First story I've written in a while. The first chapter isn't the best, at least in my opinion, but I hope you enjoy.

This story will start in the Capital Wasteland and move to the Mojave, along with a few other places along the way.

Note: New Vegas takes place a few years after the events of Fallout 3. However, they will be taking place a few months afterwards in this story.

The first chapter is short, simply to set the stage and open it up. I hope you all enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Darkness. That was all he could see, darkness. Buried under the tons of rubble that had once been Raven Rock, all the lone man could make out were the smooth, stone walls of what had been one of many escape tunnels spread throughout the now destroyed military installation. The prewar emergency lights in the tunnel had barely given off any light when he had first dived through the hatch, moments before the blast, but now the loner found himself wanting those dull bulbs to be lit once more.

"God all mighty," he groaned, trying to readjust himself. He'd been thrown under a small pile of rubble, but nothing too major, it seemed. "Those blasted Wastelanders will pay for this," he told himself, fishing in his pants pockets for anything remotely useful. His fingers found and instantly wrapped themselves around a metallic object in his left pocket: a lighter.

Giving no thought as to how or why he had the lighter, the lone man flicked open the zippo and worked the igniter. The generous flame finally shed light on his situation, which could have been much better. The hatch, or where the hatch used to be, was now covered in heavy chunks of concrete and steel. With no means of returning to the interior of the Enclave base, attention was turned to the length of the tunnel that would lead to the Capital Wasteland. It was far better off, but not by much. He would definitely be digging through some piles of debris if he was to make it out alive.

"And here I was, hoping I would get to have a relaxing day off," he muttered to himself, crawling over the concrete and rock.

It was hard going, to say the least. What normally would have taken only a few minutes, it took the man a few hours to get within sight of the steel exit door. He'd no idea how long he had been down in that tunnel, only that he had dived into it at around four in the afternoon. That didn't matter at the moment, though, as he shoved himself through the last pile of rubble, doing his best not to stop for fear of becoming stuck.

"Finally," he breathed, putting the lighter back into his pocket. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he put what strength he had remaining in turning the aged lock, one similar to those found on naval ships. After a few hard turns, the lock spun easily, the steel door finally swinging open.

The rush of fresh air hit the male like a wave of relief as he almost ran into the cool, dark night of the Capital Wasteland. He fell to his knees for a few moments, breathing in the oxygen that tasted of dirt, smoke, and radiation. The silence of the outdoors was bliss compared to the silence of the nearly collapsed escape tunnel: the sound of the wind lightly blowing was music to his ears.

The music was interrupted all too soon, as the sound of approaching footsteps reached the Enclave member who had just escaped. His head instantly turned in the direction of the sound, the footsteps growing closer. The light of a flashlight not too far off grew brighter and brighter, its owner the source of the footsteps. Voices were heard coming from somewhere nearby, as well.

"Initiate Harding, what are you doing?" a woman called.

"I thought I heard something, Sergeant," replied the approaching figure. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"Make it quick. I want to get back to camp and prepare it for when the Paladin arrive in the morning!"

'They must be Brotherhood of Steel,' the newly escaped Enclave member thought to himself. His hand instantly went to his side, but he found that he was without a pistol. His duty belt had been in his locker, which was now buried under a mountain. 'Shit, shit, shit… Wait.'

Thinking on the spot, he quickly scrambled back towards the tunnel exit, where he grabbed up a chunk of concrete before pulling the steel door even farther out into the night. Hiding between the inch thick steel of the door and the rocky side of the mountain, he waited in silence for his prey to approach, melee weapon in hand.

"What the hell?" Initiate Harding said in surprise, aiming his assault rifle mounted flashlight toward the opening in the side of Raven Rock. Without considering what he was doing, the Brotherhood member approached the doorway without a second though, caution thrown in the wind. Little did he know, he was on the Enclave's "No Trespassers" list that night…

Seeing that Harding was wearing recon armor without a helmet, and not power armor, the man behind the door slid from his hiding place as silently as possible. Quietly and quickly, the Enclave man took a position just behind the unsuspecting Brotherhood member.

"Oi, Susie," he whispered.

"My name's not- "

Before he could clarify what his name really was, Initiate Harding found himself with a faceful of concrete as his Enclave assassin smashed the makeshift weapon into his face. The Brotherhood soldier spun around as he fell to the ground, his rifle being tossed away from him. His attacker quickly jumped on top of him, elbow against his throat.

"Talk," the Enclave hissed at him. "Who did this?"

"L-Lone Wanderer," gagged Harding, coughing up blood as he spoke. He struggled to open his watering and bloody eyes, but he managed to do so. The light from his rifle's flashlight showed him who was attacking him, and it was not someone he was expecting.

Sitting atop him was a male in his late teens, no more than nineteen, Harding guessed. The teen's white skin was covered in dirt, scrapes, and blood, both of theirs. His dark hazel eyes drilled like bullets into Harding's blue ones, while his buzz cut black hair held traces of dried blood. The look he gave Harding was fierce and bloodthirsty.

"Lone Wanderer? That bloody Vault Dweller?" the teen drawled, his accent nothing like that of a local's.

"Wh-who…?"

"Shut up, I'm asking the questions," the teen growled quietly, shoving his elbow a bit deeper into Harding's throat. "Where's the Lone Wanderer based at? Rivet City? Megaton?" The Enclave had been trying to found out where the Lone Wanderer was basing himself, but he seemed to move around constantly.

"Mega… M-Megaton," Harding coughed out, gasping for air. His vision was beginning to blur from lack of oxygen.

"Thanks," the Enclave teen spat, finally standing. Harding gasped and hacked up even more blood as he gulped for air. He hardly noticed his assailant picking up the assault rifle that was across from them.

"An AK47. A Russian made one, too." He admired the solid wood stock before removing the magazine to check the number of rounds. "Oh, and a full magazine? How nice of you," he grinned, bringing the Kalashnikov to his shoulder, barrel pointed towards Harding's head. Harding scrambled across the floor towards the exit, panicking. He tried to yell for the other Brotherhood members who were just around the corner of the mountain, but he was still breathless.

"None of that," the teen chided, whacking the Brotherhood soldier in the back with the wooden stock. Harding went limp, the wind knocked out of him again. His vision was clouding at this point, but he was still able to make out the teen as he kneeled in front of the soldier.

"Now that I've no use for your ass, I might as well be the polite man I am and answer your question," he drawled slowly and calmly. There was that accent, again.

"My name is Palmer. Mason Palmer," he finally answered, reaching back to fish through his victim's supply pack and belt. "Nice pack. Mind if I borrow it?" he asked with a chuckle, grabbing the spare magazines from Harding's belt, as well. "I was to be a future Enclave soldier, like my father, but I suppose those dreams are to be put on hold for the time being, eh?"

It was at this point Harding's name could be heard being shouted by the other members of the Brotherhood of Steel patrol. Mason sighed in annoyance, knowing that his time was short. Hoisting the pack onto his back, the teen used his booted foot to roll the man below him over.

"Sorry to run… Harding, was it? But I've some business to attend to. The only reason I haven't killed you yet is because your lucky my father wasn't here and caught in the blast," he grunted, kicking Harding in the sides. Despite this, Mason could see a bit of relief on the man's bloodied face. A slight scowl came across his own at the sight.

"However," he added, making his way in the opposite direction of the voices calling for Harding. He silently turned off the barrel mounted flashlight. "I can't take you prisoner, as there's no prison to hold you in, right?"

Just before Harding could yell for help or beg for his life, a shot rang out in the night. This sent the Brotherhood of Steel soldiers nearby running towards where Harding had last been seen heading. When they arrived, they found their comrade dead, a single round to the face. On the ground not far from his body was a shell casing and boot prints, leading into the night.

"Sergeant Mercia," shall we pursue?" a power armored Brotherhood soldier asked, leaning down to inspect the tracks.

"No," the equally armored Sergeant ordered, kneeling next to the body before the squad of Brotherhood. "It's too dark. We can barely see with our helmet lights. We'll send out scouts in the morning. For now, we make camp. I'll be damned if I let some Enclave sonofabitch catch us out in the night."

Little did the squad of Brotherhood of Steel members realize, they were the only ones who would have come close to catching their friend's killer, as he was watching them from only a few dozen yards away behind a pile of rocks.

"Don't worry, Sergeant," Mason whispered to himself. "You and your friends are safe and will live… for now."

Reviews appreciated!