If you don't care about author's notes rambling, you can skip down to the unbolded lettering and that will be the start of the story. Thanks for reading!

I'm not entirely sure why I'm even writing this, and I can't think of a logical explanation other than I just want to. Since most of you here probably don't really know who I am, it should be obvious that this is my first foray into Fallout fanfiction, and for all I know it may be my last. For starters, it should be said that the real reason I'm writing this at all is because I've become deeply infatuated with Fallout 4, and, while I certainly enjoyed 3 and New Vegas when I did play them, it's really 4 that got me to this point. So, that being said, this story involves the story of Fallout 4, and will tend to dodge around any details from 3 and New Vegas.

Now, as much as I'm assuming it will pain you to hear me say this, this story will involve my Sole Survivor. I know what you're probably thinking, "I don't want to hear about another OC some kid made up." I know, and that's why I'm going to try to avoid spewing out random facts like, "he swung his custom made, advanced receiver 10mm handgun named Demon past the raider's head." (It's not actually named Demon, I'm just making a point.) That kind of thing serves one person, and that's me. I'm going to assume that you don't really care about those details, so I'll do my best to avoid spitting out random facts about my character to you.

I wanted to write this because it allows me to try my hand at something I've never done-character development and creation- in a context that makes sense and may be entertaining for a reader. I'm hoping you'll enjoy reading this story as much as I know I'll enjoy writing it. Thank you for taking some time out of your day to read my random story, and I hope you'll like it. If you enjoy my style of writing, feel free to view any of my other works, and check out my FictionPress account by the same name, ThatWinchieGuy. Thanks.

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The Drifter

by ThatWinchieGuy

Chapter 1: Aftermath

Though he never admitted it openly, Ellis enjoyed the apocalypse. It sounded awful, now that he thought about it. With everything that had transpired over the last two year, one would figure the hundreds of guns surrounding him to look awfully friendly. But he'd come to terms with living this way, and now found that the "end of the world" offered a multitude of opportunities. From the shack window facing out towards the ocean, Ellis could see the slight glow of the irradiated Atlantic as it filled the air with a salty scent. From this vantage point, the world looked no different than it should in January; cold and dead. It was June.

His new home near Salem suited him well. He could live relatively undisturbed, recording anthropological data on "artifacts" which only a short 212 years ago he would have picked up from the supermarket. Before the War- a phrase he didn't particularly enjoy using or even thinking about- he had been an archaeologist, and had just been getting into the thick of his work as the bombs fell. Had the War begun a short week later, he wouldn't be alive. Part of him wondered what that would be like.

For so many in the Commonwealth, death was a regular occurrence. Most didn't live past 20. That was one of the strangest concepts he had had to understand when he first left Vault 111; the idea that, at any moment, he could take a bullet to the jugular and drop dead. Maybe it was better to just let it happen. Maybe he really wasn't supposed to be here, like so many had told him. Ellis realized he was losing focus, and turned his eyes away from the ocean and back towards the un-rusted tin can laid on the desk in front of him.

For some reason, however, the ribbed metal container just did not seem to grab his attention as it normally would. He wanted to think of nothing but the past, and not the past of the Commonwealth's people, but his own. He stood up from the desk, setting the tin can down on its corner so he could go back to work later. The door swung open and he stepped out into the light for the first time since yesterday morning. Ellis blinked as his sensitive blue eyes adjusted to the late morning sun. His attention fell upon the combat rifle leaning against the door's frame. Normally, he preferred having some form of weapon when outside, even when going on short walks. He decided his knife would suffice and began hobbling down the cliff side towards the beach.

The beach was nowhere near as pleasurable as it had been in 2077, but it was still a beach, and the soft sand still had the same calming effect on him. He slipped off his heavy boots and let his feet sink into the sand. His eyes, now adjusted, scanned the shoreline for shells jutting out of the ground. Ellis would often come down to the beach, just to take a few moments to relax and unwind. He had not done so for about three months. His eyes closed, and he felt his hand wrap around the two rings in his fist as his hurled them into the ocean. He could barely see as the two metal symbols splashed into the nighttime low tide. When he reopened his eyes, it was morning again, and his hand was barren save for the discolored band around his ring finger.

He faced his head towards the ground as regret came over him. In a rash decision he had thrown away the last remnant of his old life. In a way it was for the best; the ring around his finger had become his phantom limb, and created a pain that would never leave. He'd be lying if he said he didn't miss companionship. People had tried to fill the gap, but no one could satisfy him. That was why he was out here alone; it was just how his life was now meant to play out. Ellis wasn't one to take things sitting down, but his spirit was broken in regards to love.

Ellis' shack was placed atop the cliffs north of Boston. It was certainly modest for someone who had swayed the fate of the Commonwealth so monumentally; a two story apartment built inside of an old garage. From the beach, it looked no better than any of the small agricultural settlements which had sprung up across the wasteland. Ellis swiped the sand off his feet and slipped his boots back on. As he began his trek back up to his home, he turned his attention to the screen of his Pip-Boy in order to learn what time it was. As it was already 11 AM, Ellis assumed that his Ham Radio would be blowing up by the time he reached his shack. He slowed his pace and listened carefully for the shouting from the speakers of the radio, which was placed conveniently on his desk for ease of use. As he trudged up the last of the hills, he could hear garbled voices coming from within his walls. Ellis picked up his pace to a light jog as he neared the door.

"General Ellis? General Elliiiiis? General!" The voice croaked through disturbed wavelengths.

"I'm here, I'm here; I was just away from the radio for a few moments. Who am I speaking to, over?" Ellis responded, picking up the small speaker.

"It's Ronnie, idiot." Ellis actually liked Ronnie Shaw; her brusque tendencies were a perfect challenge to his tired, sarcastic personality.

"Good morning to you to; what did I say about the 'over's? What's up, over?"

"We've been calling you for an hour," Had he really been at the beach that long? "We need you to get down here ASAP, some shifty lookin' fellow's been down here asking for you. Says it's business but won't tell me the nature of it, over."

"Much better; is he within the walls, over?" Ellis asked. New opportunities like this were becoming less and less common, with Minutemen and Institute forces sweeping across the Commonwealth wiping out most of the crazies.

"No, we're leaving him outside. Two guards are with him but we've told them not to be too hostile." Ronnie replied, and blurted out, "over."

"Alright, have the guards tell him I'm on my way. I'm going to relay in just a few minutes, over."

"Yessir. See you soon, over."

Ellis hadn't seen action in quite some time and, while he kept himself in combat ready shape around the year, he was excited about this prospect. Truth be told, he'd been getting somewhat bored with his anthropological work as of late, and really wanted to get back out into the field. He was incredibly proud of his achievements in the Commonwealth; combining both the Institute and the Minutemen as the governing body of the ex-state certainly yielded that response.

One of his favorite parts of his line of work was preparation. Besides being an archaeologist, Ellis was also a bit of an inventor, specifically a weapons specialist. This skill had been learned-of course- after the war, and immediately after Ellis had exited the vault. The pipe guns which had dotted up across the area caught his attention, and like many others he began to modify his own special versions. As his personal arsenal grew these skills were tested on manufactured guns, until finally Ellis had the modest armory he currently owned. Since this was a routine meeting, he holstered up his simple 44. Revolver, as well as his Revolutionary War style foil-this was more for show than anything, but the blade had saved his life more than a dozen times in the past two years- and headed outside, throwing his long leather trench coat over his shoulders. He raised his Pip-Boy to his mouth, speaking into the back of it;

"This is Father, relaying to the Castle."

Within an instant, a blue flash consumed him, and his molecules were whizzed off into the air.

It's a bit of a slow start, but I'm hoping you'll all enjoy what I have in store! If you enjoyed, please feel free to review, as I use my Fanfiction and Fictionpress pieces as practice and I really need constructive criticism. Even if you hated it, tell me why. I'm just trying to become a better writer, so while I love hearing, "I love this story," I like "I love this story because," even better. Thanks so much for your time, and I'll see you in Chapter 2!