The story takes place post-Broken Steel, in the West of Fallout America.
"Are those morons in position?"
"Yep"
"Good, the sucker's coming up; they better not screw up again."
Luis Chavez grinned, guessing what goodies the approaching stranger could have in the various satchels and field packs tightly strapped around his/her chest. Billy Cao, the gang's scout and his longtime friend, glanced at him in amusement before resuming watch of their approaching prey with a scoped varmint rifle.
A stranded rusted wreck in the sandy desert next to I-80, the Poseidon gas station was an opportune location for raiders and other unreputable sorts to rob those willing to travel the continent crossing highways. In this case, the group of five Vipers garrisoned the ruins to leech off travelers entering neighboring California. Luis and his crew were only a small raiding party from Loveluck, a well preserved Old World town where a large group of the Vipers migrated to avoid the NCR campaign against them. Stationed there for close to two weeks, he knew the place was a great choice. The station's giant sign lay collapsed in the dirt, the panel providing the perfect spot for the gang leader and scout to watch for potential victims. To improve their ambush positions, the gang had slide over two rusty dumpsters to the other side of the road.
"The guy doesn't look that well geared. He's packing an old hunting rifle and geared up in some gas mask shit, but I bet as soon as we spring on the fucker, he'll surrender." Billy assured.
Luis arched a brow, "How are you so sure it's a guy?"
"Because I know just by looking that it's not a woman."
"Why do you have to be so pessimistic man? We get some playtime with the girls along with the loot. Or maybe they're really not your type?"
Billy smiled and simply replied, "You might want to signal the boys to get ready before you bungle it all yourself."
Luis chuckled, slowly sliding himself back from their cover, peering across the road at the three other gang members at the dumpsters, who were playing a distracting game of chess, using bottles of all things as pieces. Furious, he sharply motioned them to get in position. The underlings quickly grabbed their guns and now attentively watched their leader to spring the trap, knocking over their "chess pieces" in the process.
"Damn idiots," Luis growled under breath, "I'm going to string their nut sacks after this."
Billy checked to make sure their prey didn't notice and gave him the thumbs up. The Viper leader nodded, and then switched the safety of his 10mm Submachine gun off while his partner tightened the leather scabbard to his belt, a rusty Chinese sword held inside. As the person was about to pass the Vipers, Luis decided to strike.
"Now!"
All five of the gunmen jumped out of cover in front of the traveler. Jerking back, the figure dropped his hunting rifle and threw his gloved hands into the air.
"Kick the gun over here, or we'll have an excuse to drop your ass", Luis yelled.
The wanderer kicked it to Billy, who swiftly grabbed the rifle and threw it away. Close up, the Viper leader scanned him over, sharp eyes searching for valuable loot to claim. His body was covered in a weathered brown military jacket and grey combat pants, patches stitched in several areas, the head by a grey metal gas mask with red tinted visor, wrapped tightly on the top by the jacket's hood. However, it was clear despite the dense attire; the person was indeed a man.
Damn it Billy thought Luis.
His disappointment dissipated when he noticed the glowing Pip-Boy strapped to the man's left arm.
The little computers were worth a barrel of caps to the right factions, especially since almost all the original owners were either deadly mutants residing in their vaults or untouchable residents of secure settlements.
"Lookie here boys, we found a vault mole who decided to crawl out of his little burrow. Stick your left arm out Vault boy, before I chop it off!"
The traveler complied, slowly holding his Pip-Boy equipped arm towards the Vipers. Luis prowled around him, inspecting the device. The sizable dents and cracks around the case betrayed the age and/or misuse, though the surface damage could be easily fixed. Another prize just as rare caught Luis's eye. Secured to the stranger's waist in a small leather bag was a water canteen, labeled in red marker
Jax and Dan's Gold Whiskey
The water sources near Lovelock weren't too irradiated, but the bitter liquid always gave Luis the feeling a little arm would grow out of his ass every time he drank it. Scavenged beer and Sunset Sarsaparilla occasionally substituted, though there wasn't enough of the two. What made him jump for joy in his mind was the bottle of the gold drink the stranger miraculously kept. The head raider snatched the bottle off the traveler's person, mockingly held up the bottle to him just out of reach while his men kept him in their gun sights.
"Thanks so much for the present chump. Something like this is hard to find in this part of the great ol' wasteland. Tell you what, for your kind sacrifice to yours truly, we'll give you a painless death. How's that sound?"
Not giving the stranger a chance to answer, Luis screwed the plastic cap off and took a long chug from the plastic bottle. The Viper leader let out a relieved sigh.
Then he started to choke.
With a now burning throat and throbbing headache, Luis threw down both bottle and gun and collapsed, rolling around violently while coughing hoarse screams. Billy and the rest of the men watched motionless in horror, not focusing on their captive, who had been previously kept at gunpoint, who was now ready to kill.
He leapt at the closest Viper, a wiry man dressed in rags, a messy orange Mohawk decorating his head, whose slack jawed expression would remain frozen forever on his face. The traveler brought him to his knees with two quick sidekicks from his steel armored right foot, and then followed by twisting the gunman's head at an abnormal angle using a powerful roundhouse kick. The other two minions nervously turned back at where he had been just seconds ago, then to the sight of one their own falling down dead. All this warning gave them was a chance to cry their last curses as he slashed a combat knife through their windpipes.
Billy Cao rallied from shock, his face contorted in rage as he drew the Chinese sword from the scabbard and attempted to cleave through the deadly man. Seeing the movement, said man swiftly grabbed one of the minions' bodies before it could fall and pushed the deceased raider into the blade as he sidestepped the blade end poking out of the corpse. He then kicked the now connected Billy and minion to the asphalt, pinning the scout underneath his bulky comrade. Not giving him the chance to get up, the wanderer leapt over the two to Billy's head lay, yanked it up and then ruthlessly stabbed him in the base of the skull.
Standing over the corpses of four of the men who held him up, the inconvenienced wanderer scanned the surrounding area for threats. Satisfied, he returned to the raiders' bodies, ironically looting them for ammunition and other supplies. Finishing up, the traveler returned his attention to the gang leader, who had slowly dragged himself away from the fight and was leaning against the decaying dumpster. Luis Chavez cowered in fear, the 10mm in his right hand shaking too much to do any good, its owner too busy dry retching from the water. The traveler stopped a few feet from the man, unfazed by the submachine gun pointed at him, and crouched down in front of him, smacking it out of Luis's hand.
"I could have killed you clowns 10 minutes ago, the Pip-boy showed your ambush easily before I was in range of your rifleman," the traveler said matter-of-factly, "though my ammo's been low lately and you lot were certainly not worth the ammo."
Luis merely coughed violently response, though getting out a few curses that could cause even a deathclaw to pause in surprise.
"Wondering what's in the whisky? I exposed it to an excessive amount of radiation, figuring some idiot would try to steal it from me. It may be a little cruel, though you never know what kind of situations it can get you out of, especially with raiders like you dumb enough to rob me."
The Viper leader tried to laugh at that, but it came out more as a series of cracked grunts. However, he did manage a smile. "Raiders? We're nothing close to those cockbags."
"Oh. So you're a tribe of junkie highwaymen too cowardly to attack someone who can fight back. That definitely sounds different."
"No fuckwad. We're Vipers. Meanest gang in the West; hated by everyone and their mother. Even the NCR tried to hunt us down to extinction a while ago. But they failed too."
"NCR? Is that some other silly gang play-acting in dresses?"
"Wow! You must be new shit-"
The traveler slammed a quick punch in Luis's face. "Yes, I am. Is this how you locals treat all your guests? No homemade pies? Pointing guns in their face while you rob them of supplies and life?" He continued, now with a slight mocking tone, "You could've at least given me a better challenge." The man stood back up, dusting the dirt off his pants casually, "Though I do have to thank you for the pit stop. Like I said I was running low on .32's and 10mm's and now I got enough to take down your camp at Lovelock."
The traveler pulled out a rag from one of the jacket's pockets and started cleaning his knife as Luis stared at him in a mixture of shock and fear. He turned his attention back to the Viper leader, "Tell you what buddy. I'll make your death quick since you helped me out with supplies."
"No wait man! We weren't trying to kill you! It was just a joke," Luis's laugh came out meek and faint; he desperately pressed on, "The whole thing was a bluff. The guns aren't even loaded!"
The wanderer tilted his head in thought, then looked over to the 10mm submachine gun laying several feet away from them, and strode over casually to pick it up.
"Let's just if you're telling the truth." He walked back to his captive and aimed the gun at Luis's head. The Viper's body shook as if he lay in a bed of snow instead of searing sand, his eyes betraying him, blinking rapidly in fear.
"Knew it," the Traveler simply stated as he fired a single burst, and after a bright light all Luis knew became darkness.
…..
The sole surviving man discarded the gun next to its previous owner. He had a big enough arsenal of weapons strapped to his body, so a worn out submachine gun wouldn't be worth the extra weight.
The Traveler walked through his latest patch of death without a care, heading over to the inside of the gas station for a quick rest. Finding a solid counter where the cashier centuries ago dealt with the customers' money, he leapt up to sit on it, enjoying a break from the harsh sun and wackjobs trying to kill him. The weary wanderer yanked his backpack off and rummaged through the disorganized loot until he found his personal cooler unit. Silently cheering, he opened the container and pulled out with reverence an ice cold Nuka-Cola. The Traveler tried to conserve his valuable, delicious cola, but the fact that the unbearable sun had been drying him up inside his attire and now just recently surviving an ambush without a scratch called for a small celebration. He eagerly tore off the bottlecap, storing it in his cap bag, and then took a swig from the Nuka-Cola.
Remembering something, he carefully put down his drink and retrieved a small parchment paper from the recent loot he scavenged from the Vipers' bodies. Unfolding it, the content's showed a rough but comprehensible map showing the exact route to the Viper's camp. Only 10 miles away!
"Looks like the Vipers have got themselves a nice establishment," The lone wanderer said to himself, "Maybe I should swing by for some room and board."
This can be a stand-alone story, one of man the vast wasteland of Fallout has to tell, or the start of a monumental adventure. It depends on what you fellow readers and authors say. Then again, I might just write it all regardless. If there is a glaring flaw bothering the hell out of you, please review and I'll purge it and improve. Enjoy your day and I hope this story entertained you all.