Quinn could taste the dust on the air as she licked her lips and stared down into the steep crater that was Megaton. In the middle of it stood a monument, or so she thought, that had rendered the town's namesake. People bustled around from place to place, unaware of the stranger that was in there amidst and she was grateful. She didn't want to draw unneeded attention to herself than was necessary.

She wiped the beading sweat from her brow and took a deep breath. The resilience of humanity was a curious endeavor to behold. After bombs falling and the massive amounts of radiation, people persevered and made good of a bad situation in the best way they could. Mountains of corrugated steel walls creaked in the breeze. She could see the moon peeking from behind a sliver of grey clouds.

"Huh," a man muttered as he approached. "It's a rare event that we get two strangers in town in close succession."

Quinn glanced at the man before her and crooked her eyebrow. She removed her cap and met the man in the middle. She looked him over and saw the sheriff's badge on the duster he wore. He tipped his hat politely and extended his hand to her in greeting. She accepted it grateful to find someone of authority that she could question.

"I'm looking for my father. Have you seen him?" Quinn stated.

The sheriff shook his head and looked back towards the sprawling metal scaffolding.

"I did, but didn't speak with him. He made a beeline for Moriarty's," he replied as he pointed to the top level with the large sign above it. "You're best bet is to talk to him, but a word of advice: don't cause trouble and don't let Moriarty get reeled into anything."

"That's fine," Quinn said with a shrug.

The sheriff turned back to her with a smile and looked her over. The smile faded after a few seconds and stared intently at her.

"You're bleeding. You should get that looked at," he remarked.

Quinn didn't bother looking at it and uttered that it wasn't hers.

"Are you sure?" he pressed with a harder look at her arm.

She followed his glance to the large tear in her gear. The slow trickle of red bled into the fabric turning it a deep purple. It trailed down her arm and dripped on to her pants and boots. She splayed her fingers over the hole to get a better look at it. She bit her lip as the large bleeding line opened slightly under the gentle pressure she applied.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath.

"Rough start from the vault, apparently," the sheriff remarked with a scowl.

"You don't know the half of it," Quinn smirked.

"Well, I hope it didn't follow you. We don't need that here," the sheriff grumbled.

"It won't," Quinn insisted with a backwards glance toward the door. She pressed her hand over the wound and nodded. "I guess, I'll talk to Moriarty about my father. Thanks, Sheriff…"

"Simms. Lucas Simms," he said with a nod.

"Sheriff Simms," she continued.

"Good luck finding your father," Simms stated. "And don't forget to get that gunshot wound looked at."

"Thanks," Quinn replied.

She walked down the embankment and into the center of town. People spoke in hushed whispers all around her as she examined the giant bomb in front of her. Something seemed off about the Old World device that jutted from the ground. It electrified the air, the smell of ionization was thick as she drew closer to it and placed her hand on to casing. It vibrated beneath her finger tips and hummed gently. Her head whipped around at all the bystanders watching her. She didn't think they realized how much danger they were in when it came to the amount of radiation this thing was emanating. Her Geiger was ticking off as she stood there and she took a step back.

The preacher nearby spewed his words into the dimming late afternoon air. The words of those of a person of blind faith about something they knew nothing about. She was smart enough to know that this wasn't a tool of good will. It was a bomb, meant for destruction and as luck would have it failed to detonate. It wasn't safe at all and as she looked at the cracked casing knew that it would only be a matter of time before the thing decided that it was ready to go off.

"These people are crazy," she said to herself as she continued walking up the large ramp towards the bar.

A man in leather armor stared at her and then at the blood oozing from between her fingers and snorted disapprovingly.

"Raiders?" he questioned.

"Vault security," she replied nonchalantly.

He looked at her in amusement and pointed back to the bottom of the hole in the ground.

"Doc's that way," he muttered.

"It's alright. I'll take care of it myself," Quinn answered.

She sat in a chair nearby and searched through her pouch pocket for a needle, thread and antiseptic. She pulled her arm out of the sleeve, sucking in harshly as her arm maneuvered through the thick fabric. The guy she spoke with watched her as she threaded the needle and pierced the tattered edge of flesh. She let out a groan of pain. Her hand began to tremble violently as she took up the other side and slid the needle through. Her throat grew dry and her head began to swim as she worked. Sweat dripped from her brow as she worked. She'd done stitches before on others, but never on herself and not for this type of wound.

"Here," the guy remarked handing her a cigarette. "It'll take the edge off."

"Ummm," she started through waves of dizziness.

"It's alright. If these don't kill you infection from that there wound or radiation will do it," he stated with a frown.

Quinn took the cigarette from him and placed it to her lips. He lit a match and instructed her to inhale as he lit it. She did as she was told and was rewarded with a dizzying fiery sensation in her chest. She coughed violently sending the man in to insane laughter.

"What the hell is that," she sputtered through coughs.

"It's not bad," he replied. "Try again, just this time: slower."

So she did it again. The pain was still there, her eyes watered, but her hands didn't shake as bad. Another drag and her fingers worked around the damage created. She pulled the thread taut and snipped away the ends. The cigarette jutted from her lips as she poured on the foul smelling antiseptic. She watched the bubbling turn a bright pink and then washed it away with some water. She wrapped it with gauze and pulled her arm back into the sleeve.

Quinn gave the guy a quick look and stood, dusting off the debris from the wind.

"Do you know Moriarty?" she asked.

"Yeah, dirty bastard," he replied in annoyance. "If you're here to see him, then you better get inside. I'll buy you a round."

Quinn thanked him and headed into the bar. It smelled of vomit and stale beer. The floor creaked under her feet as she approached the counter. A disfigured man stood watching her suspiciously, but came to her as if nothing was bothering him.

"What'll you have," he asked, wiping a shot glass clean.

"Information, if you have it," Quinn replied.

The man abruptly stopped and squinted at her. She didn't understand why he was looking at her like that, but she sat motionless on the stool and waited for him to say something. He stiffened and placed the glass down behind the counter.

"You're not going to yell at me?" he questioned with a look of confusion.

"No, why would I?" she asked back. "I don't even know you."

He exhaled sharply and placed his hands on the counter. Shaking his head, he grabbed a nearby bottle of whiskey and shot glass and set it before her. He unscrewed the cap and poured it into the glass. He gave a quick glance over his shoulder and slid the drink towards her.

"Talk to Moriarty. I don't need to be getting into any more shit with him," he whispered harshly.

"Who are you harassing now, Gob? Give them their damn drink and get back to work," and older man spat as he drew closer to them.

Gob apologized and went to work wiping down the far end of the bar.

"I'm guessing your Moriarty," Quinn said with a crook of the eyebrow.

"Aye, that I am lass," Moriarty replied folding his arms in front of him. "What's it to you?"

"I'm looking for my father. The sheriff said you may have spoken with him," Quinn continued.

Moriarty just looked at her silently. She watched his eyes move over her in curious circuits. The gears of money were working hard at putting a price on her as she waited. She placed her hand on her sidearm and cleared her throat to snap him from his thoughts.

"You're the wee babe. It's been years," Moriarty chirped when he realized who it was. "Look at you! You're all grown up now. Aye, I've seen your father. He stopped in not long before you did. He wasn't here long."

"Do you know where he went?" Quinn pressed.

"I do," Moriarty replied. "But you realize, information is a commodity, and it does come at a price."

"What do you want?" Quinn grumbled, her eyes falling to the counter.

"Two hundred," Moriarty stated with a smug look.

"Right, I'll get on that," Quinn said with a sigh; followed by, "This is bullshit." She peered through the veil of black bangs at him and scowled. "Do you have a room?"

"Do you want company?" Moriarty chimed.

"No. A bed and nothing else," Quinn snapped. She reached for the glass of whiskey and slammed it back. "No company."

"One twenty," he said with a sneer.

She opened up a small pouch, counted the small caps, and threw them on the counter. Moriarty pointed to the stairs and returned to his work. Quinn thanked Gob and headed for the room. Her body ached. Her stomach grumbled and all she wanted to do was sleep. She knew that the next day or so was going to be hell and if she was going to get to her father she was going to have to go to hell and back just to get a bead on him.

He shouldn't have done this, she thought to herself as she closed the door behind her and flopped on the bed. She stared at the ceiling, the first couple of tears slid from her eyes, blurring her vision. It could have been anything that had set her off: pain, exhaustion, worry, stress. All of it was accumulating into something she didn't think was possible.

"Dad," she said softly to herself. "Where are you?"