My father used to tell me, that our little house in the middle of nowhere was the greatest place there ever was. We kept to ourselves and never saw anyone… or at least I never saw anyone. On those random and rare occasions when someone would come knocking at our front door, my father would tell me to go into the basement, while he took care of the situation. I'd step down onto the creaky wooden stairs to the basement, followed shortly by my father closing the door and pushing firmly until it securely clicked shut. I remember putting my ear up against the cold, splintering wood to try and figure out what was going on and piece together the identity of the visitor. Usually my father would just end up talking to someone, inviting them in for a bite to eat, or for some kind of medical treatment. In these cases my father would allow me to come out and meet them. This was one of my favorite things, meeting people who lived out in that mysterious wasteland and hearing the amazing tales they had to tell. They told stories of mysterious settlements and horrifying monsters. These were the times I cherished the most. However, sometimes when my ear went against that door I would hear yelling, gunshots, and some noises that I can't even describe.
My name is Aidan Wolfe. My father is Maximus Wolfe. I am seventeen years old, eighteen tomorrow. The only people I've ever known are my father, and my mother, who died about four years ago. She was plagued by disease until she finally passed away, but I know it was for the best. My father travelled constantly, looking for a way to cure her, but no settlements, even Megaton, had any treatment for her rare disease. The pain she was constantly enduring was becoming too much for any of us to bear, so it was somewhat of a relief when she finally slipped out of her misery.
Every now and again the people I meet from the wasteland would stop by a second time, and sometimes more. It appeared that a few of them thought of our home as a safe-house or rest stop when making long journeys through the unforgiving wastes. One man I'll always remember is Franklin Woods, a merchant from a settlement in the southeast. He stops by our home almost every month, even though he says it's a good four day walk from where he resides. Our house is on the way to a large scrap heap that he likes to scavenge for products and supplies. He always has some kind of weapon on him, and usually brings us food, supplies, and ammunition to defend ourselves from everything that isn't a friendly traveler. I don't know where he came from, what he does, or where he lives. He only told me one thing. "If you're ever in trouble and need to find me, all you have to do is ask around, cause people know me. Don't ask for Franklin Woods, though, ask them for Flak."
I didn't know anything about what it was like outside our home. From what I could see out of our musty and almost opaque windows, there was just nothingness. A barren wasteland of death and destruction, covered in a never-ending sandstorm. On windy days the landscape would be hidden under clouds of dust that blurred anything beyond the pane of glass before me. However, the day would sometimes be calm enough that I could see far into the distance, further than I thought possible. I could see a large river, flowing with gray and brown water that churned near the shores and ran smooth as glass in the center. The sickly color of the water made me a firm believer that anyone who stepped into it would emerge with a third arm. Beyond the river I could barely make out a bridge crossing from shore to shore, with a barn next to it and houses sprinkled up on top. I dreamed of going there one day, but my father forbade me from leaving the house until I was eighteen, and what he considered a man. Tomorrow was that day. My father had promised me he would take me to that bridge in the distance, where he would get his food and supplies from the traders that made their way into that area. A small town called Arefu.
As a laid in bed that night, I heard the regular sounds of a scarred wasteland shrouded in darkness. The horrible scratching outside our home, like someone was carving their names into the siding… and for all I knew they were. There were no windows in my room, so I could never see whatever was trying to get inside our house. All I could do was lie in my bed and try to sleep through the terrible gargles and clicks that came from the walls around me. During the wet season we would get more activity than usual, which even provoked my father into pulling out his rifle and sitting silently in our kitchen, almost begging for an intruder. I believe it was because the river begins to rise during that time, creeping dangerously close to the house, and letting the creatures that live there have easy access to our sanctuary. I did everything I could to ignore them, until the noises finally stopped and the unwelcome visitors slipped away into the night. Finally my eyes closed, and I drifted off to sleep.
"Aidan! Get up, son! We'll miss the traders if we wait any longer! Crow ain't gunna wait for us before he moves on." My eyes shot open. Was my father being serious? Was it really time for me to leave the house? I leapt out of bed and threw on some of my clothes, a dirty pre-war t-shirt and some ratty denim jeans that were barely blue in color anymore. My father would take them out to be washed every week or so, but these ones smelled kind of old.
I ran out of my room and saw my Dad standing by the door. He was wearing his usual combat armor that he had since he was my age. It was a shade of green, though some of the paint had worn away over the years of use. Stamped on the chest-piece was a white shamrock with swords crossed in front of it. Whenever I asked him about his mysterious armor he told me to wait until I was older. Well, now that day has come. My father had his trusty hunting rifle mounted on a holster strapped over his shoulder, which fastened the rifle securely to his back, yet allowed him to have it drawn in an instant. Whenever Flak stopped by he'd give my father a fresh box of .32 caliber rounds. Where he got all that ammunition I'm not quite sure. I often assumed he made his own… even though I had no idea how someone could do that.
"You ready to leave the house, Aiden?" asked my father. I jumped to his side, questions burning in my head.
"I can't wait, Dad!" I yelled, louder than I meant to. My father smiled and turned to the counter next to the door. A small, black leather case sat on it, sealed with three latches and a lock. My father reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver key that glinted in the light of the sun leaking through the kitchen window.
"Well hang on there, sport," he said as his unlocked the case. "First I've got a birthday present for you. I'm still a little uncomfortable about giving you this, but I feel that now is as good a time as ever." My father opened the case and showed me what was inside. It was a deep black pistol, with a massive scope attached to the top and a silencer screwed onto the barrel. The cylinder of the pistol looked old, with paint worn from thousands of spins. Clips of ammo were scattered in the case, along with several tools used for cleaning and maintenance. A holster was also sitting in the case, ready to be strapped to its next master. "This, son, is the best weapon I have ever owned. This is my old Scoped .44 Magnum. Never let me down out there in the Wastes. Named it the Stealthshot, because despite its deadliness, it never gave me away in rough situations. My father gave it to me when I was 18, and now… I think it's only fair that I pass it down to you." I looked into my father's eyes, speechless. Not only was I leaving the house for the first time, but my father was trusting me with my first weapon. Not just any weapon, but the one he treasured his whole life. I slowly reached out and picked up the pistol.
"Thank you, Dad," I said quietly. "I don't really know what to say." My father smiled and put the case back down on the counter. He put a hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eye.
"Now don't you go feeling all high and mighty with that gun, you hear? Damned if I didn't lose my mind when my father gave it to me. Went around shooting everything I could. But you listen to me, son. Ammunition is scarce our here in the Wasteland, and we don't have the option of getting more until Lucky Harith makes his way back here on his route. Ammo especially for this weapon is worth more than all the caps you've ever seen. So use it only when necessary." I nodded and tied the holster around my belt. I tucked the Stealthshot into it and the rest of the ammo into the available slots on the holster. Now I felt like a real warrior of the Wasteland.
"You can count on me, Dad," I replied with a smile.
"I know I can, son. Your mother would be so proud to see you like this. She was fighting to make it to this day, but she just couldn't hold on." I sighed and looked away from my father. An old photograph sat in a sparkling frame on the other side of the kitchen. My mother had a bright smile in the picture as she held my father's hand in front of our home. It seemed like the frame was the only clean object in the entire house, seeing as my father would sit for what seemed like hours, staring into the glass and wiping dust away from my mother's smile almost constantly.
"I really miss her, Dad."
"I know you do, son. I miss her, too." My father slowly turned and opened the door, letting the sunlight pour into our dim house. He stepped out into the wasteland, burying his feet into the dust covering the ground. His took in a deep breath and looked back and forth. I made sure my holster was fastened one last time before rushing through that door.
It was magnificent to me. The gentle breeze brushing over my face. The dust rolling across the landscape and creating small waves in the river off in the distance. The sky was a clear blue, dotted with a cloud every now and again. Sometimes at night I would look up at the sky from my kitchen window and gaze at the millions of stars. Many were moving across the sky, though they were usually abandoned satellites, rather than meteors and comets.
"Well here it is, son," my father stated. "The biggest shithole in the world. The Capital Wasteland. You got everything from your Molerats, to your occasional Super Mutant out here, boy. Best to always keep that gun close. You'll come to see that everyone else out here is doing the same." My father pulled out a cigarette and a match. He lifted one leg and scratched the match against it, ignited the small stick. He lit his cigarette and puffed a ball of smoke into the air. "You ready?" I nodded and followed him as we began walking towards Arefu.
"So, Dad," I started. He turned his head to me as we continued hiking across the scarred landscape of the Capital Wasteland. He pulled the cigarette away from his mouth, bowing a puff of gray into the sky, which constantly changed shape until it faded away. "Where did you get that armor you always wear?" My Dad turned back to the trail and put on a small smile.
"Back when I was about your age, I met up with a young girl, who was hoping to make it big the Wasteland. She had bright orange hair, as fiery as that hot temper of hers. Her name was Reilly. She told me that she wanted to start a group of mercenaries that would take jobs in exchange for caps and supplies. We're not talking about killing and what not. Reilly didn't solve problems with just a bullet to the head. She liked jobs like escorting individuals safely across the wasteland, and rescuing lost family members. She came to me, asking for my assistance. You see, me and Reilly, we were the best shots in the whole Wasteland. I could hit a frenzied bloatfly from 50 yards with the Stealthshot, and Reilly was none too bad herself."
"Wow," was all I could say. I had no idea my father was like this. I always looked at him as a hero… but never as a superhero before. "What happened to Reilly?" My Dad kept his eyes forward, locked on his destination. They darted around as we walked, keeping an eye out for any intruders along the way. Every rock and dune in the wasteland could possibly be a point of ambush, and it was something I never had to consider before.
"Not too sure, actually," he replied. "My best guess is that she's still running her little mercenary operation down at our old base in the southeast of DC. I hope it did as well as she hoped."
"Where did you guys meet?" My Dad sighed and then stopped walking. We were nearing the barn next to Arefu, but my Dad felt the need to turn to me and put a hand on my shoulder.
"Son," he started, "this is something you should have known a long time ago." He looked away from me for a moment, gathering his thoughts and trying to find the right words. His eyes floated around the wasteland, eventually falling on our house off in the distance. "I haven't been completely honest with you. I wasn't born in that house over there. Me and your mother found it a few years before you were born." My mouth dropped and my eyes shot open.
"What? You lied to me?!" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Everything I thought I knew about my father… was wrong. I was wrong about where he was born, what he did, who he was.
"I'm sorry, son."
"I want the truth!" My Dad removed his hand and stepped back, looking shocked. I was, too. I had never yelled at my father before. My father sighed and walked to a rock near us. He sat down and looked up at the sky. I could tell that he was calling back a lot of memories that he probably wouldn't mind keeping locked away.
"I used to live in a settlement to the northeast, called Old Olney. It was a prospering town after the bombs fell and society started to rebuild. It was the only place I knew of that had a functioning medical center, along with a steady supply of food and water. My father figured it was where he would stay and raise our family." My father looked at the ground and threw his cigarette into the dirt. He sighed and looked back up to the sky. "However, around the time I was twenty, everything started to change in Old Olney. People began disappeared whenever they went out after sunset, and search parties would either come back with nothing… or not come back at all. Days later we'd find their bodies, maimed and mutilated." I stared at my father, barely able to wait for further information on his former town. "At first we thought it was attacks by raiders, or super mutants, but these attacks… these were different. There were no bullet wounds on the corpses, no bruises, just slices and chunks torn from them. It was one of the most horrifying things I've ever seen. This started happening more and more frequently, and closer to the actual town. Whatever was out there… it even got my own parents." My father gave a quick moment of silence for his fallen parents, and I couldn't help but do the same. "So eventually the few of us that remained fled the town, before those things came for us."
"So that's where you met Reilly?" I asked, curiously. My father shook his head and returned his eyes to me.
"I met Reilly when I was twenty-five. I decided to go back to Old Olney and see if I could find out what was killing everyone. Solve this mystery in my life. However, on my way there… I found something else." My father grew quiet again and stared at the ground, like whatever he found was lying right in front of him. "Something was there… that took me weeks to even believe. That's where I met Reilly. We decided we'd have our discovery locked away until the world was rebuilt enough to handle something of that magnitude. We had it taken away to Reilly's compound and locked in a chamber there. One day I'll take you to our old headquarters and show you, but for now, I think it's best if you didn't know."