Point Lookout's damp fog swept from the swamps, over it's creaking dock, on which stood the hulking Lone Wanderer. He slowly turned, surveying the abandoned fairground and the distant swampland. He'd come here once before, in his younger years, but had been nearly defeated by the savage inhabitants of the island. This time he had come prepared after years of fighting in the Capital Wasteland to tame the island and it's tribal people.
The suit he wore was of Chinese origin, which allowed the wearer to become practically invisible by bending the light that hit them.
He also had several weapons strapped to him, each more deadly than the last. On his left thigh hung his trench knife, one of his favourite weapons. His right held a holstered .44 magnum which was adorned with a short range scope. A sawed off shotgun was strapped tightly across his barrel chest, while his most brutal weapon, the Autoaxe, was held loosely in his huge hands.
The yellow faceplate slid up to reveal a once handsome, grizzled face. He sported an unkempt beard, stained from the blood of his unfortunate foes. His face was host to dozens of thin, white scars, gathered from years of survival in the Capital Wasteland. Although these were features that made his enemies in the wasteland quake in fear, they paled in comparison to his eyes. They were startlingly blue but were just a front for the evil that lay behind them. Many a raider had stared into those eyes, in the last moments of their lives, and wondered how any waster could call him the paragon of their land.
After a while, however, he'd gotten bored of killing drugged up assholes and had decided for a change of scenery. He looked down and lifted the yellowing skull that hung from his neck and smiled briefly, revealing sharp, pointed teeth. He relished the memory of stripping Sentinel Sarah Lyons' head of flesh whilst she struggled beneath him, but the memory was quickly cut short by a screeching howl from behind the rows of fair stalls.
His visor slid down, covering his sadistic grin, as he rolled forward smoothly into a crouch and disappeared from sight.
Fog settled amongst the tree line of the nearby swamp. The still air clung to the deafening silence in the wake of the screams. Abandoned stalls stood about the place, haphazardly, beneath the towering ferris wheel.
A heaving, bulbous mutant dragged itself away from the bloody body of a mongrel. Crunching the animal's thigh bone, the tracker lumbered past the rusting ferris wheel of the abandoned lot, dragging his blood stained axe through the mud behind him, absentmindedly. Humans were rare game on the island until that boat turned up with plenty of eager victims to feast upon and, in fact, the sound of the boat arriving again was the reason why it had walked all this way. It paused underneath the dilapidated amusement feature as it finished the dog's remains, staring up at one particular gondola which appeared to be moving in the wind. The beast scratched it's head, it's tiny brain trying to find the cause for the movement. From what seemed like nowhere, came flying what appeared to be a pair of metal balls from the gondola which landed with a clatter behind it. The tracker turned to follow the movement until they bounced to within a couple of feet in front of him. Puzzled, it stepped closer, squinting to get a better look at them.
The grenades detonated together in the face of the mutant, forcing him to stumble backwards, it's face covered in shrapnel, blood pouring from the multiple wounds. It roared in agony, lifting it's axe into the air, confused and dazed.
The Wanderer stood from his perch, uncloaking himself while he waited for the monster to step backwards into position. Pulling his trench knife from it's sheath he silently leapt from the wheel, aiming for the beasts back as it stood screaming in pain. With an almighty crack he landed on the beasts neck with both feet, forcing the tracker's body down to the small crater made by the grenades, grinding it's face deep into the filth. Laughing with excitement the wanderer rammed the trench knife deep into the beasts neck using the momentum from the fall to force it in further, revelling in the quickening spout of blood as he twisted his blade. A huge, meaty elbow, covered in warts, cracked the wanderer in the side of the head, smashing his visor against his ear, throwing him off it's back. The gigantic tracker pulled itself up, standing a full foot over the veteran, grunting in pain. It stumbled over to the fallen warrior and gripped his head in it's hands, slamming his head against the dirt, over and over. It took all of his effort to snake his hands to the blade still embedded in it's neck, managing to force the knife through the thick, knotted cartilage until he could see the knifes point poking through the front of it's throat through his blurred vision. It's attacks lessened with each blow until the tracker blundered backwards, resting against a thick tree which groaned under the weight. The Lone Wanderer lifted the remains of his visor off his face, chuckling as he did so, while pulling his slightly crushed Autoaxe from his back and revving it, advancing upon the dying creature. He rammed the spinning blades into it's chest, his eyes widening as it's flesh parted allowing the weapon to cut through it's rib cage and heart, pumping and spewing hot blood over the grinning mouth of the Wanderer. He slumped against the tracker, forcing his face into the hole which his axe had left, tearing and chewing the meat violently until his cannibalistic urges were met.
It had been a long time since the Wanderer had been faced with a real fight, with something that could actually win. He was thrilled, as this was the reason why he'd come to this dreadful place.
Having collected his weaponry, the Wanderer made for the smoking mansion on the hilltop not too far away. Hopefully he would have more fun with the weaker tribals of the island, the Wanderer thought, licking his lips at the thought of it.