Chapter 1: Knock Knock. Who's there?
The survivor in particular that wants to leave for The Resistance is known as Buck, and he is just awakening in the early November morning. The fifteen year old was laying on a small cot in a bedroom in a three-story apartment that he found two months ago. The sun was just risen over the buildings in the square, bathing the room with light through the cracks of the boarded up window, turning the dust into little, glowing bugs, floating in the air. The room itself was rather bland, with only the cot, an old card table, a dresser missing two drawers, and the window.
Buck rolls over, dropping his feet onto the floor, sending more dust into the air, and runs his hands through his curly, blond hair, trying to untangle the knots. He then went through the process of putting on his leather armor, a gift from his father. Buck shakes his head. He can't think about that right now. His parents are dead. Just him and Titan, his only other friend.
Bull pulls on his combat boots, and his black sweater, concealing his armor. After tightening his shoe strings, he stands, and stretches his muscles. His lean body ripples with muscles, as a limit of food cuts down on body fat. You had to be strong to survive in these times. Strong and smart.
After his morning stretches, Buck walks over to the window, and looks out into the square. Glass covered the ground, and several spots stained red are visible, but no living thing was seen. An ironic sight in Georgetown Square, a busy attraction before the Great War. Can't believe that was over 200 years ago.
Buck was brought back to reality with the smell of smoke. A small wisp was slowly drifting over to his apartment from across the street, at the Grocery Store. He wasn't alarmed; just surprised, since that was where Titan resided. When his parents died, Buck fled the wastes, and ended up in northern D.C, with no where to go and no where to hide. The only other inhabitant was Titan, a scavenger, and he taught Buck the survival skills needed around here. The only question is why Titan breaks rule number one, and lights a fire when the smoke could be seen?
And then it hit him. The scent of dog meat cooking fills Buck's nose, and his question was answered. Titan found food last night, and he wanted some. But first, he needed his gear. Why? Buck didn't even know.
Buck walked over to the dresser, and opened the top drawer. Inside was a red backpack, with several pockets, and, on the front, the name Franklin was stitched in. Buck still remembered how he got the bag. His father and he were searching an old apartment in Big Town. The bag was beside a corpse missing his arms, legs, and head, with a blood-stained ripper nearby. They left the ripper, as it was a bad omen, but took the bag so he may use it to carry his stuff.. Franklin never had a chance. He died screaming on his bed while the Raiders cut off limb after limb for fun.
Buck unzipped the top pouch, and began to pack his scavenging equipment in it. His bag of bobby pins, matches, several whiskey bottles filled with radscorpion poison, and his pocket knife. Finally he pulled out his zip-lock bag full of his life savings, 300 caps.
After storing those items, he shut the now-empty drawer, and opened the second drawer. In there were his true prized possessions; his weapons. First he pulled out a broad machete, strapped to a leather belt. A lone visit to Megaton before it blew up, courtesy of The Lone Wanderer, gave Buck his first ever weapon to kill the imaginary and real Mole Rats and Radscorpions. He wraps the belt around his waist, latching it at the belt buckle, in easy reach of his slashing hand.
Next came the one thing more valuable to Buck than caps and food in his belly, his hunting bow. The last thing his father ever gave him. The 40 lb. Drawback was perfect for Buck's 5'8" frame, and when his arrow-tips are dipped in his radscorpion poison, he could down a super mutant brute. . . He hoped. He slung the bow across his shoulders, from shoulder blade to hip, followed by his leather quiver filled with two dozen arrows bathed in his poison. And mom said that science kit he found for his tenth birthday wouldn't be worth anything.
When he was ready, he put on his only hat on his head, sending random strands of hair in wild directions. It was blue, with the letters "N" and "Y" intertwined. Buck always wondered if they were any good. Finally he decided that they had to be decent, if their hat was miles away from anywhere that said NY.
With one last glance around his room, Buck steps out, shuts the door, and walks down the stairway to the exit. First, he had to pass through the lobby, with a bad history behind it, with its broken furniture and bullet holes on the walls. On his arrival two months ago, Buck found the remnants between a firefight between some wastelanders and Talon Company. Three bodies were left and a broken Assault Rifle, which wasn't fixable. On the wall, those bastards spray-painted their new insignia, a black skull with two white talons grasping on the eye sockets. Underneath it, they wrote "Either you're with Talon, or you're dead." Buck hated them.
Buck pushed through the revolving doors— which surprisingly still worked— and half-creeped, half-ran to the Grocery store. Instead of going through the front door, which was boarded over, he ran into the alley and knocked on the back door. After a few seconds, the door slowly opened, and Buck slipped in.
Inside, several shelves, standing and fallen over, scatter the area. In one aisle, a small fire was burning, with a dog carcass roasting on a makeshift spit. Other than that and Titan's belongings, the room was empty, ransacked and looted earlier on. It did serve as a home though.
Titan put a hand on Buck's shoulder. When he turned up alone, Titan took him in as his own. He himself had a son, but a raider attack over thirty years ago ruined that part of his life. Now he was nearly sixty, his gray beard showing it off, and his age was slowly catching up to him.
Buck squats down, by the fire, and warms his hands, watching the meat cook. "Where did you find it?" he asked.
Titan squatted down beside him. "Found him last night, while I was out." Titan usually scavenged at night, while Buck did the same in daylight, that way one could sleep while the other kept a watch out for anything useful. At least, that's what Titan told him. His real reason was because he couldn't sneak around as good as his little kid could, on account of his size, up and out. "You came at a good time. Just 'bout to eat it."
Buck smiled, showing off his buck-teeth. Titan didn't know if that was why he called himself Buck, or not. It wasn't like he was called Titan for his beer belly.
Titan pulls out some oven mitts, and grabbed he burning spit, pulling their breakfast out to cool. The sizzling meat and succulent smell was too much for the hungry duo, and they were ripping the meat off the bones before the steam had subsided. Buck drank a Nuka-Cola, while Titan drank the last of his beer stash. Soon they were full, and just relaxing.
After they had their fill, the duo sat around the campfire, talking.
"You use the radio lately?" Buck asked.
"Na," Titan replied. "Just the same bullshit that Enclaves been sending for five years. Join the cause, join the Enclave! Load of manure."
Buck rolled on his back. "I wish The Resistance hadn't stop their radio message. I liked to know whether or not they were still fighting, and that was my only way to know. Now I'm worried."
"It's alright kid," Titan said, patting Buck's stomach. "Actually, I have a surp-"
Titan pauses, and his ears perk up. Buck heard it too. Footsteps.
Titan and Buck get into a crouching position, listening. First light was coming through the window, and then nothing. A large figure steps in front of it, blocking all light. Then, a low booming voice pieces the air.
"It's smoking inside," The voice said.
A second voice, no higher than the first, replies, "I smell food. You know what to do,"
No answers follow, but the sound of a sledgehammer smashing against the front door is heard. Buck and Titan knew what was happening. Super Mutants were knocking on their door.
