Chapter 1

She's cute. As soon as the thought passed through his head Rook slapped himself mentally. "Never humanize the targets" he mumbled to himself. He was sat on the crumbling roof of an abandoned skyscraper in the heart of the Hub, the glint of his rifle scope was clearly visible, but nobody paid much mind, it was not an uncommon sight, and they dared not question it. Just the way Rook liked it. He glanced at the paper taped to his rifle case, it was a picture of the target, her name, age and occupation. She was a 18 year old courier, her name was Julia. Hand written in a different, less neat way, was the reason he took the hit "accused of killing others to get better jobs". Rook did not consider himself a "vigilante", he instead prefered to call himself a, "hitman with morals". He turned his attention back to the girl, she was short with medium length frizzy red hair, freckles covered her cheeks. Despite the intense heat she wore an old leather aviator jacket over a worn purple t-shirt and a pair of black short shorts. Over one shoulder she had strapped a bag, the other was an old service rifle. She had a cocky smirk when chatting up the local merchants, like she knew exactly how to manipulate them to get better prices or information. Rook shook his head, he needed to just get this over with, despite his skill and experience, he didn't enjoyed killing. He placed his eye near the scope and focused in, lining her chest up with the crosshairs. His muscles tensed to pull the trigger, but just before he commited, he noticed something hanging from her neck. there, amongst the strap of her bag and rifle was an old world coin with a hole through the center where the rope had been threaded through. He brought the scope down, his eyes wide and heart beating fast, he quickly snactched to the note, the age name and physical description all matched. After almost four years, he had found his most elusive target.

Julia walked down the main street, weaving through the crowds like water through rocks, she had grown up here, she knew every last corner, alley, every unobservant shopkeep, which inns would ask the least questions. When you grow up alone on the streets, dark corners are your best friends. It was good to be back, she rarely had time to visit since taking this new job. She passed by a merchant selling weaponry, her eyes lingered on the .223 pistol, till she saw the price tag, she rolled her eyes and moved on.

She opened the door to a small bar, her eyes quickly darted around the room, taking in all the details. Two NCR troopers sat at the bar, piss drunk and giggling to themselves, the barkeep was cleaning glasses, and a lone figure sat at a table in the corner. He wore an old duster draped over what appeared to be combat armor, an old grey beanie sat on his head, and a gas mask was hanging from his waist along with a pistol, an old rifle leaned up against the wall. The rifle was nothing new, a common hunting rifle with a scope, but the pistol, it was a traditional design, not dissimilar to a 9 mil, but the barrel was longer and the hammer and trigger were different. She waved off the bartender and made her way toward the scavver. "I noticed that pistol, thought it was a 9mm at first but it looks different". She scavver glanced up, "its a .45" he said in a calm but deep voice. "I've never seen one before, where did you get it", he shot a bored look at her, took the gun from its holster and placed it on the table. Once she was closer she noticed what she first thought was an engraving was in fact tally marks, hundreds. Near the middle of the barrel was one larger tally, with the smaller ones encircling it. "What are the tallies for?" she asked, more cautiously than before. He leaned in close, she could smell the whisky on his breath, his eyes were a bright, almost unnatural blue, "take a fucking guess" he said in a whisper so quiet she wasn't sure she heard him. He took the pistol from the table and placed it back in his holster. As she backed away she noticed a scrap of paper taped to a case under his table. She approached the bar, bought a beer and left, eying the scavver on her way out.