Hi, First fic, lay off, constructive criticism is ideal, cheers
Fallout isn't mine, so much would change if it was, blame Bethesda
"How's he doing, Doc?"
Doc Mitchell looked up from his drink and gave a weary smile to the young woman stood next to him.
"He's going to live, Sunny, that's the only reason I'm sat here"
Sunny Smiles, hunter, guard, wastelander and young woman, smiled back at the doctor.
One week later…
Sunny looked up as the door to the Prospector Saloon creaked open. Cheyenne growled at the tall male who entered looked around in apparent confusion. He looked over at her and Sunny felt her breath catch in her throat.
"Hi, Doc Mitchell told me you could help me survive in the desert?"
For a few moments her mind blanked before Sunny told him to meet her outside the saloon. She caught Trudy's eye as she walked past and blushed at the look on the older woman's face.
Three hours later Sunny strolled back into the Prospector alongside her companion. She'd found out during their conversations between shooting geckos that he was a Courier, his name was Dec, she assumed short for Declan, and that he had been heading towards Vegas with a package when he had been ambushed. Sunny looked around the corner, hearing raised voices arguing. She saw Trudy arguing heatedly with a cruel looking man wearing a suit of body armour over a pale blue suit. She turned to speak to Dec, only to step back as she saw a cold rage carved onto his face. H stepped forwards as the man finished his tirade, finishing with the words
"… Bring my friends and burn this town to the ground!"
As the stranger turned, she saw the letters stencilled onto his armour and her blood ran cold as she realised the man was one of the escaped convicts she had been trading pot-shots with for the last few weeks.
She felt rather than saw Dec step forwards in front of the convict but the harsh cry of pain drew her gaze. The convict staggered back, a knife handle protruding from his shoulder where Dec had stabbed him. Under her horrified gaze, her newest friend calmly drew his pistol and fired several shots into the man's chest, watching him fall against the wall, clutching at his injuries. Dec then took three steps forwards, placed the gun against the dying man's cheek and fired a last, dismissive shot, painting a fan of blood across the wooden planking around the walls.
Dec stood upright, holstered his gun, dragged the knife from the Powder Gangers body, wiped it clean on the dead man's sleeve and sheathed it in his belt before turning around. As his eyes met those of the horrified locals his eyebrows rose.
"What?"