Fallout Chronicles: The Price We Pay
Inquisitor Herron here, thanks for reading my first attempt at a Fallout Fanfic. I just wanted to clear up a few things ahead of time (aside from the fact that I do not own Fallout or any of its creations or locations) The first being the time set and plot details. The story takes place around two years after the events of the Broken Steel DLC, with the Lone Wanderer being a Male Good Guy who accomplished both the story line and most of the side quests. I only felt it necessary to let you know in order to give you an idea of the state of affairs in the Capital Wasteland by the time my story starts. The story follows three men, Christopher Carrington (original character), Billy Creel and Lucas Simms as they journey across the Wastes. Anyway that's enough from me, enjoy the tale and please let me know what you think!
Ch.1 Just another face in the crowd
Christopher Carrington leaned as far under the shade of the fully taken up rusty metal porch of the Brass Lantern as he could, scowling up at the blazing sun from beneath the brim of his time worn hat. The town was one big crater lined with rusty metal walk ways and scrap buildings. The Brass Lantern was just to the side of the town center, which the whole population of the town was trying to get closer to.
All around him the citizens of Megaton were gathered around the center of town, clamoring to each other in an indistinguishable swell of noise. At the center of the crowd stood the man they all knew and loved, the Lone Wanderer. Chris listened closely to the words of the hero, more out of boredom than curiosity. Unlike all of the foolish folks and Wasters that populated Megaton, Chris wasn't in the habit of believing everything he was told.
His face was creased in the same scowl he wore almost every waking moment, not from any sense of unhappiness but from the hard learned lesson of the importance of looking dangerous. Chris's simple getup of a pre war shirt and pants was covered almost entirely by the leather duster he had found on a corpse a few years ago. He liked the coat, which kept him warm at night and was long enough to make a decent blanket when he slept. His raven black hair was pulled back into a pony tail, and shot through with a few white hairs he'd more than earned.
From what he had heard on his travels, Chris would have thought the Lone Wanderer would be taller, and a hell of a lot meaner. But in the three days he had been bumming around the town all the Lone Wanderer had done was stay in his house and trade a few pleasantries with Simms or the rather odd owner of the local supply shop. He even looked kind, at least as far as Chris could tell from the few times he had seen him.
"I plan on being back in a few months." Chris hadn't caught much of what the Lone Wanderer had said before, too many voices packed too close together. The people crowded close but an invisible circle had formed around the two men as they spoke. Standing with the Lone Wanderer was the grizzled hard ass of a sheriff, Lucas Simms. One of the only other ones among the hundreds that looked up to a serious fight. They were facing each other Casually and with friendship Chris's keen eyes could tell, but both carried themselves with the grace of beings as deadly as anything he had ever found in the Wastes.
"Well there'll always be a place for you here kid," Simms returned, offering a hand to the Lone wanderer. The crowd put on an impromptu cheer as the hero and the sheriff shook hands. It was strange to see so many people genuinely caring about one man in such a hell hole of a world. But if even half of the stories about the Lone Wanderer were true they owed him a hell of a lot more than a cheer and a crappy gift every once in a while. Chris smirked at the thought, grimacing as he took another swallow of the putrid stuff that passed for beer there.
The crowd followed the Lone Wanderer all the way to the gates, thankfully clearing out the seats of the Brass Lantern enough for Chris to remove his hat and claim a spot. They'd watch him go and cheer for him, then he'd be gone and they would remain stuck in the awful things they called lives. He gulped down the rest of his beer and thumped the bottle down onto the bar. His work there was done and soon enough he'd leave that piece of shit town for good, maybe get down to the important business if the job paid off and he got what he needed. It would be nice for something to happen like it was supposed to for once.
Chris was startled out of his thoughts by the sudden appearance of a man in the chair next to him, signaling for a drink with a wide grin. His eye patch was the first thing Chris noticed, the next was his attitude. He glanced at Chris with a lop sided grin and offered a dust covered hand, which Chris stared at for a moment before he got the hint and returned it unshaken. The man's drink was delivered after a moment, which he popped the cap off of and downed with a lighthearted chuckled.
"He's a good guy huh?" Chris turned back to the man after realizing the question was aimed at him. "The Vault kid," He finished with a gesture back at the entrance of the town. Chris shrugged and tried to project an aura of apathy. "Met him just after he left the Vault, gave Maggie an old Teddy Bear too." He scratched absent minded at his beard as he spoke.
"Hmm," was all Chris replied with, something anyone who had spent time with him would recognize as his way of letting someone know a conversation had ended. No such luck with this particularly annoying waster.
"Names Billy by the way, Billy Creel." The hand came back out for another go. Chris shook his hand silently and without meeting his eyes, maybe it would help get the point across. After a moment he met Billy's questioning look and sighed with the realization that he wouldn't be ending this conversation through ill manners.
"Christopher," He replied simply, drawing another smile from the waster.
"Not much on the old chit chat huh?" He asked sympathetically. The term "understatement" came to mind. But as annoyed as he was at being bothered, Chris found the man amusing if not likable. It was surely a rare thing to find a friendly wastelander so close to D.C. Amusing or not though, he had things to do before he left the town. Chris stood from the rusty chair suddenly, stretching out his back and replacing his hat in one move.
"One more for him.", he called to the woman behind the bar, dropping a few caps next to the man named billy Creel. Chris walked away with the sound of more good natured chuckling coming back from the bar. What a strange man...
-()-
Lucas Simms watched the doors to his town grind close with an impassive stare, holding his hat in place until the fierce wind of the dust storm was cut off by the metal plates. The Lone Wanderer was gone again, off to do whatever good he could manage in that hellhole of a world. Simms stood at the door for a while longer, reflecting on that strange kid as the crowd went back to the days workload. He'd had a good feeling when first he'd laid eyes on the kid from Vault 101, and more times than he could count that feeling had proven right.
For as long as he could remember Megaton had been something of a haven for the less violent of the Capital Wasteland's residents, a place people could be safe if not comfortable. And he had dedicated his time and his life to making sure it stayed safe, both for the people and his son. And in the end it was his son he cared more about than anything in the world.
Simms made his way back down to the town square slowly, watching each and every person as they made their ways across the dirty ground and the rusty walkways that spidered across the perimeter of Megaton. They were his flock, but damned if they weren't prone to falling off those old walkways. He grinned at the memory of fishing old Nathan off the roof of Moira's shop after he had fallen through a piece of rust eaten metal. Things like that had been the worst of Megaton's problems since the arrival of the Lone Wanderer. That kid was doing a better job of keeping the bad ones out than Simms could simply through the knowledge that he lived there.
As was part of his daily routine Simms stopped by Moriarty's to make sure none of the drunks had pulled a gun or got into to big a fight. More often than one of them pulling a gun was the problem of Moriarty pulling a gun on someone who had "cheated" him. Simms didn't approve of what went on in the bar, but it wasn't his job to tell the people what was moral, just to make sure they let others live their lives. But once again he thought of how rarely he had been forced to draw his gun since the Vault Dweller had gotten there, he liked it better this way he decided.
The bar was dank and dusty, like all buildings in Megaton and indeed in all the Capital Wastes. Simms removed his hat and nodded a greeting to Gob, who was behind the bar polishing a glass with an equally dirty rag. The ghoul nodded back and went back to work. Moriarty wasn't out front that day, as he often wasn't. Too many caps to count in the back Simms thought with a grumble All of the seats were taken today, each occupied by a sad looking drunk who had nothing better to do than die slowly in a bar while Moriarty made more caps. With a grimace Simms looked to the empty chair in the far corner of the place. The seat in which a man who had tried and almost succeeded in killing him had sat.
He still hated thinking back to that day. He had just been told that the man known as Burk was planning to detonate the town's namesake nuke, killing everyone including his son. Simms had brought the Vault Dweller to show him exactly how he dealt with people who tried to kill everything he held dear. And within a few seconds he had heard the click of a gun as he turned around, and knew that his life would end, his son would grow up alone if he even managed to grow up with a mad man trying to blow him up. the gunshot had almost deafened him, but it hadn't killed him, for the shot had come from the Lone Wanderer, silencing the evil bastard forever and saving Simms life.
The Sheriff had just decided the place looked fine when the door burst open behind him. Simms whirled around just in time to step out of the way as a man ran frantically into the bar. Almost plowing into the counter Billy Creel cried out in anguish, turning rapidly around the bar until his remaining eye found Simms. Simms frowned deeply, Billy was by far one of the most level headed men he had ever known. When Raiders attacked Megaton it was always Billy who rallied the citizens against them, usually laughing all the way. Something big must have gone down to put such a look of pain and terror in his face.
"Maggie!" He gasped, his sweat covered face beat red and contorted. Simms shook him roughly, thinking about slapping him to get him to calm down.
"What is it Billy, has something happened to Maggie?" Maggie was a sweet kid, something of a flower in the unkind wastes. His stomach sank, Maggie was Holden's best friend. If something had happened to her he wasn't sure how his son would take it. Billy's eye cleared out a bit as he took a deep breath. Finally he spoke, though his voice remained strained.
"I came home and, and, and the place was a wreck!" He cried, his hand falling to Simms shoulders to stay up. The other patrons of the bar had gone silent by now, all listening in on what could pass for entertainment in such a dull place. Simms sent them back to their drinks with a warning scowl. "M-Maggie's gone..." Billy finished in a pant. Simms was silent for a moment, his hazel eyes staying at the floor, brow furrowed as he thought. He had a strange feeling, like something didn't add up. Billy waited twitchingly, his eye darting around the bar like he could find Maggie just by glancing around. He kept his silence a moment longer, thinking deeply. Why would someone take a kid?
"Oh shit," Simms gasped, drawing Billy's eye back to him. "Follow me!" He shouted, already bolting out the door of the bar. He just hoped his guess was wrong.
-()-
Chevron was one of the least pleasant men it had been Chris's pleasure to meet in his travels, but he had too many uses to be discounted out of hand. The sickly fat man stood across the dusty broken road from Chris, his double chin dripping greasy drops from the heat. Between them sat a bag that Chris had been working to get for months, plopped on the ground by Chev as though it were nothing more than dirty laundry. The streets of Springvale were silent as always, setting the mood for what Chris was sure wouldn't be an easy palaver.
Chevron wore a black prewar suit, complete with red tie and hat, probably chosen for the color's ability to hide sweat stains. His bald head was covered only sparingly by the little hat, showing off the jagged tattoos that decorated his scalp. Chevron frequently bragged that the tattoos covered every part of his body with the exception of his "pretty" face.
"The other androids are dead?" Chevron slurred in his heavily accented drawl. Chris nodded curtly and took a step toward the leather bag. "Ah ah," Chevron clucked at him, his chubby hand rising in a gesture of "stop right fucking there". He could take a chance and grab the bag then and there, Chris knew. But Chevron never traveled without protection, usually in the form of several hired snipers. "I ask only because there's a rumor been spreading of late," He let the unspoken accusation hang in the air. The hairs on the back of Chris's neck stood up, his reliable warning of trouble on the horizon.
"They're dead, dead and gone.", Chris summoned his grim tone and waited nervously, watching for any sign in the overly dressed man of communicating to anyone other than him. Snipers would need a signal of some kind, otherwise they wouldn't take the chance. The chances of him managing to get into cover were slim, but standing to fight was suicide. He needn't have worried though, after a moment Chevron smiled broadly and lowered his hand with a welcoming nod. Not wanting to look too desperate, Chris took a moment to pull out and light a cigarette before marching over to the side of the bag.
"Perfect service.", Chevron chuckled as the bag emitted a high pitched howl. He realized his error in judgment just as his hand made contact with the strap of the bag. Chris only had enough time to pull his hands up to cover his face before the bag detonated in a blinding flash of white light. A wave of searing heat and piercing shards of metal erupted in all directions from the bag. The blast threw Chris like a rag doll, tossing him through the brittle remains of a door across the street with a secondary rumble. "As always.", Chevron finished as he made his way to the dark doorway of the sadly rotting house.
Chris had come to rest inside the hall of the house, laying on a bed of the fragmented remains of the door he had taken with him. Chevron stepped through the doorway carefully to avoid splinters. Chris was gurgling something weakly, a thick trail of blood leaking from his mouth. The mercenary was surely on the verge of death, Chevron knew, his shirt torn in a dozen places, all of which were steadily spilling blood onto the ancient wooden floor. He stood over Chris silently for a while, just watching him struggle for the fun of it.
"You never could save it you know?" The fat man informed him, bending down with a grunt to they were face to face. Chris didn't respond, his eyes had rolled to the back of his head and all that came from his twitching mouth was more dark blood. "Or I suppose you'd prefer I called it her." He added, disappointed at the lack of a reaction.
Chris could still hear him, even through the murky haze of agony that swirled around his mind. The sick bastard was toying with him now, just dragging it on for the hell of it. Chris had killed many men in his life, but he would never prolong their suffering if he could help it. He could tell that several of his ribs were broken, but the real problem was that he seemed to have a punctured lung.
"I really must be departing now my old chum," He heard Chevron chuckle as his voice became more distant. "Business to attend to in Paradise Falls with two brats I borrowed from the town!" He could only barely make the words out as his mind slipped away into oblivion. "Then I'll see to the matter of our little old broken Abigail!"
"Nrrg," Was all Chris could muster from his treacherous lips before his world was no more. I'm sorry Abby...
The door was shattered, broken fragments scattered across the entrance of Lucas Simms's house. The darkness beyond the doorway was almost physical in the glaring sun outside. They stood at the doorway, neither wanting to be the first to say anything. Billy Creel finally took a step forward, stopped almost instantly by Simms's upraised hand.
"I'll go first, but I know they aren't here..." Simms spoke gruffly. Billy followed the old sheriff into the darkness of his house. They drew their weapons silently, Simms his Chinese assault rifle and Billy his pistol, both men alert for any danger. But the gesture was wasted, both of them could tell no one was in the house simply by the feel of the place. Billy watched Simms's grim face as he went from room to room, searching for any trace of his missing boy. But as sad as the man's situation was Billy couldn't spare much of a thought to the man's son, not while his little girl was missing.
"Nothing,.", Simms barked from some other part of the house. Billy just nodded his head and sat down heavily on one of the sofas. If someone took them there was no way in hell they could track them in the wastes, and whatever had happened had to have happened at least a few hours ago. His mind seamed stuck between shutting down and racing off, leaving him with nothing to process with. After a few minutes Simms returned, brow set in concentration.
"Who would do this?" Billy asked, getting a grumble in answer as they left the building. Simms led him to the center of the town, both racking their minds for anything that might help. The people of Megaton milled about around them, each on the way to some unknown task or location.
"Anyone new in town recently?" Billy asked, grabbing blindly for a clue. The answer came to him before the Sheriff had a chance to answer. "Carrington!" He shouted in a panic induced mix of fear and anger. The man had looked about as friendly as a Death Claw, but Billy made an effort to make anyone he met feel welcome in town.
"Yeah, I met him, didn't look right to me..." Simms agreed, following Billy's line of reasoning. "Far as I know he's leaving today though, Moira said he mentioned he was heading for Springvale before he went." They were off before the dust could settle from their foot steps.
More on the way! Inquisitor Herron