Megaton rose out of the wasteland like a rusted barnacle on the blasted rock of the world, although some would compare it to a boil on the ass of eternity. It was all about perspective. One of the only outposts of humanity(and various persons aspiring to or descending from such) in the Capital Wasteland, it appeared superficially dead except for a robot, a beggar, and quiet movements in the catwalks above the main entrance.

Stockholm rolled over, took a drink of water, then went back to scanning the horizon. Today had been fairly uneventful, aside from a few giant ants(and God he hoped there wasn't a nest forming nearby, that's all they needed), and the sun was getting long on the ground. Deputy Weld was getting on his short nerves stationed above it. He really had to ask Sheriff Simms if there wasn't any possibility of getting him a radio up in his scaffolding, even the Enclave Eyebots were starting to cheer him up, and if that wasn't a sign of total boredom then he-

Something moved in the general direction of Springvale. "Raiders? Raiders would be distracting, if not new," Stockholm mumbled to himself, setting his rifle stock firmly into his shoulder. Guard duty wasn't a bad schtick, especially in a fortified tower, but it could get damn boring. Everything was the same. Not that he actually wanted exciting, since that usually came with a free side of maiming or death. Speaking louder and calling down into Megaton, "LUCAS, we got something!"

Megaton's sheriff peered up at the sentry, squinting at the light outside the wall and tilting his hat down. "Well, what? Raiders? More of those damn ants? Don't tell me it's another party of ghouls, Confessor Cromwell and his congregation will have week-long fit over it again."

Stockholm peered down into the dust and watched the figure stumble closer. "Not Raiders, 'less they're stupid enough to come in one by one, not that I'd put it past em. Alone, wanderer, it looks like it's...was...electrocuted?"

"Whaaaat?"

"Look, that's what it looks like! Whoever it is, they're stumbling around, and if that's not a rat's nest it's hair, so not a ghoul. They're draggin a couple clubs, but it don't look like they can lift them much. Not setting off the Deputy either, probably okay to let em in."

Lucas Simms wasn't entirely encouraged by this, considering some of the people the Protectron had let by the front gate(Jericho and the newcomer Burke flashed briefly to mind), but Stockholm backing him up this fast probably meant that whatever was slouching towards his town looked pretty damned pathetic. "Let them in when they get here then, and I'll suss them out."

"It'll probably involve scraping them off the ground." Stockholm hollered back, and watched the figure(a female, he decided, unless some fellow had decided on a creative way to store supplies on his chest and rear), drag herself up the hill and nearly into Deputy Weld.

"Welcome to Megaton." chattered the robot in its funny flanged voice. "The bomb is perfectly safe, we promise. Please hold for threat level assessment. Threat level minimal. Open the gates. Open the gates. Welcome to Megaton."

Stockholm punched the gate button and watched the girl pass through to the main doors before lurching into an about face.

"Bomb?"

Simms wasn't sure what to expect when the inner doors creaked open, but it certainly wasn't what was delivered. Bloodstained and armoured was normal -although really, what was normal nowadays anyway-, shiny new armour on a wild-haired ghost girl was not. She staggered in, head swiveling everywhere, and happily murmured something about shade before latching onto his face with a wide smile. Her teeth were whiter than her face, and reminded him of when his son Harden's had first started coming in. The amount of bruises all over her were somewhat less than perfect. He wasn't sure about her eyes behind the shades, but the rest of her was a generous pinch over 5 feet, too soft and covered in one unholy mop of black hair.

Well then. He thought, pulling himself back from his observations. That was definitely outside normal. He generally tried to keep a friendly face on for newcomers, but the smile was a pretty enthusiastic response. So was the hand suddenly thrust toward him, twitching, but empty and palm out. He grabbed it by reflex and stood bemused while the kid pumped it up over and over.

"Hello, Sheriff. My name's Cort and it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm looking for my father." Simms had enough time to complement her manners before she rolled up like a window shade and hit the dirt, still holding his hand.

"Told you you'd be scraping them up!" Stockholm clucked down at him. Simms stared at him until he shuffled back around to his post, mumbling to himself again. "At least she's different."