The British Columbian Wasteland was as cold as ever, with it being the middle of winter, in the North. The date is December 3rd, 2291, the 9 year anniversary of Courier Six "liberating" New Vegas from Mr. House and kicking the other factions out of the Mojave. Truth is, she seemed to be more of a dictator than House ever was.

Needless to say, Derik Hart was not happy. The freezing cold, along with the grim holiday, was not helping much, either. Noah Watley, his adoptive son, was bored out of his skull. They had been traveling to the Elmendorf Air Force Base in Anchorage, Alaska for about 6 years now, living as nomads so they could settle down and start anew, and so Derik could see some of his old friends. After traveling for most of the day, they decided to hole up in a bar to wait till the evening, when it wasn't so hypothermia inducing. Alas, they chose a shoddy bar in the middle of God-Knows-Where. A stupid name for a town, if Derik ever heard one. They walked in and took a corner booth. Derik had a bottle of Whiskey, while Noah had a Nuka Cola, due to his age. The bar was quite empty, just Derik, Noah, and a lone bartender, a (somehow) obese man in his 50's. After a spell of contemplation, Derik was quite frustrated. The drinks were trash and so was the customer service. He was about to walk out, but then he decided to settle something first. He stood up and walked to the bartender, which he took to calling 'Fatso', after an old comic book villain he read about.

"Hey, tender, these drinks taste like pisswater."

The bartender looked up with uninterested eyes.

"What are you sayin, boy?"

"I'm saying these drinks are likely watered down and definitely overpriced."

Fatso pulled out an old Chinese pistol and grinned.

"And what are you going to do about it, punk?"

Noah was tired of High-and-Mighty's attitude. He stood up and walked to the door, beckoning Derik to come with him.

"Dad, I think we should leave now."

Fatso had a sneer on his face.

"Lookie there. Your little pansy of a 'son' has more sense than you do. Time for you to run back home to Mommy, boo hoo."

If Derik was angry before, he was pissed now. He never let anyone talk to him or his son that way, even if they were just shoddy insults.

"That's it."

He drew his DWPPC revolver and ran to the counter, jumped on it, then pistol whipped Fatso. He only got one shot off before he was knocked out cold. Derik holstered his revolver and walked to the door.

"Noah, let's keep going to Alaska."

Noah had a look of confusion written on his face. Then he got an idea.

"Hold up, I need to do something first."

Derik was confused at Noah's intentions, and watched curiously. Noah picked up Derik's leftover whiskey and poured it over the bartender, then kicked him. When that was done and over with, he walked back to Derik.

"Now I'm ready."

Derik smiled and walked out of the door with Noah. The 13 year old's growing up fast, Derik thought. But alas, will he make it to Alaska? I've already lost so many friends on this God forsaken trip… Derik kept his mind off of it. He didn't want to hold up the walk more than he had to. When they finished making preparations (Which involved looting the bar of its money), they continued their journey to Alaska, with the sun setting behind them.