Two muffled gunshots rang out somewhere downstairs. Then, silence. Anthony had just used the last of his Med-X stash and grumbled at the interruption. Yelling out into the inky blackness of his new abode he was only slightly annoyed at the lack of response. It had been 2 weeks since his group found this spot and, save the few lamps they managed to scavenge, it was almost impossible to see more than five feet in front of yourself after the sun went down.
The large school proved to be an excellent base of operations for Anthony and his small band of up-starts. Although the copious amount of dead raiders the group discovered upon their initial entrance to the former place of learning would have set off alarms to any sensible person. It could be argued that if the group had been sensible, they would not have been forced to seek asylum in such a place anyway. Unfortunate as it was for Anthony, the type of life he and his group led was fast becoming a way of the past; for across the blasted wasteland of former D.C. and it's outlying sister lands an awesome and terrible force swept.
It seemed entirely implausible for one man to have so nearly reversed decades of degradation and descent to lawless horrors. Yet, the evidence was nearly insurmountable. All across the wasteland one could hear rumors and stories of this single person. Not to mention the countless bodies and eerily empty settlements and strongholds left in his wake.
He was whispered of as none other than death incarnate, a force of nature sent directly from some vengeful god of the old world. Wherever he traveled evil simply could not survive. Of course this was false. No single man could accomplish the things Anthony heard of this wanderer in his travels. For that reason, the young leader and his small band of raiders set out to find and destroy the wasteland's new messiah. Eventually locating Springvale Elementary and fortifying the position as best they could with their sub-par equipment and lack of knowledge in such matters.
The plan progressed smoothly enough at the outset. The group's numbers slowly but steadily began to swell. Bringing more supplies, captives, and nourishment which in turn caused the group to expand at a more rapid rate. Eventually though, they seemed to hit a limit. Some inexplicable glass ceiling that infuriated Anthony to no end. See, the plan was to gather an army. An army capable of raining death, destruction, and anarchy upon the peaceful denizens of the Capital Wastes.
Even worse though, was when the numbers began to dwindle. As if struck by some invisible and pervasive malady the number of members started falling at the same steady rate Anthony had so enjoyed in the opposite direction. Entire patrols and raiding parties were wiped out. At this point, Anthony was knee-deep in the debauchery his ambitious dreams beckoned to inflict upon the world, if at a smaller level. Women, drugs, and of course, caps, were for all intents and purposes supplied in infinite amounts to the once driven and decisive leader.
The eventual decimation of his group was unfortunately the direct result of these newfound pleasures at Anthony's disposal. Had he possessed his original strength of mind, or hardiness of constitution the patterns might have been decipherable. As it stood, though, his now impressive group was slowly being tracked to the source. A large net had been cast, and it was zeroing in on Springvale. Like rats the group continued to hide, scavenge, and breed nothing but disease and pestilence upon the neighboring communities. All the while blissfully unaware of the seasoned hunter methodically tracing them to their source.
Anthony once again called out into the void of darkness angrily, demanding immediate reply. The sound he heard in response cut through the pharmaceutical haze and filled him with an anxiety never felt before or again by the poor, lost soul. Upon hearing it, he instinctively thought back to his earlier days. When the weight of his world was not so heavy upon his shoulders. He thought of his first kiss, thought of his adolescent years. Thought of his mother, saw her dead eyes staring up at him from her makeshift bed.
These memories brought back a veritable flood of feelings. A tidal wave teeming with all the repressed emotions of a man so hell-bent on survival. He felt anger, sadness, regret, longing. Above all else though, he felt happiness. For that sound could only mean one thing, it was finally over. The years of drug induced psychosis, the frantic scrambling for continued life, the harsh reality of the world. All were coming to an end. Anthony closed his eyes upon hearing that sound, and if one could somehow reach into the inexorable mystery of his mind and wrench out his final thoughts they would find only one small, curious question.
He wondered if he would dream.
As Charon crept up to the exposed backside of the last raider, he cocked his shotgun. Without pause he pulled the trigger mechanically and put the bastard out of his misery. A few moments passed before his traveling companion and master could be heard clumsily climbing the stairs. Stealth was no use now, all life in the grim and twisted hallways of that disgusting place had been extinguished.
"You got em'?" The woman asked.
Charon only grunted in response.
"Good, I stripped the weapons downstairs, take whatever he's got and let's get out of here. This place makes me want to vomit everytime I come back."
Charon grunted again and began searching the man for supplies. Finding nothing useful he allowed the body to slump to the floor and followed the wanderer back out into the chill air and open expanse of outdoors.
"I think we should head back to megaton, I need a shower after that mess."
Charon grunted in response for what he hoped was the last time and fell in step behind his master, always vigilant and watching.
A/N: Woooo! Taking it across the country to see what's happening in D.C. Maybe our characters can eventually meet, but probably not lol.