DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE COPYRIGHT TO THE VIDEO GAME SERIES FALLOUT.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my first story on this account. Please, if you enjoy what has been written thus far, inform me. This will let me know that it's even worth it to continue writing this story.
Tales of the Wicked and Damned
Chapter 1
The smell of the place is what Carter could remember most vividly. Gasoline and steel machines, though not freshly used. The scent was aged. It hit him immediately upon awakening. The second thing he took note of was the blindfold tied tightly around his head.
He saw nothing but black, even though his eyes were wide open. Not even any faint lights were detectable.
The next thing he noticed was the most disheartening. His arms and legs were very tightly bound. He immediately began to attempt to wiggle about, and quickly met the walls of his prison. Whatever he was confined in, it was relatively small. Perhaps the size of a supply closet.
The floor felt like concrete. He concluded he was most likely in an auto-repair shop of some kind. He tried hard to recall what he was doing before he lost consciousness. The last thing he could remember was cleaning his revolver, sitting on a rock. Where in the wasteland exactly he did not know. He gave up on keeping track of that. He had no home, nor did he have anywhere to be. The only thing he ever did was read, and survive. And that's all he cared about.
Carter began to attempt to get his hands, which were tied behind his back, to his front by maneuvering them under his feet. It proved difficult. His arms were long, but his legs were longer. He was able to accomplish his goal, after a arduous period of time.
His next goal was to chew. He was bound with rope. The rope had obviously been soaked in gasoline, though luckily it wasn't extremely thick. Carter formed the hypothesis that someone, perhaps even a group of bandits, had knocked him unconscious, stolen his minimal amount of resources, and tied him up, throwing him in a nearby confined space.
This hypothesis seemed an adequately simple explanation for the time being, at least until he could find evidence to the contrary. He had eaten about halfway through the rope when he heard something nearby.
It was a door opening. He heard the sound of boots against the hard floor. The sound was ominous, so Carter became completely still in response to it.
The door to his prison was opened, and immediately a large degree of light was visible, even through his blindfold. He felt a revolver press to his forehead.
"Who are you?" The stranger asked, with an intense tone. Carter had the feeling that if he didn't answer the man's questions quickly, he would be inclined to pull the trigger, shut the door, and leave.
"I'm nobody. I don't mean you any harm."
"What do you do?"
"I wander."
"You're not going to attack me if I get you out of your predicament, right?"
"Right."
"You might even give me a hand in something, wouldn't you?"
"Absolutely."
"Good."
The stranger lifted Carter's blindfold, and the light became a million times more intense. It took a good amount of time for his eyes to adjust to the outside world. He remembered that it had been daylight when he was cleaning his gun, so the question that occurred to him was: had it been a short period of time since he lost consciousness, or had it been more than 24 hours?
The stranger had cut Carter's hands free when his eyes finally had perfect focus on the man's countenance. It was scarred, blistered and tired. But there was a fierceness in his eyes. They communicated that he was on the run from something.
When he began to move his hands about, he came to the realization of how numb he had become. After the rope which bound his feet had been cut, it would take a few moments before he'd be able to walk.
He looked towards the door of the building, which he had confirmed to be an abandoned auto-shop. The door was slightly ajar.
Cater took a look at the man's side and noticed his revolver properly in its holster. "How did you know I was in here?"
"I didn't. I was looking for a tool to use as a melee weapon of some kind. Maybe some ammo."
Carter noticed the door open a little bit more. It made a squeak. The stranger immediately pulled out his gun and shot two bullets through the door. They both heard a scream ring through the wasteland.
"If that was the problem you were concerned about, I'm sorry I wasn't more help," Carter said apologetically.
"There's more. A lot more," he replied.
"How many?"
"Seven left. There was eleven. I've killed four," he said flatly.
Carter was taken aback by how calm he seemed. "Does this happen to you often?"
"I'm not new to killing. This is a good bunch, though."
"Luckily for you, I'm not new to killing either."
He nodded in agreement. "But, are you any good without a gun?"
"With a lead pipe, I certainly won't be useless."
The rope which bound Carter's feet was now cut. He got himself to his knees, but when he tried to stand, he almost fell. He managed to use a wall to catch himself.
"I found something better."
The stranger handed him a machete. Its pristine nature seemed at odds with the rusty, ancient looks of almost everything else in the building. Someone had been sharpening it, and keeping it clean. The signs of ware and disuse had only just began to make their premier. This place had been recently inhabited.
"I want you to stand near the door. I'm going to continue looking around. If anyone opens that door, kill them with that blade."
"Yeah."
Carter shut the door and started kneeling down close beside it.
"What's your name?" Carter asked, genuinely curious.
"Legend. Legend Pierson. Though, with the job I have and the state of things nowadays, the name doesn't have much use for me, cept' in rare instances like this. Names are for people who communicate. I don't communicate. I kill."
Carter gave a slight chuckle at that. He wasn't sure why he found Legend's last sentence funny.
"That's the first time I've made someone laugh in an eternity. I'm glad. You have a name?"
"Carter Williamson."
"You find much use for it?"
"Not really."
Legend nodded. At the second he did so, shots began raining down on the building. Both Legend and Carter immediately went prone and covered their heads. The shooting stopped after about ten seconds. Both of the men began cursing under their breath. Carter slowly began to get back on his feet. Legend was still prone, but looking around.
"Anyone alive in there?"
The sentence was coming from someone about fifteen feet from the entrance of the building. Carter could hear slow footsteps from about five feet away, coming closer and closer. He readied his blade.
"Carter, here!"
Legend calling this out prompted the man directly outside to start entering. A hand showed itself through the door, so Carter immediately swung the blade hard. Blood spurted outward all over Carter and into his eyes, almost blinding him. An expletive filled with agony was shouted so loud, it deafened him.
The man apparently had fallen back onto the ground outside. Carter tried to look towards Legend, and saw him motioning towards the ground. Carter looked down, and saw the passageway which Legend was pointing towards. It was a simple square door in the floor, and all Carter could see was a ladder going straight down. A rug had been obscuring it.
"Where the hell do you suppose..."
"Idiot! Do you really think we have the time? Start climbing."
Carter realized that he was, indeed, being an idiot. If there was any escape out of this situation, it was this. He rushed over and began climbing down. Legend followed suite soon after. Legend locked the hatch and began climbing down with such great speed that Carter had to hasten himself even more. They could both hear the bandits attempt to open the hatch and fail rather miserably.
They climbed for what seemed like minutes. Carter's feet finally touched ground, and he immediately found a nearby wall and started leaning on it, catching his breath and waiting for Legend. Carter realized he left the machete lying on the ground in the shop, and felt a bit of regret. He figured it could have come in handy.
Legend finally found ground as well.
"I heard you stop about two thirds of the way down. Why?" Carter inquired.
"There were symbols of some sort, drawn in blood on the walls."
Carter laughed with exhaustion. "Great."
"I didn't recognize them. I'm a religious man, myself, and in my religious studies I've never encountered them."
"Right. I doubt I could be much help in the religious symbolism department."
"I guess we should continue on, and hope for the best."
Legend began walking towards the nearby rusted door. Carter hesitantly began doing the same.
"So what kind of job do you have? I'd guess hitman."
"You guessed right."
"Why were those guys out for your blood?"
"I was paid a great sum of money to take out Tenpenny. I hope you've heard that name."
"I have. I've come across the tower a few times."
"Well, I failed in my first attempt, and so Tenpenny is aware of danger. He sent those men to track me down. They did. End of story."
"Are you still going to kill him?"
"If I can get out of here."
They were, by this time, walking down a hallway. It was dark, but Carter could see that symbols were drawn, again in blood. They weren't drawn messily, either. They were drawn with care and patience, probably with genuine paint brushes. The walls had been painted black here, most likely to allow the symbols to be more visible.
"Jesus Christ..." Carter muttered. The entire atmosphere of the place made him feel a million times more in danger than when he was lying prone with bullets flying a foot above his head.
They finally came to the door at the end of the hallway. Legend began opening it. The door was halfway open, however Legend stopped dead in his tracks. Something changed on his face. It turned from calm to disbelief. Carter stood there. He was too far back and not at a good angle to perceive what had affected Legend so strongly, and felt far too cowardly to ask about it. After a few minutes he finally gathered his courage.
"What do you see?"
Carter held his breath in anticipation. Legend looked back at him with an expression that did nothing to ease Carter's extreme tension.
"Bones. Human bones, some with spare pieces of meat hanging off of them. They're littered all over the fucking floor."