Hey everybody, how you kids handling post-apocalyptia? It's me, your host, Three Dog! Awooooo! And you're listening to Galaxy News Radio. Now most days I'd be cracking jokes and making fun of those "patriotic" morons we called the Enclave. But today, my broadcast is of a more sentimental nature. So do uncle Three Dog a favor, children, and lend me your irradiated ears.

Now chances are if you listen to my radio that you've already heard me raving about a certain "Lone Wanderer" traveling the Capital Wasteland. He's been called many things: Savior, Hero, Friend to the People, Protector, the Last and Best Hope of Humanity if you wanna get dramatic. A couple of you crazies have been calling him a Messiah, and folks, you might want to dial that back a bit. We've got enough weird-ass cults as is. But my point still stands, children, that this kid is probably the best chance we've got in this fucked-up wasteland.

Just to recap, this is the guy that risked his life to activate Project Purity—which is the reason most of you have fresh, clean water. This is the guy that wiped out those Enclave assholes and told Mr. Big-Shot President John Henry Eden to screw himself. This is the guy that deactivated that live nuke in Megaton, which I bet most of you didn't even know about. And he did it for free. For free! Mr. 101 has fought Raiders, Talon Company, and Super Mutants. He's wandered as far south as Point Lookout and kicked ass as far north as the Pitt. He's co-authored the best-selling Wasteland Survival Guide, and saved more lives than I've had Nuka-Colas. Which is admittedly a lot; this radio stuff is hard work. Some of my contacts tell me he's even been to space, but let's not overdo it, ya know what I'm saying?

The thing is, the Lone Wanderer has had every reason to turn out as heartless and opportunistic as most of us trying to survive out here. This kid grew up in an underground Vault with no mother and too many rules. The biggest being, "We're born in the vault, we die in the vault, blah blah blah." But he was forced out when he was nineteen, chasing his father into a godforsaken hellhole with no experience and no knowledge. He spent weeks searching and risking his life, and what happened? His father was killed by the Enclave. James died in pursuit of his dream: the waters of life, flowing free and pure, for any and all. And his kid, instead of curling up into the fetal position, fought for that dream. He joined up with those knights in power armor, the Brotherhood of Steel, and reactivated Project Purity. Nearly killed himself too, from what I've heard; that G.E.C.K. terraformer is powerful stuff. And because of him, the Capital Wasteland is a marginally safer place. No more Slavers, no more Enclave, and free water. Trade is picking up too—only this morning I heard about a town being started up in the National Mall. I guess the Muties are finally losing some territory.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is, be grateful. We all owe this guy a hell of a lot. Not sure where he is or what he's doing, but it's gotta be something for the good of the rest of us. And even if it's not…ah, what the hell, kid. You deserve a break. And if you're listening, thanks. Oh, and say hello to Ms. Sarah Lyons for me, heh heh heh.

Anyway, today's weather will be be-ootiful sunshine with fluffy white clouds and a chance of rain. Nah, just kidding kiddies. It's gonna be radioactive dust storms and clear skies all day, just like every other day. Tune in next week for our five-day forecast!

Five Years Later

Lug-Nut surveyed the radioactive wastes before him, and spat into the dirt. He was sick and tired of the goddamn scorching sun, the goddamn irradiated wind, and the goddamn grit that got into his armor. Most people were used to the ever-present layer of dust coating their clothes, but Lug-Nut preferred luxury. At least, as close to luxury as you could get in post-apocalyptia. One of these days, swore Lug-Nut, I'm catchin a caravan to New Vegas and never comin back.

"Hey, boss!" called a harsh voice. Lug-Nut turned to see his lieutenant One-Eye crossing his arms. "A couple of the new guys wanna have a word with ya." Lug-Nut grimaced and spat again, then got up to check on the rest of the gang.

Lug-Nut made his way through the ancient car wreckage and immediately spotted his twelve-man gang of Raiders. Two of the new recruits—Lug-Nut couldn't remember their names—were planted in front of the others. "Alright, what's the problem now?"

"We been thinkin about yore plan," drawled the lean one, "and we don' like it." Lug-Nut sighed and kneaded his forehead. "First of all, it ain't my plan. I'm just following orders. Second of all, what's not to like? We camp at this drive-in and rob anyone who comes by. They don't like it, we knock 'em out and sell 'em to the Slavers for some extra Caps."

"Oh, we know what you done said," drawled the recruit. "We jes' ain't buyin' it. How many caravans done come through here? How many trav'lers from down south? Not one. In my opinion, we been wastin' time. Why the hell don' we move east into D.C. and git those Caravans instead, huh? Maybe you just plain stupid, is that it?" The brawny recruit cracked his knuckles menacingly, and some of the other Raiders fingered their weapons.

Lug-Nut swore under his breath. "Look, Tex…" he began. "I'm Mex," interrupted the lean recruit. "He's Tex." "Alright, I don't give a shit. Look, you morons pay attention. We don't go into west D.C. You know why? 'Cause there's already a million fucking gangs waiting there, made up of idiots like you two! The caravans don't go through that way; they follow the river down south to the Bridge. And I really don't feel like dealing with the goddamn Brotherhood army waiting there! Now listen, word is already spreading about all the trade routes opening up. So sooner or later, a crapton of idiots are gonna come up this way with supplies and ammo, lookin for fresh water, and we'll be here to make some easy money. You get it?"

"But why don' we go north and raid some of those towns?" Mex stubbornly persisted. "There's a nice ripe Vault and some scrap heap called Megaton up that way. They got Caps, right?" Lug-Nut spat again. "The Vault is sealed and guarded. There's no way we can get in with the shitty equipment we've got. Megaton's even worse; they got walls, robots, and crack shots waitin to blow people's heads off. Not to mention that entire fucking area is protected by the Outcasts! You idiots remember the last gang that tried to raid the Outcasts?" Lug-Nut's confused gang shook their heads. "Exactly! Trust me, this is the blue milk run. All we have to do is wait for some poor sap to show up, and…"

"Boss!" yelled one of the scouts suddenly. 'We got one! From the south!' The gang immediately scrambled into action, setting up positions and checking weapons. Lug-Nut flashed a triumphant smirk and motioned Mex and Tex over. "You guys are going in to give him a nice wasteland welcome."

Mex, Tex, and two others stood a short distance from the drive-in, awaiting the traveler. Lug-Nut gave the guy a once-over, now that he was in view. He had an old, dirty duster—even dirtier than Lug-Nut's armor—and a crudely woven hood pulled over his eyes. Even from his position Lug-Nut could see he had a mass of long, dark hair with a shaggy beard. The guy walked with a limp, but he had a rifle on his back—although Lug-Nut was quick to note that the gun was ancient, and looked like it hadn't been used in years. The traveler continued to limp toward Mex and Tex, seemingly unable to see them. Tex hefted his sledgehammer and stepped forward, causing the man to run into him. Lug-Nut stifled a laugh; the guy was blind!

"Wh-who are you?" stammered the traveler. "Wh-where am I?" "Ah, don' worry yer handsome head, sir," Mex sneered. "We're jes' the, uh, Widows an' Orphans Collectin' Fund!" The gang began to laugh and Tex guffawed loudly. "Yeah," cackled Mex, "and I'm gonna need a donation, for, uh, my widow and her three kids!" The gang whooped and hooted insults.

"Oh, w-well, uh, I guess that's a noble c-cause, good sir. How m-much do you want?" Mex motioned to Tex to pat the guy down. "How about…lessee…one thousand Caps!" The gang was by now rolling on the ground in laughter. "Oh, a-alright. Here you are, one th-thousand caps." The stranger withdrew a sack from his duster and dropped it on the ground. The clinking of hard metal was audible over the screams of laughter from the Raider gang.

Mex's jaw dropped but he quickly recovered. "Actually, we, eh, all got widows to take care of. Some of us got a couple widows each, so how about…" The stranger withdrew another sack and dropped it, where it made another loud clink. The Raiders stared silently, unable to believe their luck. Mex immediately rushed forward and began scooping up the bags. Tex stepped forward, greedily awaiting more. "Where you from, stranger?" huffed Mex, busy with the weight of Caps.

"N-near here," replied the man. One of the other Raiders behind him grabbed the rifle on his back. He gave it an appraising look and disgustedly spat on the traveler. "The fuck, man? This filthy piece of shit is outdated. You plannin' on firing this antique anytime soon?" "I-it belonged to Abraham L-Lincoln," murmured the man in a quavering voice. All the Raiders howled with laughter. "Abree-ham Lincoln?" chuckled the Raider. "The forty-second President of the U.S.A? And I'm a Deathclaw!" "S-something like that," chuckled the man, but the gang was too busy to hear him.

"Never min' them, stranger," interrupted Mex. "Ya' got anymore goodies for us poor folk?" Tex nodded eagerly. "Oh s-sure," murmured the stranger. "J-just bring your b-big friend with the hammer over here and I'll give it t-to him." "Ah course, stranger," grinned Mex. Tex moved up to the traveler, hands outstretched. "Hang on," mused Mex, "how did ya' know he had a…"

A knife blossomed in the man's hand. Before Mex could so much as switch off his safety Tex was falling to the ground in a bloody heap. The Raider near Tex let out a yell and tried to backpedal. Then the knife slipped in between his armor plates. The man turned to Mex, his hood rising to reveal blazing eyes. Lug-Nut's heart missed a beat.

"Say yer prayers, motherfucker!" roared the Raider clutching the rifle, and he pulled the trigger. CLICK. The man turned to the Raider as he struggled in vain to fire. "It's not loaded, you know." The knife flashed and the Raider collapsed clutching the remains of his throat.

The man quickly spun to see Mex frantically trying to gather up the bags on the ground. Mex raised his eyes, horrified. "Guess what?" said the man. Mex, confused, said nothing. "Widows have dead husbands." Mex swore and ran, dropping the bags as he went. The man casually flicked his wrist, and the knife sailed through the air to penetrate the top of Mex's spine. Lug-Nut and his gang stared silently in horror. Then One-Eye roused himself and roared, "Get 'im!"
The Raiders raised their guns and opened fire, but the man was already behind the cover of nearby boulders. The bullets pinged off the rocks, keeping the man pinned down. One-Eye pumped his shotgun and ducked down beside Lug-Nut. "Orders, boss?" Lug-Nut rocked back and forth, whispering to himself. "Orders?" repeated One-Eye. "It's him…he knows me…I'm a dead man…five years…he knows me…" One-Eye shook his head and peered above cover. "Where's the bastard?" he snarled. "Still behind those rocks," replied a scout, "he ain't moving. But it's fine, he ain't armed. We can go in and take 'im."

BANG. The scout's head exploded into red mist. BANG. Another Raider fell backward with a hole in his chest. Three more bangs and three more Raiders fell dead. One-Eye and the remaining gang members pointed their guns at the man, who calmly held a .44 Magnum. One-Eye laughed and stepped out from behind cover, lowering his shotgun. "Alright asshole. You got one bullet left in that six-shooter, and you can't get all of us. If you shoot me, you get pumped full of lead, so how's about you drop that gun, and we'll sell you inta' slavery instead a' killing you."

The man surveyed the array of weapons trained on him. Then he fired. One-Eye yelped and threw himself down, narrowly dodging the bullet. One-Eye leaped up, about to yell orders to waste the asshole, when something caught his eye. A fire had started on the wrecked car where the bullet had penetrated. Then the fire flared up. Car is on fire. Cars have nuclear reactors. Fire plus nuclear reactor equals…oh shit. Then the explosion blew apart the rest of One-Eye's thoughts.

The man stooped to pick up his rifle and sighed as he surveyed the field of carnage. What a waste of life. The last remnants of the localized mushroom cloud blew away on the wind. The man shook his head and finished cleaning off his knife. He carefully examined Lincoln's Repeater—it appeared the Raider hadn't damaged it—then replaced it on his back and got to his feet. His ears caught a slight rustle, and he carefully raised his Magnum. "Come on out where I can see you!" Lug-Nut slowly got up, trembling, his hands in the air.

"You…you killed 'em all!" Lug-Nut squealed. "They shouldn't have tried to rob me," retorted the man, giving Lug-Nut a quick once-over. He looked unarmed, but the man didn't really want to risk it. He kept his Magnum trained on the Raider and flicked off the safety. "Please…please don't kill me," pleaded Lug-Nut. "You made your choice. How many other innocents have you robbed? Sold into slavery? Murdered?" "You were the first! The rest of the guys were gonna mutiny, I couldn't just leave. I was just followin' orders! My bosses woulda killed me, and—"

"Shut up," interrupted the man. He closed the distance between the two with a few strides and pressed the cold metal of the Magnum against Lug-Nut's head. Lug-Nut stared up at him, cowed. "I know you," he said. A flicker of recognition passed over the man's face. "I know you," continued Lug-Nut, trembling. "You ain't no man. You're the devil himself." He looked down at the ground and shut his eyes.

The man considered Lug-Nut, his hand tightening around the Magnum's trigger. Then he sighed and replaced the safety. "Get out of here." Lug-Nut raised his head, his face contorted by confusion. "You're not worth the bullet. Get up and get running. If I see you raiding again…" Lug-Nut shot up and sprinted away. Away from raiding, away from the Capital Wasteland, away from the judgment of that demon and his blazing eyes.

Perhaps today was a good day to catch a caravan to New Vegas after all.

The man watched Lug-Nut disappear into the distance. In a land of murderers, how can there be room for mercy? He holstered his Magnum and surveyed the charred Raider corpses. Nothing worth scavenging. The explosion probably destroyed most of it. He checked his supplies; enough to last two more days. Megaton is a day's walk to the north, if I remember correctly. Unbidden, the begging voice of Lug-Nut invaded his mind. 'You ain't no man. You're the devil himself.' The Lone Wanderer shook his head. Welcome home.


The figure watched the Lone Wanderer. He had made short work of the Raider gang stationed here. That was good. He would need to be at his best and ready for what was to come. The figure wondered how the Lone Wanderer would deal with the new Capital Wasteland. Probably not well. The figure doffed its fedora and ruffled its overcoat. It silently prayed that its plans would work. Five years was a long time to be away from home.