FINGERLICKIN' GOOD!
What's in the Bag?
The dim night was excruciatingly painful as Tessa Dorn clambered through the wasteland. Blood matted her coat, soaked her hair. A steady stream of gore lay clutched in her cooling fingers.
She stumbled over rocks, fearful of the oversized Radscorpions barely a mile away.
What horrors would be found next? Feral Ghouls? Mole Rats? Radroaches?
God, she was even afraid of Radroaches…
There was a commotion by a tiny shack not far away. Out here in the capital wasteland, there wasn't much hope for a weary traveler nearly shot to death.
Just an hour earlier, she had found some slavers. She engaged with them in battle, and won, but one of them managed to stick a Combat Shotgun in her hip, and fired twice. She found a whole lot of the "cargo" that now remain stuck in her hip pouch.
The wind kicked up suddenly, blowing her fedora away into the dead night's air. Her only friend was gone.
Her life had been hard out here ever since being born a slave in Paradise Falls. She was freed by the Temple of the Union at age 21, and now she was here, stumbling, moaning, tripping up and collapsing out here in the middle of the wasteland. Her life was going to pot. What now?
What monstrosity would meet her next?
"Woooo…hoooo….."
Great, the abomination known as Raiders.
"Hey, pretty lady, I bet you would like some of this, eh?"
She clawed at air, and found nothing. Suddenly, she remembered the .32 strapped to her belt. She desperately labored it out and tightened her grip on it.
Her eyes closed, the steps drew closer…
"Hehehe…"
"Come out little giiiirlll…"
"Fight like a man!"
"Baby…. Don't fight it…"
She lunged forward towards the shack, hugging the wall tightly as cover.
I took an oath to stop these scums, no matter what condition I'm in…
Now she was going to have to go through with it…
"You….."
She leaped out, swinging the barrel of her gun in front of her, sweeping the tree line (or what once resembled one).
She crouched, her innards beginning to loosen and funnel out neatly into her hand. "Oh god…" she whispered it to herself.
"BABE!!!!"
Her last vision was of a laser rifle in the face.
But our story does not end here…no, what happened next makes up the bulk of the humor. Tessa's life ended violently, in a violent land of crime and lawlessness.
One such outlaw was a raider named Kramer. Kramer lived alone as a drifter for the first years of his life. He left Little Lamplight at age 16, moved to Big Town and stayed on until he became a Raider at age 29. Now he was 38, and it was almost a full decade later.
He was mildly wounded from a cut on his leg that got infected. What time he had left in his pathetic existence was spent attacking travelers and looting their cold lifeless corpses.
Tessa was just one of them.
He searched, his fingers expertly maneuvering over her body, picking what valuable scraps she had left on her. Some ammo for her pistol, the .32 itself, a few stimpaks, and a box of Instamash. Not much for a traveler, but what use did he have for a scrap of paper preaching law and order?
Ah, what's this?
On her hip was a pouch. It was nondescript, made of Brahmin hide and leather, with studs from a Mirelurk shell. A tiny flap sealed with stretched Brahmin fat was all that covered the goodies inside.
He rustled around the bag with his fingertips. What he felt were many, fairly different sized objects, almost like tubes. Soft and hard at the same time, but nonetheless valuable.
AHA! Real goods.
He placed his rusty laser rifle on the ground, and drew a combat knife from it's sheathe. The bag was tough, but eventually gave way to the pressure of his blade.
Oh….my….god…..
Inside the bag were hundreds of dirty, grimy, bloodied human fingers.
Yeah…I always wondered about that. Hope you enjoyed this short, mostly worthless story! Read and Review!