American Wasteland
Date: 2527 May 27
Location: Somewhere in the Northern-Commonwealth
Alexander
Hero, murderer, salvation, demon, son of a bitch, warrior, peacemaker, wanderer, courier. I've been called many things. Many less dramatic than those listed, and far more offensive. I've fought, and killed, and died. Once for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, carrying the wrong thing, another for seeking vengeance that wasn't mine to seek. Two men, one put a bullet in my head, another a stake through my hands, both buried me, and twice someone dug me up.
I don't know why I chased them, didn't have a good reason to. Curiosity I suppose; to see where it all went.
I've all the titles I've carried, wander is most fit, I've been all over the American wasteland, met many different people, many of which were wanderers like yours truly.
"I'm gonna split your face!" Ah, the warm welcome of some raider punk looking to make a few caps, interrupting my thoughts.
I leaped behind the rubble of a once massive monument, a testament to the old world's technological prowess. But now it's something to stop lead. I peek from my cover to see the entrepreneur of this bloody surviving business, a kid. Maybe 18 at the oldest. At Least 15 years younger than me. What was that old world saying? Youths wasted on the young. Maybe. Or maybe experience is wasted on the old. In any case. No amount of youth or experience stops bullets. With a disturbingly satisfying thump that I only recently realized was disturbing, his body his the earth. Half a dozen holes in his chest from the old relic in my hands. Peeking about looking for any allies. And finding none. He was alone.
I've picked up a bad habit in my old age. I started burying the ones I killed. Never realized how busy I got until I felt the pains in my arms from the hours of labor. Damn foolish and I know it. But I'm doing it all the same. "Getting to soft for this shit"
Also doing that thing that Joshua suggested. Prayer. Don't know who I'm praying to, or why I'm praying for some drugged up punk barely big enough to lift the golf club he tried to end me with. If my old unit in talon company could seem me now they'd laugh their asses off before they tried gunning me down. But as drugged up as he was, as stupid as he was. All I see is a dead boy
.
A few hours later I have a shallow grave. I check him for what gear I can take off him, I'm not too far gone as not to check a body yet. Mostly empty canisters for some cocktail of drugs. And needle of psycho. Used to pawn that stuff off. Burn it now. Also had some cigs. Still, smoke them. Outa stop, makes me cough. But it stops my hands from shaking.
In any case. It's too late to keep traveling. Sundown. And the rubble makes for decent shelter.
Shuffling steps. Whoever it is they can't sneak worth a shit. Listening closer for a moment. Metal hitting the concrete and earth, do they have metal soles? Idiots. Must be raiders. I slowly wrap a hand around my rifle before springing up. Raiders alright. The gaunt bodies and metal paddings are a dead give away, so he did have friends. They're surprised by the sudden move, disorganized. Three I can see in front of me. Who knows how many around me, I pull hard on the trigger. Full auto. I cut down two before the final one with a sawed-off shotgun blast at me. It's poorly aimed, but it's a sawed off shotgun. Hard to miss with that. Armor catches most of it. But I don't wear leg armor, It chaffs. Damn buckshot rips through my thigh. I punish her for it, though. Empty the damn clip into her. Bloody mess when I'm done. Then I hear the shouts from outside. And the crack of a rifle and whiz of a bullet as it passes over my head. The next moment I'm on the ground and rolling to an outcropping of still standing wall and blind firing around the corner where the rifle crack came from. "Frag out" son of a bitch they have a grenade!
as the little explosive pineapple lands next to me and it flashes before me, I lunge to get out of the blast radius and off it goes, only to produce nothing but an ever growing ball of static-like electricity, a pulse grenade. Also know as 'fuck you' to robots, power armor, various other systems. Of which I'm none of the above.
But the damage is done they've used this time to push up. I level the rifle on my hip and fire at the right corner while drawing the big mountain transponder in my off hand and reaching for the trigger that'll get me the hell outa here. But not before one of them runs around the corner. He gets a couple 5.56 rounds in him for his trouble. But not before he drops a round into my torso from an old hunting rifle, I don't have a moment before I pull the trigger on the transponder and a flash of agonizing blue light I'm gone.
I stir from unconsciousness sprawled on the ground, looking up to see a metallic ceiling, reminding me of a brotherhood base or two. A rather uncommon sight, More so after using the big MT , gone is the odd bluegrass and dome of Big MT. I begin to move before a sudden biting pain reminds me that there's a .308 in my chest, and buckshot in my leg. Tensing I begin to pull my riot gear off to survey the wound.
God damn holes massive, looks like someone shot me with a golf ball, hell with the shit those drug tribes call weapons maybe they did.
as I look about for my backpack. It's then when I see the pool of blood forming around me, and feel a sudden light-headedness as the adrenaline wears off, refocusing I realize my pack is out of arm's reach. Reaching for my emergency stash in my boot, a single stimpack, and a buffout. The stim goes into my leg. And I down buffout dry.
I hate this stuff, addictive. Dangerous. "But if I pass out I'm dead."
I need something to put me back on my feet, then I remember I'm carrying a syringe of psycho, "never got a chance to burn it" as if the buffout wasn't bad enough. But I can barely move my legs, and my torso feels like it's on fire."God damn that hurts"
Pulling myself to my feet and lurching as the pain intensifies, and finally deciding to jab myself with the psycho. this shits terrible. Straight up kills you and gives you the shortest temper imaginable. But knocks out pain like nothing else. "hell, here goes.."