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Annie. Thirteen years old, and she had already seen everything every one wanted her not to. Every day, she woke up to the smell of rotting bodies, hung up by chains, or by spikes. Every day she walked past the naked corpses of women that were raped and killed, and reused later. Every week, she had at least one raider in the camp attempt to rape her. Those men didn't get very far before Annie's father was there. If the other men weren't scared of him before, they were after he was done with the men that attempted anything. But this was the only thing she knew. She knew sometimes a group of them would leave, and only a few would come back. Sometimes they left and came back with women. Her father always got first pickings.
They raped women a lot. She watched. Sometimes after they were done, they would just leave them crying, or they would kill them so the raiders could fuck their corpse later, or so they could eat it. But all thirteen years of her life, it was raised like this. Sometimes they brought in little girls. Younger than her. One man grabbed a little girl, and looked at Annie the whole time he was using the child. She knew what he was thinking.
But, despite all this, she was born and raised a raider. She got a birthday gift from her father when she turned 13. A girl. The girl had to be about Annie's age, if not a bit older. In her young teens, most likely. But this girl was for her. She was untouched. Her father had just given her a sex slave. And she used her. A lot. Annie wanted to be like her father. She wanted to go outside, and shoot and scare people, and bring them back, and just do whatever she wanted to them. She wanted that. She wanted to be that person.
Months after her birthday, she woke up to gun shots. It was quiet when she got outside. Corpses filled the streets, raiders dead on the ground. Her father was dead, his tall body laying against a wall, riddled with bullet holes. Down the road she looked, and in the distance, she could see a lone wanderer and a grey dog. The man who roamed DC with his dog, who walked out of vault 101, and into hell. He had just killed everything she had ever known. And left her for whoever came for the scraps.
She sat there, on the road, next to her father, for hours. She didn't cry. But she sat there, staring at him. He had seemed so unstoppable when he was alive, and now he was, defecating himself, rotting. She didn't notice when someone walked up behind her.
"Lyons? We found a survivor."
This is the story of good people trying to save a lost cause. It would only be a matter of time before the rope they throw out for her snaps.