Authors note: I've been trying to write a fan fiction for a while now, damn writer's block I guess. This is my first one so bare with me. Reviews are appreciated.
He'd been called a lot of things during his years in the wastes. An assassin, a mercenary, a loner, some had even gone as far as to call him Scourge of the Wastes. But one name had stuck out among the others, Reaver. He had been in underworld that day, the ninth circle, his usual place in the corner, a bottle of whiskey resting in front of him. A radio had been placed on the bar as well, playing what little music remained from before the Great War and stopping occasionally so that the host could voice his opinions on various subjects. Reaver had rarely listened to the drabble of the one the wastlanders called three dog, partially because he spent a lot of time in the wastes and therefore away from any working radios, and partially because he didn't give half a damn about what the man had to say. But on this occasion he had been somewhat intrigued. A difficult task when it came to Reaver, as his only interests nowadays involved caps and liquor, a rather ironic combination as the later seemed to eat up the first one as fast as he made it. Three Dog had spoken about few interesting topics that day, continued loss of contact with Grayditch, the 'ghouls are people too' lecture. It was the same bullshit that he always went on about, but Reaver became interested when Thee Dog began speaking about a recent killing in rivet city.
"Question time, kids. You know what a Reaver is? It's a killer, a liar, and a monster. Check it out, apparently the poor guy from rivet city, Ted Strayer, has just left us courtesy of a .308 right through the skull. His body was found by a terrified Mr. Lopez, who said on the wall, written in blood was, you gotta shoot em in the head. The slogan we have been seeing lately with the recent killings of the one known as Dukov and his two party girls. Whoever been doing this, this, this Reaver, he must be stopped for the good of the wastlanders." Then he paused for a moment before bellowing, "This is three dog ooooooooow! And you're listenin to galaxy news radio, until next time!"
Reaver didn't argue with Three Dogs description of him. He did kill, he lied so that he could kill, and to make it in his line of work one had to be a monster. However He didn't see himself as evil for killing ted, He probably would have done it for free simply because the kid was a waste of breath and psycho. Every day Ted would lounge around the market or bar of his home, rivet city, that smug look of utter carelessness that was rare if not absent in the wastes. His pockets lined with the thousands of caps he hadn't earned. He was a waste of oxygen and now his brains were being scraped off the walls of the common room where he would pass out every night. Good riddance to the freeloader.
Ever since then He had been known as Reaver, or the Reaver. He didn't care which one. Whenever someone needed someone else dead, and none of the amateurs at Talon Company could help, they would find him. His price was high but his clients didn't regret there deal, unless they turned on him in which case there head wound up on a pike outside one of Reaver's safe houses as a warning to other scumbags who would dare cross him. In almost cases though, Reaver would get his caps and the client would get one less enemy to worry about. A good trade in his book.
He had been in Underworld that evening but now he stood outside the rundown house he had taken shelter in the night before. Two things were on his mind that morning, a job and a drink, and he knew were to get them. A few miles to the south was Tenpenny tower. Despite his track record as a gun for hire Reaver's travels had never brought him to Tenpenny's doorstep. A strange fact as Reaver had heard much about the place. Apparently it was lined with all sorts of luxurious pre war stuff. And everyone inside was said to have more caps then they knew what to do with. Of course with money came greed and with greed came more money, for Reaver, at least when one greedy basterd wants another greedy basterd dead for whatever reason. So it was easy to question the fact that Reaver had never been there to get in on the action. Hell maybe after couple jobs there he could buy a suite and retire. Reaver knew that wasn't gonna happen though. his parents had tried to keep him locked up in one place, never to explore the wasteland and make his own living, and He had made it out of there by the age of 19, but Reaver had put aside his childhood. It meant nothing to him, just a dark stain on his past that must be forgotten.
Reaver popped the choler on his duster and began walking towards his destination.
That's the first chapter! I know its short, hope you liked it. Post a review.