The Lone Wanderer took a final look back at the heavily gated subway tunnel that led to the city once known as Pittsburgh. He had just liberated the town from Ashur's raiders and released the trogs into the city. Before leaving, he handed off the cure—a baby that had just had its parents killed—to Wernher. It was a difficult decision to make, turning over an orphan to a stranger, but he could only do his best to believe Wernher would truly do good for the people of the Pitt.
Walt, as the man once went by, perched now on a rock protruding from the ground. He removed the sweltering metal helmet and allowed it to fall to the ground; the stream of sweat that poured out of the armor didn't go unnoticed. The Pitt was hell, and he certainly did not want to make a return trip. It was a place built as though from hell-stone, and the people there were tormented souls, especially the trogs. They could have lasted years the way they were, and without any change for the better. It was one of the worst fates Walt could imagine for a person (barring what awful things may be happening in the other Vaults of the Wasteland).
Walt looked down at his Pip-Boy. It currently radiated from its surprisingly powerful speaker, some old-timey tunes that Three Dog continuously played on Galaxy News Radio. The music provided a contrast to the wasteland and all that happened in it. Songs of love and happy times became soundtracks to violence and hardship. Still, he listened. It kept him company and probably kept him sane.
He couldn't help but sigh, though. The gadget's map was practically full with markers and highlights and words. There were so many places he had gone, so many people he had met, so much more yet to be explored and dealt with… it began to feel like a chore list. The wanderlust was very nearly gone, and Walt was beginning to feel stretched too thin. Even the wind felt as though it could knock him down.
For once, since he left Vault 101, Walt decided he would take a break – a real one. The man was always running around, gunning something down, or sleeping. Mentally, there were no breaks. His mind had only been focused on where he was going, what he was carrying, and what he might face between point A and point B. There was no time to stop and, as the old saying goes, smell the roses.
However, there were no roses. No real plant life existed except for the sparse shrubbery that crumbled with a touch, and the trees that would blow ash into the wind. Only the Oasis had a green landscape, but there was no need to hang around the nature folk for any longer than he had to. He helped the Leaf Mother speed up the growth of the plants, and forced the tormented man in the middle of the Oasis to grow larger and live longer. It was a small sacrifice in the long run, he told himself. One man's suffering is worth it to see the world greener sooner.
With a grunt, he bent over and picked up the helmet. After a moment of removing the rest of the moisture and cleaning off the face shield, he donned it once more and twisted it into place. There was no doubt he'd have to take it all off sooner or later, especially to mind his feet. That moment would come in due time, of course. He had a destination in mind, one down south.
This time, his destination was not some raider camp; it was no stronghold of evil, no Super Mutant-infested building or sewer full of mindless ghouls. Then again, it wasn't a luxury resort. It wasn't his old Vault, but it was a place full of friendly faces that never gave him any problems.
"Welcome to Megaton. Friendliest town around." Walt smiled tiredly to himself as Deputy Weld welcomed him to the town. He walked past the Protectron and stood underneath the arch before the massive doors. Before entering, the Lone Wanderer turned around for his last glimpse of the wasteland for a while. It was unimpressive; sand, rocks, dead trees. In the distance he could see a broken overpass. That had been his life for the past few months, a rapid change of pace from life in the Vault. Now, he was slowing back down again, settling into some sort of civilization.
He smiled again. Walt wouldn't miss it a bit. The splatter of gore, the fall of men and women, the cry of children, the horrors of mutation, and the war of power-hungry people would no longer be his concern. Pleased with his decision, he turned back to Megaton, and let himself in through the huge metal doors. He would take a break. Perhaps even fall into obscurity.
There was still something that nagged him at the end of the night, when he was tucked away in his cot. It came from out there - from the wasteland outside, calling to him like a siren's song. Walt could ignore it, forget about it, but the feeling would always come back, and it was difficult to resist. Whatever it was that wanted him back out into the wastes, he was afraid that it wouldn't have to wait long.