Solomon was used to hanging around underworld, in fact he preferred it. He found himself at home with the ghouls that tried to carve out their own way of life in the wasteland. Though after an accident on his most recent visit the lone wonderer might become more of a permanent resident. Whilst his body heals he may just discover that some of his new neighbors might be able to help heal his soul as well.

Ahead of time I just want to thank everyone that takes the time to read this. Been out of practice when it comes to writing for quite a while. So this is a way of me getting back into it. Again thank you and hope that I interested you to keep reading. I own no characters, locations or images created any Bethesda or of Bethesda Software. I'm just a huge fan.


If you asked him what he was doing amongst the long closed museums and decaying monuments the former vault dweller probably wouldn't give you a straight answer. He would most like scratch the back of his neck whist his emerald eyes drifted down to the floor, and if it wasn't for his darker complexion you would be able to catch a feint hue of pink grace his cheeks.

Though if you were to ask him the same question whilst under fire from the hulking guards that roamed the area, well his response would be decidedly different.

"CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP!" The muffled voice began to fog the visor of gas mask as unseen bullets zipped past the fleeing figure.

Streams of gold flashes were all the lone wanderer had to recognize where not to step. Solomon knew that each one had at least five bullets taking up the invisible intervals, and each one that didn't hit its mark imbedded into the building frames behind the lone wanderer. Raucous laughter of the gun totting mutant boomed as another hail of minigun fire showered around his body, lucky shells tore at the armored vault suit and cut at the wander's mocha skin.

"Stupid Human!" The creature roared as it continued its barrage, laughter mingled with the raining shells.

The weight of Solomon's own minigun didn't necessarily help the situation, and with each step through D.C's Mall district only seemed to become a heavier burden. A moment was all he needed, Underworld was in sight and he only needed a few more yards. His jog slowed to a limp as his left shin was clipped by a ricochet, but by his own count now was his moment. As he planted his unharmed leg and swung his weapon an all too familiar clicking sound came from his opponent's direction.

"Gun Dry! Need Stupid Bullets for Stupid HUMAN!" Before the super mutant even begin to reload a new barrage filled the air with metal, this time directed towards the green oppressor.

Hot shells fell around Solomon's boots and the fire flew the chilling wasteland air. The wanderer could feel his nostrils flair and his pupils focus on the ultra-violence that took place before him. Each of his bullets found their mark, several destroyed the upturned concrete that surrounded the target. Others perforated the steel girders that bent at strange angles out of the ground, and a couple shattered the metal that held together the mutant's weapon. The ones lucky enough to tear apart the actual enemy were the most beautiful in Solomon's eyes.

"Eat it ugly!" Gore had of pulling it out of him, the pieces of him that he kept away from those around him. If only for their own good. Laughter filled the air again, but this time it bellowed from deep inside the wanderer and it only grew in volume.

Even when his own chain of shells ran dry Solomon's finger still held the trigger as if he were to release the world would end all over again. Though as the bloodied heap slumped to the ground before him the bloodlust cooled and Solomon found himself able to blink once again. His white knuckled trigger finger cracked as he let up the pressure which allowed the hot barrels to stop their twirling and suddenly everything seemed heavy. The air he took in made his lungs dense and he felt gravity pull the blood from his wounds and pull it down to pool at his feet. His head was too heavy to turn so he strained his eyes to see the edges of his peripheral.

Right where she always held her guard at the entrance of Underworld, Willow caught his eye like a melted Valkyrie. She, Solomon noticed, wasn't her stoic self with her arms waving the way they were. His full attention went to her as he readjusted the minigun's weight on hip and started to limp his way over to the woman. There must have been a bit of adrenaline still lodged in his ear, or maybe the gas mask muffled her already gruff voice because he couldn't quite hear what she was yelling to him. Then she was doing something different, she was pointing. He didn't have to follow the line of her finger to know what she was motioning toward.

His hearing cleared in time to hear the pin being pulled from the grenade, but his eyes never left the guardswoman in front of him. Her laser rifle manifested itself into her hands and he saw her fire maybe two rounds. Solomon's mind was moving too fast to comprehend what he had to do. It took him to other instances of emptying clips of rifles at other super mutants and only slow them down. Then it whisked him to memories of semi cool beer at the ninth circle, the ghouls at the bar laughing at his jokes. For some reason there was a flash of Moira Brown's smiling face, what was that about?

Burning flesh filled his nose as the grenade hit the heel of his right boot, and Solomon no longer thought anything. He just reacted. The minigun went first, he dropped it right on top of the grenade in an effort to stem the coming explosion. At the same time his eyes finally shot a glance at what was left of the super mutant that lobbed the explosive turn to ash thanks to Willow's assistance. Then the world was fire and screams as molten metal rained on the retreating vault dweller.