Scarlet kept running, the sound of bullets whizzing past her head. She should have known better than to approach a group of strangers, but she was getting desperate. The last folk she ran into back at Drumlin Diner were friendly enough, pointing her in the direction of the nearest settlement. But that was after she had barely talked them out of killing each other over... caps, was it? She knew as soon as she saw the scorched, desolate landscape after she left the vault that this was entirely different from the world she had come from. Exactly how different, she had yet to learn. And there was definitely a learning curve.

Her legs pumped as hard as they could, overriding the pain from the gaping wound on her thigh where a dog had bitten her. It was unlike any dog she had ever seen – a hulking green thing with a vicious disposition. A part of her felt guilt when she shot it between the eyes with her 10mm, hearing a plaintive whimper as it slumped over and died. But there was no time for pity, she surmised. The sun was starting to dip behind the crumbling buildings of downtown Boston, and her sole focus was to get somewhere safe before night fell.

Walking up to those people had been a gamble, she knew, but she was having trouble navigating the ruins of the city. Her pip-boy's map was of little use in this new environment. But the moment they spotted her, they pulled out their guns. She took off running, not really caring which direction, just doing whatever she could to escape.

A hot white bolt of pain ripped into her shoulder. "Ahh!" Scarlet stumbled forward and nearly fell, but quickly regained her balance and kept going, the adrenaline surging through her bloodstream.

She hooked right down an alleyway. The sound of gunshots was growing distant and the frequency between shots was slowing. Pausing to catch her breath, she reached her right hand over to her left shoulder. "Ssst!" she hissed as her fingers grazed the bullet hole. The blood on her fingertips was so deep red it was almost a shade of purple. She leaned back against the concrete wall behind her, the sight making her slightly dizzy. Not that she was ever squeamish at the sight of blood. But the fact that it was her own... And she was losing it fast. She had to get somewhere safe and patch herself up before the blood loss became too severe.

She squinted through the steel bars and broken windows around her, trying to get her bearings. She removed her glasses and blew the debris off to clear her vision. There was nothing to see, though. Just the skeleton of a city in the dying light.

Her pursuers seemed to have given up. Their shouts had faded into laughter as their voices grew more distant. A soft red glow in the distance caught her eye. Mustering what strength she had left, Scarlet headed towards it.

"Going down to the rail, boss?"

"You know it, sister. You comin'?"

The strawberry blonde looked up from the dismantled minigun on the table in front of her. "As if you could keep me away when Mags is performing," she said with a cheeky grin. "Just finishing up with this piece of shit."

"Meet you there." He walked out the door of the Old State House and pulled out a cigarette, taking a moment to breathe in the cool night air before he lit it. Something about the darkness woke him up inside and made him feel invigorated. As the pleasurable sensation of smoke filled his lungs, he took in his surroundings. The people of Goodneighbor seemed to be just waking up themselves, pouring out into the streets and talking animatedly about the trouble they wanted to get into. He leaned back against the door frame and sighed with satisfaction. Sometimes it was stressful, but he was damn proud to be the leader of this community of degenerates.

Some commotion near the front door caught his eye. An unfamiliar figure stood at the town's entrance, small and slightly hunched over. One of the residents made his way toward the newcomer. Even from behind, he knew by the swaggering walk, bald head, and tight leather jacket it was Finn.

He was immediately annoyed. Finn was a piece of shit, and that was saying something in Goodneighbor. He was notorious for picking fights, and was responsible for the death of two people that he knew of. Initially, the leader of Goodneighbor had looked the other way. After all, this was a rough place, and most people didn't have a problem putting someone down who had it coming. But after numerous complaints of him harrassing innocent townsfolk, he was seriously rethinking the decision to let this asshole stay here. He knew this confrontation wasn't going to be pleasant, but he stood back and watched, letting it play out.

"Hold up there. First time in Goodneighbor?" Finn said as he lit up a cigarette, his imposing frame inching towards the woman. "Can't go walking around without insurance."

The woman stiffened up and stood up straight. Her hand went from awkwardly clutching her shoulder to resting on the pistol in her holster. "Unless it's 'Keep-dumb-assholes-away-from-me insurance, I'm not interested," she said coolly. It was obviously a bluff, but as he watched this little woman stand up to Finn he couldn't help but smile.

"Now don't be like that," Finn crooned, moving closer. "I think you're gonna like what I have to offer. You hand over everything you got in them pockets, or accidents start happenin to ya." He reached out suddenly and grabbed her by the throat, eliciting a small but audible gasp. "Big, bloody accidents," he growled through gritted teeth.

He was done watching the exchange. He'd made up his mind. He snuffed out his cigarette underneath his boot, adjusted his tricorner hat, and strode toward them. "Whoa, whoa, time out," he said in a calm but authoritative voice.

Finn looked over his shoulder at his approach, but held fast to the woman's throat as the man continued. "Someone steps through the gate for the first time, they're a guest. You lay off that extortion crap."

"What d'you care?" He growled, glaring back at him. "She ain't one of us."

He stared right back at Finn, only darting his eyes away for a moment to look at the woman in his grasp. Her eyes, shining through the lenses of her glasses, were wild with a mixture of fear and defiance. Her chest was heaving as she sucked in deep breaths through flared nostrils. She seemed to be frozen – the hand that had once reached for her pistol was balled into a fist at her side. Her other arm was noticibly lifeless, the result of an injury. "No love for your mayor, Finn?" He gave a sarcastic smirk. "I said let her go."

At this Finn relaxed his grip and pulled his hand away. The woman took deep breaths as she stumbled back, her hand darting up to massage her assaulted neck. "You're soft, Hancock." He forgot about his previous target and directed all of his anger at Hancock. "You keep letting outsiders walk all over us, one day there'll be a new mayor," he threatened.

That was all Hancock needed. He relaxed his shoulders and softened his smile. "Come on, man, this is me we're talking about!" He gestured broadly with his arms, easing the tension that had been building between them. Finn seemed to relax a little, responding with a satisfied grunt as the mayor put a friendly arm around his shoulder. "Come here, let me tell you somethin'."

Without so much as a breath, Hancock reached to his waist and pulled out a knife, sliding it deftly into Finn's stomach.

He had no time to react. His eyes went wide as he felt something piercing him deep in his gut, reaching to cover the wound as Hancock slid the knife back out. He fell to his knees, blood pouring through his fingers and dripping onto the pavement. "Now why'd you have to go and say that, huh?" The mayor loomed over Finn's helpless body. "You're breaking my heart over here." That was the last thing Finn heard before he fell over, dead.

The mayor turned to the woman, who for her part had did nothing but watch the scene unfold in front of her in stunned silence. He could tell she didn't quite know what to make of what had occurred, or who the "good guy" was in this situation. "You all right, sister?" he asked with genuine concern.

She took a minute to respond, regarding him warily. He studied her, assessing her condition. The pip-boy and the vault suit made her origin obvious, though he wasn't sure exactly how far she had traveled to end up here. The fabric on her right thigh was torn, revealing a bite-wound that went deep into her flesh. The way she kept her hand on her shoulder he knew she'd probably been shot.

He couldn't help but think she had a pretty face. Her red hair was pulled back in a ponytail, with several frizzy strands falling out. Her face was round and lightly freckled, tinted red with the first indication of sunburn. A pair of black-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of a petite, upturned nose. A cute nose, he mused.

Then he frowned as he realized what she was looking at. His face, if you could call it that, was burned to shit by radiation. He had no nose to speak of, just a rotting hole in the middle of his head. There was nothing to frame his black eyes, his eyebrows and all the other hair on his body having fallen out long ago. And all that was left of his mouth was a pair of thin, scorched lips stretched over his teeth. He was a ghoul. And this woman looked like she might have just stumbled out of the vault today; he was likely the first ghoul she'd ever laid eyes on.

After a moment she seemed to collect herself and responded. "Yeah, I'm all right," she said, feigning confidence. "Thanks for taking care of him."

He chuckled at her show of bravado. A tough cookie, I like her already. But the front she had put up quickly crumbled as she collapsed to her knees, clutching her shoulder even tighter.

"Looks like you need a doctor," he said, stooping down to help her.

"I can patch myself up, thanks," was her strained reply. She looked at the hand he offered and recoiled ever so slightly. It was something the average person probably wouldn't have noticed, but he did. And for some reason he couldn't understand, it hurt him. A lot more than it normally would have.

In this posture he could see just how much blood she had lost. The back of her vault suit was completely saturated. "I think you might need some help with this one, doll." He pushed his reservation aside and grabbed her firmly around the waist, hoisting her up to walk beside him.

But no sooner had she attempted to stand than her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she went limp. He quickly crooked his arm behind her knees and swung her up to carry her. "Shit..." he muttered, watching her head hanging back over his wrist.

It was only now as he carried her body to the Old State House that he noticed the eyes of the townsfolk all around him. He briefly wondered what they had made of everything that happened, then decided he didn't care.

"Hey, Fahrenheit!" He shouted, bursting through the door.

She stood up from the couch and shook her head as she watched him coming up the stairs. "Jesus, Hancock, not another stray."

He nudged her aside to lay the injured woman on the couch. He grabbed the towel Fahrenheit had been using to clean her gun and pressed it against the woman's back. "Get the doctor, would ya?"

"Not sure how clean that thing is," she said, picking up the minigun.

"Shut up and go get the doc," he chided. He tried to smile, but she could tell how worried he was. The vault suit and pip-boy were enough to clue Fahrenheit in that this was no ordinary wanderer coming in from the Commonwealth. Hancock had a soft spot for the helpless, and a vault-dweller was just about as helpless as they came.

"Don't worry boss, I got it," she left promptly, shutting the door gently behind her.

Hancock's brow knit in concern. He kept firm pressure on the hole in her back, hoping to keep in what little blood she had left. With his other hand he reached up to her neck to check her pulse. Faint, but steady. Her chest barely rose as she took shallow breaths. A nice chest it is, too, he couldn't help but remark to himself. He moved his hand from her neck to her face, gently removing her glasses and setting them on the coffee table beside him. He never got a good look at her eyes. What color are they? He wondered.

A lock of red hair clung to her sweat-soaked face. He looked around, as if to make sure nobody was watching him, as he gently brushed it aside, taking a moment to run the back of his finger over her cheek. So soft... he thought. Then the sight of his scarred hand against her face made him pull back. He found the juxtaposition of his rotting skin against hers suddenly repulsive, as if he might damage it in some way just by touching it.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. She's not for you, John. He sighed and sat back, and waited tensely for the doctor.

Scarlet blinked her bleary eyes several times, then squinted against the morning light coming through the window. Her whole body ached, and her leg and shoulder were throbbing heavily. Where am I?

She remembered the guy who threatened her. She remembered trying to bluff her way out of the situation. Then fear when he grabbed her by the throat. And then the man who came to her aid... He wore a black tricorner hat and a red coat, like something out of a history book. She was grateful for his help.

But his face... Like a burn victim but worse. No nose and coal black eyes. What happened to these people? She knew better than to say anything. Aside from being impolite, she didn't want to invoke his ire by asking about his appearance.

She wasn't sure how to react when he tried to help her. After all, he had just murdered a man, regardless of the fact that he was her attacker. She didn't want to accept his arm. But he grabbed her anyway. And then she had lost consciousness.

Her hand flew up to her face. My glasses... She sat up, gritting through the pain as she did, and fumbled around on the coffee table in front of her.

"Lookin' for these?"

She looked up. A blurry figure held his hand out and offered her glasses to her. "Thanks," she muttered, and put them on. She tried not to react as he came into focus. It was him...

Where's my gun? She looked around frantically. Seeing it on the table, she instinctively grabbed hold of it, but didn't pick it up. She didn't feel threatened, but just wanted to know it was close.

"Hey, relax, sister. Nobody's gonna hurt you as long as I'm here." The man put his hands up and smiled. At least, it looked like a smile. His face...

"Where am I?" she asked through ragged breaths.

"You're in Goodneighbor. This is my place. Used to be called 'The Old State House' back in the day."

She glanced around at the dilapidated furniture. Empty alcohol bottles and chem containers littered every surface. "Who are you?" she asked, looking back at him.

"Mayor John Hancock, at your service." He removed his hat and, putting it against his chest, gave her a dramatic bow.

Despite the weirdness of everything she had gone through, she smiled at his display. "John Hancock, huh?"

"Yeah," he said with a wink. "Maybe you've heard of me? Proud patriot and statesman?"

"I paid attention in ninth grade history," she chuckled. She noted the look of confusion on his face.

"What's your name, doll?" he asked casually.

She hesitated for a moment, but remembered her manners. "Scarlet... Wolf," she stammered. Why did I give him my maiden name?

"Well Wolfie, you gave us quite a scare, lost a lot of blood." He sat down on the couch across from her. He put his feet up on the coffee table, then put a cigarette to his lips.

She studied him as he lit it and took the first drag. The smell was nostalgic. She hadn't smoked since college. But the desire for its familiar scent awakened her cravings. "Can... can I get one of those?" she asked cautiously.

He grinned warmly and reached for the pack sitting on the table. "Here you go, sister." He tossed it to her.

She caught it in her lap and pulled one out. Putting it to her lips, she looked for a lighter.

"Here," said John. He leaned forward and flipped a lighter open, igniting it for her.

Scarlet gave a faint smile of thanks and leaned forward, letting the flames engulf the end of the cigarette. She pulled back and inhaled deeply, relaxing against the tattered couch. For a moment she simply savored the taste and feel of it, letting herself unwind for a moment.

"So," said John, breaking the silence. "What brings a vault-dweller like you to my little community?"

Scarlet briefly wondered how he knew she had come from a vault. Then she noticed the pip-boy laying in front of her. And then she looked down. My vault suit, where is it? She was dressed in a tattered button-down shirt that was a little too big, and a pair of mens' boxer shorts. Realizing that someone had to have changed her clothes, she grasped at the collar of her shirt as if to try to cover herself. "Where are my clothes?" she demanded.

"The doctor had to take them off to get the bullet out of your back, and stitch up your leg," he said casually. She looked down at her leg and noticed the neat stitches criss-crossing her thigh where the dog had bitten her. It was already healing pretty well. "And I hate to say it, but that vault suit is pretty much ruined. You lost a lot of blood."

Her face flushed for a moment as she wondered whether or not he had been there when the doctor undressed her. "I was looking for Diamond City," she said, answering his original question.

He laughed, rather condescendingly in response. "You definitely came to the wrong place, doll."

"How do I get to Diamond City from here?" she demanded resolutely.

"You're not goin' anywhere until the doctor gives you the go-ahead. Settle in. You'll be stuck here for at least a week." She winced as a wave of pain overcame her. He was probably right. She understood the severity of her injuries. "Until then," he continued, "You can crash here. There's a hotel around the corner, but I don't suppose you have any caps to buy a room."

"Caps?" she questioned. "Is that what you use for money now?"

"Damn, sister, you're greener than I thought."

"I just woke up yesterday," she said.

"Woke up?"

Scarlet balked at her own admission. She wasn't sure if she should go around telling strangers about who she was or where she was from. After all, at least fifty percent of the people she had met so far had tried to kill her. She was smart enough to know better than to share her life story with the first person who asked. But she could also read people pretty well. Unless her years in stasis had altered her judgment, this Hancock seemed like a safe enough bet. She had woken up in one piece, after all.

"I came from vault 111," she explained, ashing her cigarette and taking another drag. "I was cryogenically frozen right after the bombs fell, I guess."

Hancock widened his eyes. "What? You're pre-war?"

"The last thing I remember it was October 2077. What year is it now?"

Hancock sat up and leaned forward. He looked her in the eye. It seemed like he didn't want to tell her. "I hate to break it to you, doll, but it looks like you traveled 200 years into the future."

She should have been more shocked, but honestly, after what she had gone through already, this didn't surprise her. Scarlet was level-headed enough to confront the reality of things. This was the world after the bombs. The side-effects of war were apparent. And there wasn't any changing where she was or how she got here. She remembered what she had witnessed in that cryo pod, but pushed it out of her mind, and tried to focus on the present. "Seems about right," she said coolly.

"Look doll," he snuffed out his cigarette in the ashtray, "I'm not tryin' to tell you your business, but if you just woke up and stumbled out of a vault, you've got a lot to learn before you go runnin' around downtown Boston. With what you've been through, I'm surprised you're not dead already."

"Me too," she replied. How the hell did I even get this far?

"I don't know what you've been through, and I know I got no right to ask." He rose from the couch and adjusted his hat. "But if you want, I can help you get on your feet." She nodded silently in response. What choice do I have?

"Well look," he took a box of mentats off the table and popped a few in his mouth, "I've got some, uh, mayoral duties to attend to. Rest up. Make yourself at home. The doc'll be by to check on you. You get thirsty later, just downstairs is my bar, The Third Rail."

She nodded silently as Hancock turned on his heel and headed out. Just before he got to the door he heard her call out. "John."

John... The way she said his name sent a slight shiver down his back. He turned back to look at her. "Thank you," she said, her voice full of gratitude.

The sincerity with which she said those words almost broke his heart. He smiled. "You're welcome, Wolfie." He said it as easily as he could. But she was having a heavier effect on him than he let on. He left the Old State House quickly, before she had a chance to read his expression, and tried to put her out of his mind. Keep it in your pants, John, he said to himself. She's not for you.