation that kept her fighting; that kept her surviving.
She took a passing glance at her Pipboy. She was nowhere near the Museum, and her attempt of navigating around the Metro rather than entering it had failed horribly. She had to admit, her nonexistent skills at direction and maps hadn't helped the matter.
Haven mumbled a string of newly-learned curses – courtesy of Raiders, and maybe a little reminiscent of Butch in Vault 101 as well.
If there was anything she despised...feared, more than numerous rampant Fire Ants, it would be the eerie Metros.
They almost always promised Feral Ghouls, charging Molerats, and/or clusters of Raiders that nursed their safe houses in the dank underground; Not to mention their maze-like qualities, and horrible lighting. But, as always, she found she didn't have a choice – she would have to find the Metro and brave it's shadowy contents.
She turned her heel, placing a marker on Dupont Circle Station inside her Pipboy- which would hopefully lead her to Metro Central, and she headed in it's appointed direction.
She felt a warm bullet graze her neck, and she panicked. Glancing again at her Pipboy, she found that she had missed something vital.
On the edge of her sensor, a throng of red marks were beginning to scatter. In her frenzy she attempted to count the ticks on her meter, but her blood ran cold when the number was running upwards of five and six.
Raiders.
She quietly murmered her father's quote, as she always did when she felt lost in fear and panic.
"I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely."
She chanted it shakily as she readied her weapon of choice, a worn combat shotgun that she had scavenged from a dead Super Mutant, and she aimed to their armor clad bodies with a calm that only memories of a life much safer could provide her.
"You're gonna die, Bitch!" A female Raider howled as she charged at close-range, readying what looked similar to a baseball bat.
Haven ducked, narrowly missing a strength-filled swing as she clumsily backed up, close-range with melee weapons was definitely not her forte.
Apparantly, the Raider had dropped her splitting baseball bat for a menacing sawed-off shotgun, as Haven felt it's cold barrel press tightly against her temples.
She closed her eyes, surrendering to the inevitable as Revelation 21:6 continued to echo in her mind – and she could only muse how she would now be reduced to just another hastily scratched tally mark at the grip of a Raider's gun.
BANG!
She heard it, the sound of the gunshot – but she never felt the jarring impact.
"You asshole, Slayde!" She heard the shotgun-bearing Raider shout distantly, as Haven palmed her head for any wounds.
She was surprised to find none – only a small bruise marred her hairline, where the shotgun had been pressed.
She looked up from her position on the ground, not quite remembering how or when she had lost her footing, and saw a man restraining the female Raider that had been about to shoot her – the woman's short-barreled shotgun was now clasped firmly in his hands, his fingers deftly tracing the trigger as he pushed the gun into the Raider's side.
He was turning against his own?
Haven tilted her head, confused. He seemed to be a Raider - yet not.
She had likened most Raiders to Feral Ghouls, in a sense. Although, unlike Feral Ghouls, Raiders had their right mind – they just chose not to use it. Most Raiders had clouded their good judgement with their Chem of choice or an alcohol fix, selfishly hoarding goods and attacking on sight.
But this particular Raider seemed somewhat different. His grey eyes held a humanity that she had never before seen in any Raider, somehow, he didn't seem as...merciless as the others that surrounded him, lusting for blood, and itching for a battle to the death. Even his clothing was different from the others. Rather than the jutting spikes and heavy armor that many Raiders sported he wore a plainclothes outfit with a simple brown leather jacket curtaining off of his shoulders, pre-war jeans that tore at the knees, and leather boots that appeared very similar to her own.
And then she realized. She was surrounded by Raiders.
Her hand searched for her combat shotgun that had tumbled out of her hands as she had ducked earlier, only to spot it already in the hands of yet another Raider - Her engraved "21:6" catching the dim glower of sunset as the Raider tested it's weight in his hands. But when she peeked at a few others she noticed the sea of Raiders no longer seemed singularly focused on her, their yellowed eyes now fell angrily on the grey-eyed man. Although she was slightly puzzled at the turn of events, she knew one thing for sure.
This was her chance.
She gathered herself and lifted off the sandy dirt, preparing for a stealthy sprint to relative safety - but felt a rough hand snag her wrist painfully in it's wrenching grip.
"Not so fast, Little Miss 101." The man smirked and she felt a sharp pain in her thigh.
Med-X.
Her hazel eyes fluttered closed in a sudden wave of sleepiness – and she could only make out a flash of grey eyes and stringy strands of wavy dirty blonde hair before she crumpled again to the barren ground.
Author's Note - Not quite sure where it's going, or whether I like it. I'm playing with the order of Quests and timeline, as well as the map - they may not be completely accurate.