"Seeking to forget makes exile all the longer; the secret of redemption lies in remembrance."

- Richard von Weizsaecker

"Is he...?"

"Of course he's here," interrupted the sheriff, his dark skinned covered by his long, brown leather duster, a wide-brimmed hat covering his head. He, along with another dark skinned man in overalls, were both hunched over a large pipe, water hissing from one of the rivets. "Just like he always is..." the man added, a hint of sadness in his voice. She didn't blame him.

Sarah Lyons turned towards the all too familiar house, built from scrap metal, high up on the crater that was the town of Megaton named, creatively, for the un-exploded bomb that squatted right in the middle of the ramshackle collection of dwellings. A bomb, she'd heard, he had disarmed years ago.

He, the Lone Wanderer, Saviour of the Capitol Wasteland. Nobody had heard from him for months, not since the Enclave had finally been destroyed on their crawler at Adams Air Force Base and Project Purity, the only source of radiation free water in the area, had been restored. Normally that would have been worrying, but he had made it clear he didn't want to be disturbed when he'd left. It was a wish that, considering all he had done, everyone concerned had been willing to grant.

Sarah got to his door, feeling the rusted metal creak under her feet. The house sat unsteadily on rough metal legs, the only way to have a flat floor on the sloping crater. She knocked twice, her power armour gloved hand clanging loudly against the door.

Nobody answered.

Hesitantly she tried the door handle, found it worked and pushed it open. The stench assailed her, overwhelming her for a second. It was a stench she had smelt before, stale sweat, spilt alcohol, a touch of vomit even, the usual smells that greet you when you enter a bar. But not a home, and not this strongly.

The room was unnaturally dark, the pitiful faded fabric shades covering the lone window as best they could, but unable to hold back the sun. None of the electric lights were on either. She felt around aside the door, trying to find the switch for them.

"Don't." She jumped at the sound of the voice from the dark. It was commanding, confident, and familiar.

"Leon?" she asked, turning to where she thought he was.

She heard him clear his throat, then he stepped forward into one of the slight rays of light that made it past the curtains.

There were parts of him still there, from when she had last seen him. The rugged face, the small scar across his forehead, his black hair unkempt, his skin tanned from long days out in the harsh sun, scars criss-crossing the exposed flesh of his arms. But there was more now. An unshaved mass of hair, somewhere between stubble and a beard, covered most of the bottom half of his face. His hands, covered in his usual fingerless leather gloves, clutched a large bottle of whiskey. His clothes were ragged, uncleaned, even more so than usual. His eyes were red but, even worse, still listless, just as they had been when he'd left.

"I thought I was clear, Sarah," he growled.

"Leon...we're worried," she managed.

"I don't care," he said flatly. "Get out"

"What? You're tossing me out?"

"Yes"

"Why?"

"You know why"

Her eyes narrowed. "You've changed..."

He snorted, uncorked the bottle and took a long swig. "Figure that out on your own, did you?" he asked sarcastically after he swallowed the hard liquor.

"What happened to you?"

"Life," she heard him mutter, so softly she almost missed it.

"Leon, I've come to ask you back," she said, trying to sound as confident as possible, "The Brotherhood...it's not the same without you. We need you. They need you," she added, sweeping her hand out to indicate the wasteland.

He looked at her then, fully, eye-to-eye. "That's why you came here?"

"Yes," she answered, hopeful.

"Then you wasted your time" he said, taking another mouthful of drink.

"We lost 9 men last week and 4 the week before. This fight hasn't stopped just because you did," she said, beginning to get a little irritated.

"And?"

"And?" she almost screamed.

"Yes, AND!" he screamed back before she could get another word out, "don't you dare try and preach to me. No shit this war didn't end, that's the thing I figured out; it never does. I did my part, now it's someone else's turn."
"You selfish prick..." she snarled coldly.

"Selfish? Ha!" he snorted, "You want to know selfish? How about throwing me, alone, into Adams? How about letting my father die before lifting a finger to stop the Enclave? Hmm?" he hawked and spat, "yeah, you Brotherhood fucks are real courageous when you've got 4 more of you on your back. You think you've got all the answers, sitting nice and safe in your little stronghold, going out when it damn well pleases you in squads so large no-one would mess with you anyway. Thinking you're making a difference when people barely notice you're even there. You're not better than anyone else, Sarah, none of you are. Maybe when you figure that simple fact out we can talk again. Until then...stay the fuck away from me, the lot of you."

He sighed deeply, breathing out his anger, replacing it with sadness, before continuing. "Fight, die, nothing ever changes. You want to keep up the charade, pretend like what you're doing actually matters, then go ahead. But I'm out..." he finished, striding over to a small table and leaning on it, head drooped, his back to her.

"You never came back, did you?" she asked softly, pity clear in her voice, "you're still at Adams..."

"I was gone long before that," he whispered. "Please, just...go"

She opened her mouth to speak but her heart fluttered, her stomach lurched. She had nothing left to say, there was nothing she could say. She let her head drop.

"Goodbye Leon," she whispered, leaving without another word. She didn't know if he had heard. She hoped he heard, hoped that the real Leon Walker was still in there, the hero that she had known what felt like a life-time ago.

She hoped, but she didn't believe.

Leon slumped into a stool at the counter of the Brass Lantern, the only restaurant in Megaton. It sat right at the bottom of the crater, only a couple of metres from the bomb itself, and, like every other building, was built from scrap metal. It was shaped like a long, awkward rectangle, with the small counter Leon now sat at jutting out of it.

"What'll it be?"

Leon looked up, watching as Jenny Stahl used her hands to lean against the counter. Her dark blonde hair, as usual, was combed back, one small lock allowed to drift forwards and frame the right side of her face. She was wearing rough yellow overalls, visibly worn.

"Whiskey," Leon croaked, already a little tipsy, "and keep it coming."

She sighed, looking at him sadly, but poured him a glass of the brown liquid and simply left the bottle next to it. He reached into his pocket and tossed a handful of caps onto the counter, not bothering to count them. She started to pick out the right amount when he stopped her.

"Keep it," he said, downing his glass of whiskey in one go and reaching for the bottle, "it's not like I need it anymore"

She sighed, sadly, but took the money anyway, scooping up the bottle caps and tossing them in the cash register draw. She glanced across at him again, then moved away to stand against the wall of the main building.

He didn't care that she didn't want to be near him. He preferred it, actually. Normally he wouldn't have even been down here, at the Lantern, especially with plenty of alcohol still lying around in his pig-sty of a home.

He took a sip of the whiskey this time, letting it burn his mouth and then his throat as he swallowed it. It tasted like piss, but then, sadly, the finer points of distillation technique had failed to survive the apocalypse. He knew he had Pre-War bottles, the good stuff, up in his house so he wondered, again, why the hell he had come down here.

He knew the answer, of course. Seeing Sarah again had put a lot of things in perspective, forcing him to face a lot that he'd been ignoring, drowning, for a while now. He sighed, took another sip, managed to see his face reflected in the dark liquid.

You were a hero, he told it, now what are you?

He looked at Jenny, her furtive glances indicating how uneasy he was making her. He looked around at several others that passed by, each doing their best to avoid making eye contact. Finally he turned back and looked at the whiskey, one hand on the half full glass, the other gripped to the 3 quarter full bottle.

A friendless drunk, he answered, the blanket of depression settling down on him like a ton of bricks, threatening to crush him under its weight. He sighed, downed the rest of the whiskey in his glass and poured himself another.

So, it was going to be one of those days.

The sun was setting as Sarah made her way out of the gates of Megaton, the mismatched collection of steel sheets that formed its wall at her back. The gate's guardian, a bipedal, oval-bodied robot called a Protectron, said something resembling a farewell in its metallic voice but she ignored it.

She had to be focused. Travelling the wastes at night wasn't smart and trying to get through DC was even worse. Of course, when she had left the Citadel she had planned to stay the night with Leon, regardless of whether he accepted her offer. She knew she could have changed his mind about letting her stay, at the very least.

But...the man she had seen in that house hadn't been Leon. It had looked the same, sounded the same, but it wasn't him. Not the parts that counted, anyway. She could barely think about him without her heart dropping through her stomach, let alone stay in the same house, even the same settlement, as him.

She shook her head, trying to shake the thoughts out. She didn't want to think about it so she focused on her current problem.

She scanned the horizon, the sun setting off in the distance. The rocky, barren landscape met her eyes and, off in the distance, rose the crumbling buildings of DC. She narrowed her eyes, trying to make out landmarks, but at this distance it was pointless. She knew she couldn't get back to the Citadel, or any of the other Brotherhood outposts, before dark, but maybe she could make it to one of the outlying entrances to the Metro.

The Metro, the former transportation system used before the War. Most of it was crumbled and none of the trains worked, their rusted and decaying husks a sad testament to the world that was. They were also home to some of the more horrifying creatures; Feral Ghouls often found their way down there, out of the sun, and they made good nests for Molerats especially.

Despite those dangers, however, the Metro was still the best way to effectively move around DC. The buildings above had been crumbling for hundreds of years now and the resulting rubble had turned the once perfect streets into a hellish maze, where danger more often than not lurked literally around every corner.

It wasn't an ideal place to spend the night she knew, but there were a couple of rooms there that would still be intact, that she could barricade herself in for the night before heading off in the morning...

A strange sound came from behind her. A wobbling sound, like a thin sheet of metal being shaken like a blanket. She felt something hit her in the back. It wasn't solid, more like a force, a powerful gust of wind. Chills went up her spine, her rifle fell uselessly out of her hands and she pitched forward, watching with lazy eyes as the ground rush up to meet her.

"Ha!" some shouted. Another, different person giggled, and she heard two sets of feet make their way closer to her.

"How much you think we'll get for a Brotherhood bitch?" the first voice asked.

"I don't know," exclaimed the second gleefully, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. "The armour is worth thousands on its own!"

Sarah didn't know who they were, barely even knew who she was. Her thoughts slipped out of her mind like water flowing through her fingers. Her instincts, her training, her experience, all of it kicked in at once. She had to get up.

With a groan she pulled her arm up to her shoulder, tried to get it under her body so she could push herself back to her feet, or as far up as she could get anyway.

"Oh shit, she's still moving?" the first voice exclaimed.

"Fuck! Mez her again man," the second shouted. The wobbling sounded again, although this time it died a lot quicker than last time. "What're you waiting for?"

"It's fuckin' broke or something," the first snapped. "Just hit her with your rifle, fool."

There was a sharp crack, pain exploded in the back of Sarah's head and she slumped back to the ground. She had a few seconds to stare at the bleak ground before everything went dark.

Leon awoke the next day with his brain pounding in his head, in beat with his steady , booming heart beat. With a groan he leant forward, swivelled his feet and sat on his bed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Shakily he got to his feet, half-stumbled to the fridge on the opposite side of the room and opened it.

The inside was mostly empty, as usual. There was 3 day old squirrel, some 200 year old steak, a wild Punga fruit from Point Lookout and four bottles of whiskey, with a half full bottle of vodka tucked away behind them. He stuck his hand in, letting it float over the squirrel, then the steak, then, with a sigh, the whiskey. He grabbed an already open bottle and slammed the door closed, downing a long mouthful of the harsh liquid as he did. It burned his throat but took the edge off his pounding head, so it was good enough.

A loud clang snapped his head around to look at the door, so fast he heard his neck crack loudly. Groaning, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, the other still gripping the whiskey bottle, he made his way over to the door and hauled it open, annoyed at the disturbance.

He was blinded for a moment as the daylight flooded in, his eyes squinting as they adjusted. When they had he saw a full set of Power Armour staring at him.

For a moment his heart leapt into his throat, his mind projecting Sarah's face onto the body in front of him. But as he took in the mannerisms, the folded arms, the utter silence, he knew it wasn't Sarah. It was Gallows.

Knight Captain Irving Gallows, special operations for the Lyon's Pride, Sarah's unit and the elite of the Brotherhood. Gallows was the kind of person Leon liked these days; quiet, stoic, keeping to himself. He was so reclusive, in fact, Leon had never seen him without his helmet on, had rarely seen him at all if he was being honest. The man preferred to be out in the Wastes more than anyone else at the Citadel.

"What do you want?" Leon asked grumpily. Gallows stared at him for a moment, the black eyes on the Power Armour helmet looking foreign, alien, before he stuck out a hand. Leon looked down at a folded note.

Taking his hand from the back of his neck he snatched it from the man's hand and opened it. It read;

Leon,

I am sorry for this. I know you requested your solitude; a request that, considering all you had done for us, was something I could not refuse. For the past few months I have honoured it, despite strong council otherwise, and you know I would not break my word without good reason.

Unfortunately, it is this reason that has brought this letter to you. Several days ago Sarah left us to speak with you. Our sources say that she reached you, so I am sure you know this, but she has not returned. Under usual circumstances I would not be concerned, but she has made no attempts to contact us, which is highly irregular, and a pair of known slavers recently killed by our brothers were found to be in possession of an undamaged suit of power armour.

I am afraid for my daughter, Leon. Mutant attacks have increased in recent weeks and I no longer have the manpower to search DC for her, let alone the entire Capitol Wasteland.

You, however, have the experience and the knowledge to do what we cannot. Please, I'm begging you, find my daughter. We have all lost too much already, to lose her would be my breaking point.

I have sent Knight Captain Gallows to aid you, if you so choose. Whatever else I can provide, you have but to ask.

Again, I apologise for breaking my word, but I hope you can see and understand that I had no choice. It's Sarah, Leon. Save her.

Owyn

Leon had to read it again to make sure he wasn't going crazy.

"Is this real?" he asked Gallows. The armoured man nodded slowly. Leon's heart was pounding, his hands beginning to shake. He didn't know whether it was the hangover or something else anymore.

He turned and strode across to his desk with a purposeful walk. Taking up a small piece of charcoal he quickly scratched his reply on the back of Owyn's note;

Owyn,

I'll try.

Leon

He walked back over to the door and handed the note to Gallows.

"Take it to Lyons," he grunted, before slamming the door shut in Gallows' face. He turned and leant against it, letting himself slide to the floor. He took another large mouthful of whiskey, let it simmer in his mouth for a few moments, burning the inside of his cheeks, singeing his taste buds, before swallowing and feeling the familiar heat travel down his body.

He wiped his hand across his mouth, wiping away the excess liquor, and found his eyes falling on the large, mouldy rug that dominated the middle of his house. He gritted his teeth as he looked at, flexed his hands as old memories of wars long since ended surged back into his mind, the liquor helping to blur the line between them and reality.

With a grunt he got to his feet and strode over to it. It was a cream colour, once, a long time ago, but was more of a puke-green now. It probably did have some puke colouring it, he thought. Grabbing the corner, he reefed it away. It thrashed through the air, hitting the wall next to his bed with a dull thump before sliding back to the floor.

He hadn't taken his eyes off the floor though, especially the trap door the removal of the rug had revealed. Reaching down, he grabbed the handle and pulled it open, the old hinges creaking, protesting their use. The area below was dark, pitch black, no light from the already dim room above reaching it. It looked like a mouth, like the maw of some infinite creature, threatening to swallow him whole...

He took another drink of the whiskey, knelt down and felt for the familiar switch just below the hatch. He found it, turned it on with a satisfying click and then took the ladder down into the room below his house.

He had built it after buying the house. It wasn't anything special; dirt walls, floor and ceiling, some scrap metal for supports. Nothing special.

Except, of course, for the racks of equipment he had stored in it. There were several metal desks, the best he could find, that had various weapons displayed across them. There were rough dummies at the far wall, formerly practice targets at the Citadel, that were wearing several suits of varying types of armour. Shelves dominated the wall to Leon's right, overflowing ammunition boxes on every one. He looked at the arsenal he had under his house, his eyes drifting almost lazily over the weapons, the armour, seeing them again bringing up even more memories from the past.

He took another swig from his bottle, picked up a pistol and looked down its sights at one of the dummies. He moved around, almost letting the pistol lead him, swaying along with its movement. He felt the familiar metal in his hand, so much more re-assuring now than it had felt months ago when he'd last touched this gun. He closed his eyes, re-acquainting himself with its weight.

He sucked in a deep breath and let it out with a slow sigh, opening his eyes as he did. He knew what he had to do.

And it was time to do it.