SOMEWHERE NEAR ST. LOUIS
The sun fought its way through the clouds to shine down upon the bleak landscape. The wasteland was a greyish-brown drab of dust and the remains of once living things. Broken and dead trees lay everywhere, their rotting wood baking in the sunlight. They were surrounded by new hardier plants that had survived and adapted to the irradiated environment. Man had finally killed the Earth, giving birth to the wasteland, where natural selection was the only law.
Upon this wasteland was a man. A lone man who walked the Earth with some unknowing purpose. To an ordinary Raider he seemed an ordinary man, an easy target. He was walking down what people from the Old World would have called a highway. A group of raiders could have easily subdued him. Everyone from the toughest Brotherhood of Steel Paladin to a lowly scavenger knew it was unwise to travel the wastes alone. Many who did were quickly swallowed up never to be seen again. If it wasn't the harsh weather, it was the mutants, and if it wasn't the mutants, marauding raiders were certainly going to kill you.
There was nothing ordinary about this man however. The man wore a long tan duster that ran from his shoulders, extending down his arms, and then down to his heels. Underneath that was a desert camouflaged combat armor chest piece, providing his torso and shoulders with protection. Across his chest were multiple bandoliers holding shotgun shells for the Combat Shotgun sheathed in a custom made holster on his back. Across his waist were pockets and pouches made to hold magazines for the Marksman Carbine carried over his right shoulder and the 10mm pistol on the right side of his waist. He wore tan colored pants that were patched up in various areas from likely battle scars. There were further pouches and compartments for ammunition here as well. On his back a medic satchel and canteen were fitted around his belt. He wore black, tactical leather gloves with the finger tips cut off. Adorned on his head was a pre-war USMC low-light, night vision helmet that offered ballistic protection for his entire head. On the face mask of the helmet were large red eye camera's offering the low-light, night vision capability of the helmet.
Even more startling was what he wore on his arm. A portable computer known as a PIP-BOY was on his left arm around his wrist. The PIP-BOY was a black, bulky, portable computer. It was rectangular where the user interface screen was located. The interface was operated by dials on its face. From there the PIP-BOY rounded itself to fit and conform to the wearer's wrist. The interface glowed green when on allowing the raiders to make out the portable device. The raiders had only seen something like this on vault dwellers, so they knew it was rare and valuable, selling them on whether or not to attack the lone traveler.
Upon further inspection a raider with a keen eye could see the swagger in his walk. This was a confident man. A man who had traveled a long distance, wandering from place to place, leaving a pile of bodies in his wake. He was man whom the wasteland had swallowed but had immediately spat back out. He was a drifter, he was a fighter, a man with a chip on his shoulder.
The raiders had heard tales of a Lone Wanderer. A man who came from a place called the Capital Wasteland, whom had changed the fate of that land forever. He was leaving his mark all across the wasteland during his travels. They did not know why he wandered, but that wherever he did he was an unstoppable force of nature. It was said that the creatures of the wasteland cowered in fear at the sound of his footsteps and that even Deathclaws shuddered at the sight of him. They also heard stories about the mighty raider gangs who simply allowed him to pass through their territory without tribute. There was even one story where the raiders paid him to pass through, for fear of evoking the Wanderer's wrath.
But these raiders chalked those stories up as myths, fairytales, no man like that could possibly exist. They left the ridge upon which they were scouting the road from to return to their camp and tell their friends of the fresh meat headed their way. The raiders jumped and howled at the news of a lonely traveler; it had been weeks since they were last able to kill and loot any travelers on the highway, most small groups avoided it, and caravans required a very organized plan to take down. The raiders headed to the old military checkpoint which was their staging ground for attacks. The wrecked APC's and cars provided excellent cover and concealment for them as they waited for prey to come knocking on their doorstep.
Although most were experienced, the raiders were impatient. The traveler had only been a few minutes' walk from their location once they had arrived. Waiting for prey was difficult, they were more adept at attacking small settlements or single homes where they could dictate the pace of their fights. They weren't methodical, precise, nor were they adept at stealth. Hiding was cowardly to them, but they were ready to kill. It had been so long since their last intoxicating rush from the sight and sound of hot metal ripping and burning through flesh, carrying hopes, dreams, and memories away in the wind, that they were slowly going insane.
After a wait that felt like hours, the insanity came to a boiling point. They were hungry for action, for blood. Some began to argue and yell at one another and fight. The chems that filled their system had them in a bloodlust ready and willing to kill anything and anyone. The veterans attempted to calm the situation and retain control but the younger members of the gang were already firmly entrenched in performing some act of violence before their high trickled out of their systems. As the gang continued to argue and fight, a man materialized in front of them. The raiders were in shock. They had assumed that they had missed their target and that he had snuck past them. Yet here he was in front of them asking for a fight. The gang hesitated and stared at him in bewilderment. To them he barely looked human but rather like a specter cloaked in the shadow of the dying wastes. His body appeared to be nothing more than an oily silhouette, with nightmarish glowing red eyes.
The raiders were horrified of this creature standing before them. Even the wasteland grew silent upon his arrival afraid of any reprisal from the shadowy figure. Some were frozen with fear, while others scrambled for their weapons. It was too late. The sound of the Marksman Carbine ripped through the air destroying the brief silence of the wasteland. Flesh and bone were ripped apart at every report from the rifle's fiery mouth. They watched in horror as blood splattered the ruins of the military checkpoint. The raiders were caught out in the open and they quickly fell to the earth, their dead weight sending them crashing down, coming to awkward resting positions. They were helpless at the sight before them; none of their earthly skills could save them from the divine wind that had happened upon them. They had realized all too late that the rumors were true; the Lone Wanderer was upon them.
The Lone Wanderer continued emptying his magazine with machine-like precision. The raiders began to flee for their lives, as far as they were concerned he was not human, far from it. They had never seen any man shoot so accurately and so quickly. The Wanderer aimed at the routed raiders, wounding them, and never missing. If he felt pity he certainly didn't show it.
With grace and fluidity the Wanderer pulled the magazine from the rifle with ammo to spare. He had fired 18 shots and had killed 11 raiders and wounded 3 more. His movement was natural in combat. He had sustained heavy accurate fire on the raiders, always walking forward, each step with purpose and confidence. With the fresh magazine loaded he slung the rifle over his shoulder and drew his sidearm, walking past his handiwork and towards the new friends he was going to make. The raiders frantically tried to get up and run but with their kneecaps blown out they found it difficult to even crawl. Their screaming and cursing was enough to turn anyone's blood cold. But the legends say the Wanderer doesn't bleed. In fact the Wanderer was hardly a man at all, but rather a demon cast upon the Earth to bring vengeance to the righteous and death to the wicked and depraved. Raiders had nightmares about him and these raiders were in the midst of one.
The closest raider appeared to be nothing more than a young girl. He started with her. She appeared to be not much older than 18, just a bit "weathered". Her entire body appeared bruised from what the wanderer could see and she was adorned in typical raider spike armor. Her head was shaved so that her hair had a combination of a mohawk and a ponytail. The specter emerged from the shadow of the overpass. As he stepped into the sunlight, the oily form of his body melted away as the specter emerged from the shadow the overpass. A deceptively human form took its place. The Wanderer knelt down at her side, lifting her hair up with his N99 10mm pistol and playing with it. "Hey sweetheart," he cooed from inside his helmet. The microphone in his helmet projected a metallic tone through the speaker on the front of the helmet. "Shame about those pretty little knees." "Fuck you motherfucker!" She rolled her body around and spat on his helmet.
The Wanderer shifted to a harsher tone. "A shame you had to go and do that. I guess this med-x has someone else's name on it." His voice was cold and dark, emotionless. He rose to his feet as he pulled the pistol's heavy trigger. The girl's head violently jerked back smashing into the pavement she had been crawling on. A red puddle began to form around her skull.
At the sight of this merciless execution the raiders tried frantically to continue to crawl away. "Get the fuck away from me you fucking freak!" "PLEASE! Please please please please get away from me!" He knelt down again when he reached the next raider. He was older, obviously a veteran of many years pillaging the wastes and killing the innocent. An exemplar of humanity if there ever was one, the Wanderer thought to himself. He pulled the med-x out of his pack and held it out in front of the raider. The raider was making pathetic whimpers and grunts to crawl away from the Wanderer until he saw the med-x. "Anything to stop this pain," he thought. "All you have to do is take me to your camp and it's yours." The Wanderer's voice seemed compassionate and yet cold at the same time, the voice box stinging the air every time he spoke. "Yeah! Yeah! Sure, give me tha fuckin thing!" The raider was anxious to ease his own suffering and cling to the brief life he had left. He plunged the needle of the syringe into his arm and let the chem flow into his blood.
Without saying anything the Wanderer proceeded to get up and walk toward the third raider who at this point was writhing on the ground, screaming in pain. "PLEASE MAKE IT STOP! AHHHH! Give me the med-x! Please! Give it to me NOW!" The raider was pleading for his life. "I hate it when they beg," the Wanderer thought to himself. He stood over the pleading raider, begging for mercy. "I'm sure your victims felt the same way you do right now, and yet did they get to walk away? Did you let them live?" He felt no sorrow or guilt. "No! Nononononononononono. Please let me go…" The raider trailed off and became unintelligible between his begging and crying.
It was quick. Much quicker than those he had killed. The blood painted the ground as the young, groveling, raider's violent existence ceased. The Wanderer returned to the overpass and proceeded to loot the corpses for bottlecaps and ammunition. When he returned to the raider he left up the road, he picked him up and carried him after bandaging his wounds, while he directed the Wanderer to the partially destroyed Red Rocket gas station the raiders had used for a hideout.
Inside he found a plethora of weapons, chems, ammo, and bottlecaps. He placed his bags and weapons down on a table after clearing it of the used chems that previously littered its surface. He grabbed a Nuka Cola off the shelf, popped off the cap and could smell the intoxicating aroma of the carbonated sugary drink even through his helmet. He removed his helmet revealing his rugged face. His hygiene was quite immaculate. Despite the scars and marks littering his face, he was clean shaven with short black hair and piercing brown eyes. He smiled and took a long hard swig. The gas station was a rusted broken down mess. Raiders were never good at housekeeping. Broken lights hung from the ceiling and the walls were littered with bullet holes. It did however provide good protection from the elements and anyone who wanted to pick a fight with them, a good location for a hideout.
As he sat enjoying his Nuka Cola and hearing the sweet sound of his Geiger counter on the PIP-BOY every time he took a swig, he heard the voice of a girl. "Hello? Who's there?" The girl's weak voice sounded like it was coming from an office behind the gas station's checkout counter. The Lone Wanderer shot a look at the raider who now had a strained look on his face laying on his bed in the garage of the gas station.
The Lone Wanderer grabbed his pistol off of the table exchanging it with his Nuka Cola. He stood and made careful quiet footsteps moving into the convenient store. He moved fluidly, hopping over the counter like he floated on air. His landing back on the floor was just as graceful. He approached the door, pistol in hand. The metal door would provide ample protection from gunfire and decided to turn the handle and quickly enter the room. He tried the handle. Locked. This appeared a minor annoyance. The Wanderer stepped back and kicked it down with little effort. His fast entrance shocked the room's only occupant, who let out as loud of a screech as she could muster. The Wanderer turned to face the sound.
In the corner of the candle lit room lay a young teenage girl with blonde hair. She was poorly wrapped in rags kneeling in the corner of the room, surrounded by what appeared to be sex toys, and discarded, used chems. The girl was bruised, burned and scared across her body. The girl looked up at the Wanderer and her blue eyes met his. He could tell she was frightened beyond her imagination and hurt beyond what she thought possible. She was visibly shaking in front of him.
He took a step toward her as she cowered in fear. Tears ran down her cheeks as she quivered in her corner. "Shhh. It's okay I'm not going to hurt you." The girl heard a smoothness in his ragged voice she didn't expect to come out of his mouth. As sincere as he could be he continued, "It's alright. You're safe now. No one's going to hurt you." He removed his duster and began to wrap it around the girl. Reluctantly she stood up with him and they slowly walked out of the office. They moved together into the garage where he had been previously sitting. Just as he placed her in a chair her eyes shot across the room to the raider laying on his cot. The Wanderer held her shoulders in his hands as he crouched in front of her, lowering himself until he and the girl were face to face. He saw her scared eyes locked onto the raider on the other side of the garage. Something was wrong. The Wanderer looked over at him and back at her. He could see the fear and horror in his eyes. When her eyes turned back to the Wanderer, he melted. He hadn't seen eyes like that in a long time. He thought of her and the way she used to look at him. The thought of her filled him with rage.
Without hesitation he stood up and walked over to the table where his 10mm pistol lay. He grabbed the gun and walked over to the raider whose face was cast in confusion and fear. He grabbed the raider by the spiked collar he wore around his neck and dragged him out of the garage. The raider began to kick and curse and scream as he was dragged across the pavement. He could feel its rough cracked surface carving into his back and the blood trail he was leaving. The Wanderer continued up the road to the overpass where the attempted ambush had taken place. Once there he dragged the raider to where the overpass had collapsed onto the highway below it. He placed the raider on the edge of the overpass looking down upon his former comrades.
The raider knew what was happening and before he could even utter a word, he entered dark oblivion, courtesy of one 10mm bullet through his forehead.
The gunshot sounded far away but it shook the girl, she nearly fell out of her chair. The sound also brought relief with her. The last of her tormentors was dead. But she didn't know what to make of the stranger. While he had been kind to her, she didn't think she could ever trust anyone again. She had seen how people's ulterior motives had led her to this situation, in this hellhole, far from home, if she could even call it that anymore.
The stranger's duster was warm and she wrapped it around herself tight as she sat in the chair. She wanted to get up and run, but knew how futile it was. Despite her distrust of the stranger she was weak, fragile, and incapable of surviving alone in the wastes. She needed him, and had to place her faith in him, no matter how badly she didn't want to.
The Wanderer returned and found the girl where he had left her. He tossed his pistol back on the table and standing next to it began to down the remainder of his Nuka Cola. He wiped the sweet liquid from his mouth and looked down at the girl whom had not taken her eyes off of him since he walked in. "Well you don't have to worry about him anymore." The girl just stared at him and didn't say a word.
He made contact with her eyes. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach. Oh God that stare. He was entranced. She looked so much like her, the goddess of his life. Her frailty in this moment and her stunning blue eyes and long flowing blonde hair were too much for the Lone Wanderer. She looked like a fighter too, what a fighter she was, he thought to himself. He thought hard about the last time his saw her in front of the Capitol Building, the fear and pain in her eyes. The same fear and pain he saw now.
He began to break, his knees buckled. The walls that he had built around himself for the last two years were being torn down by the stare of a young girl with blonde hair and diamond eyes. Her eyes. As he fell to the floor, the girl's emotions had changed. She reached out from her chair to touch him, confused and startled by the man's sudden breakdown. "What's wrong?" She tried to laugh "I'm the one who got rescued from raiders, remember?"
Underneath all the sobbing all she could make out was, "I'm so sorry Sarah. I'm so sorry."