Johnathon Samuel Willismithers, he is probably one of the most crazy legally blind men in this post-apocalyptic age. He is an anarchist, he is crazy, and he habors no love for

much of anything. That changes one afternoon, on the steps of his shack in the Mohave Wastes. He heard a frantic scratching at the door, like something was trying to claw it's

way in, but the sounds they sounded like... dog paws? Not many dogs survived the fall. Strapping his trusty Katana to his belt, and a modified 9mm pistol to his holster. He went

cautiously towards the door. The scratching intesified... and an all too familiar roar on the other side. Without so much as thinking, He threw the door open, and listened for the

footsteps of the charging deathclaw. It was close, sounded like less than 20 yards. Unsheathing the katana he went into a defensive stance. Listening for that slightest moment

when the deathclaw swings his claw, he finds his moment and rams the katana up through the ribcage of the deathclaw, causing massive bleeding... until it was beheaded a

moment later with the same katana. Flicking the blood of the blade, he wipes it off his shirt.

He sniffed, to smell what the source of the scratching was. It was an odd smell, but definatly Canine, and female. Sighing thinking that it probably was scared off, he knelt

beside the deathclaw's corpse and uttered a quick prayer to guide it's radiated soul to Heaven.

Odd, it smelt like a nightstalker was around, but a nightstalker would've attacked by now..., he went to get up, but noticed something was on his slippers, heavy and puppy

shaped. He picked it up, and felt fur, and a snaketongue... "Hissuuff!" yep a nightstalker pup. He cradled the little pup, as the wind picked up, a sandstorm was coming. Going

into the rusty metal shack, He closed the door, and set the barricade bar when he got in.