It was the year 2185, over 100 years since the last Great War. The entire planet had been totally devastated by nuclear war. The total population of Earth had dropped from billions to mere millions, the whole world was just one big wasteland, the oceans had almost dried up completely and any rain at all was considered a miracle by the survivors.
Britain was one of the last countries to be hit by the bombs. It had been thrown into chaos upon hearing of the destruction of America, there were riots, protests, suicides, murders, but a mere months later fifteen nuclear bombs were dropped on the UK, rendering it a wasteland like the rest of the world.
They were hit harder than most other countries, Vault-Tec were not as efficient as in other countries, so the vaults built in Britain were nowhere near as advanced as across the oceans, so a massive portion of the population were obliterated, or worse.
But, miraculously some survived the explosions without any major damage caused to them, they were known as outsiders by the inhabitants of the vaults, they were strong and heroes among the rest of the survivors.
But they had all died out. All that remained were their descendants. This is the story of one of them, a wanderer known only as 'Stranger,' who was the great grandson of an outsider. He travelled around the country, never staying in one place for more than a few days. Right now he was in the city known long ago as London.
Stranger walked down the deserted streets, looking up at the huge crumbling remains of buildings, still standing after more than a century.
It was windy, sand was being blown around by the wind, so Stranger put on his eye goggles to protect his eyes from the sand; and covered his mouth with his scarf.
He wore basic wanderer attire, walking boots, which were falling apart, but they were better than most other shoes he could find in the wasteland. He had baggy trousers, covered in pockets, in which he stored most of his belongings, caps, food, weapons etc. He had a pocket for everything, and he knew exactly where everything was, so he could get at it whenever he wanted. He also carried a small rucksack on his back which he kept larger things such as a sleeping bag and larger weapons.
He also wore a pocketed jacket and scarf, as well as goggles to protect his eyes from sandstorms, acid rain and radiated water in case he ever had to swim in it.
He was also carrying his trademark modified AK-57, which was given to him by his father when he was 17, which had been passed down by his father before he died.
Stranger came from a bloodline of wanderers; his father was a wanderer, his father, and his father before him. He never knew his mother, wanderers didn't tend to commit; she was a woman his father had picked up during his travels and deserted not long after, only to return just over a year later to collect his son, who he then travelled with, despite him being only several months old.
He never really called Stranger by his real name; he mainly called him 'kid' or 'boy' along with everyone else. In fact, he barely even remembered his own name himself, so he just let everyone know him as 'Stranger.'
Strangers family had made quite a name for themselves over the century after the bombings. His great grandfather, who survived through the explosions, had become a local celebrity for that reason alone; and his grandfather was a famous mercenary who, alongside Strangers own father, Jack, had managed to battle and subdue the infamous bandit Overlord; notorious for killing entire towns and ambushing anyone who was caught travelling the wastelands; as well as wiping out his entire gang.
Overlord was publically executed a week later by beheading, and the pair collected their payment of 3000 Caps. It was then that Strangers father had met his mother, during a drunken celebration night at the local saloon in the small slum town of Hydron.
They both met on the night and she woke up alone the next day with a baby in her stomach, and Jack and his dad were on their way to the next town.
Stranger stopped for a rest at a crossroads, he had been walking alone for hours against the beating wind and sand, and needed a break. He sat down on a small piece of debris, reached into one of his legs pockets and pulled out a bottle of Nuka Cola. He wrenched off the cap, a kind specially produced after the bombings, which was worth absolutely nothing as currency, and gulped down the Cola. It tasted absolutely disgusting. But he was used to it, he managed to force it down and let out a refreshed gasp.
He thought to himself how many RADS that one bottle must have contained, but he decided to ignore it, he had been living off the stuff for 20 years and was still in good health, so it couldn't be that bad for him.
He wiped sweat from his brow, the sun was really beating down on him, despite the heavy wind. This was how weather was since the bombs, it was nothing like it was before, before you'd be lucky if you got a week without rain, nowadays it was a miracle if you got a mere days worth of rain within a couple of months.
Suddenly there was a loud noise something zipped past Strangers head, missing him by an inch. Stranger dived behind the debris he was sitting on. More bullets shot over and into his cover, but luckily it was tall and strong enough to protect him, for now, but he knew the bullets would eventually eat their way through.
Stranger peaked round the side of the debris to try and see where the shots were coming from. He noticed a skinny figure wearing spiked shoulder pads and tight leather trousers with no top and blue tribal tattoos all over his arms and body. It was a bandit brandishing a submachine gun on the first floor of a building, the walls of which had collapsed.
He stood firing his gun insanely at Stranger, who was trapped behind a block of concrete with the bullets whizzing around him. He knew it was only a matter of time before they made their way through the concrete and to him. He had to think fast.