The man lay there, his shirt had been taken off and narcosis had set in before the operation had begun. Turns out Hakun's injuries weren't as 'safe' as he claimed and had developed an infection. Aura for how effective it had been, had trouble dealing with the infection, and unfortunatly the local doctor lacked the equipment and medical expertise to heal him.
In comes the Wanderer; the power armor outside the building while he was working on the Huntsman with rubber gloves, face mask, and surgeon outfit on him. The wound had been nasty, with blots of pus forming at the sides of the claw marks and pale flesh.
A piece of cotton was dipped in a glass of Vodka, and the Vault dweller went to work cleaning the wound. The Wanderer's eye furrowed; it was strange really, he had ironically barely worked with his Father in the Vault when it came to medicine. Never really had a big interest in it, as he had been more fascinated by machines, and tech.
Pip-boy programmer, Vault engineering, and maintenance had been a happy time with activities such as fixing Andy up, repairing any damage to the Vault, and of course, working on his own projects was a dream come true. However, his Dad had always thought him the basics of medicine; in case he ever got hurt during work.
Who knew this would eventually develop into him becoming the Wasteland equivalent of a master surgeon?
Funny thing is that he learned a lot about medicine from fixing himself up; a bullet to the shoulder there, a stab to the gut here, and of course the classic shrapnel slicing into his shin. When you're life is on the line 24/7 you tend to find that your best friend in the whole world is a bag full of stimpaks and a loaded gun.
Scotch also helps.
After dipping some more pus off, the wound had been cleaned up and the cotton had been thrown away. He looked back at the chemical set next to him. With an infection, the best way he could help was with anti-biotics, but the village lacked any. He however knew a good way to fix that right up; Stimpaks had a certain amount of biotics mostly for when closing wounds. However, using some old cave shrooms from Little Lamplight he had with him and distilled rad-away he managed to create a suitable concoction while mixing it with a stim.
Next, he began stitching up the wound; the needle piercing into Hakun's flesh as the wound was being closed up. Sweat dripped down the Wanderer's head, the room having no AC or Ventilation; he had gotten used to his armor's temperature system, a strange comfort in the apocalypse. As the wounds were closed down, he jammed the Anti-biotic Stimpak into the Huntsman's chest. Immediately he could see it take effect as the color slowly returned to the face, and the blood stopped seeping from between the stitches. Lifting his left arm up, he used his Pip-Boy's scanning function to look over the man's status.
A wave of relief washed over the Wanderer once he noticed that Hakun was already getting back in good health. If he had to guess the man would be up and good in a few days, that is if his Aura helped in the healing process.
With a sigh, he cracked his neck; regardless of the stress, it felt good saving a man's life especially when he normally was responsible for the deaths of many.
The ratchet of the wrench tightening the screws revibrated around the area. He wasn't in his surgent outfit but wearing his Vault utility suit that Amata had given him, while he was fixing the machine on the ground. Even though he had stopped the pollution, the dust chemicals had damaged the filters of the generator and had to be replaced. The Wanderer had volunteered in fixing it; having both the experience with such things and well...wanting to understand this world's technology better.
Using some scraps he had on him and the broken filter itself, he managed to create a new and more sophisticated one that probably won't break down for at least 100 years, unless you tried to break it purposely. Wiping some sweat from his forehead, he closed the panel down and gave it a light smack. His finger hovered over a red button and pressed down, activating the Generator again. A faint purr hummed out of the machine and the Wanderer smirked as he rose to his feet.
Another Job well done.
"Oh, you got it working again?"
The Wanderer turned back towards a mechanic. The man wore overalls, had a faint asian look, and had a pair of antlers hovering over his head. Bushy brows like his beard furrowed and he stepped up towards the Wanderer.
"Yep, shouldn't break down anytime soon."
"Hmm."
The Mechanic went to a knee and checked the machine over, slowly nodding as his lips curled up.
"Impressive kid! You got some mighty fine motor skills!"
"Well, I do maintain a mechanized suit of armor." The Wanderer chuckled. "So you know fixing up old pumps is a given."
"I'll say." The Machanic rose up, smiling. "That's some good work you've done here. I'll get my wallet real quick because a Job like that de-"
"I appreciate the offer but I didn't do this for the cash." The Wanderer waved him off. "Just trying to help you all."
"Mighty nice of you." The Faunus's eyes were somewhat wide. "Still can't leave you empty-handed…"
"Then how about this." The Vault dweller's hand tapped the mechanic on his shoulder. "I haven't gotten a taste of the local brew, so you can buy me one if you want."
"Ha!" he clapped his hands while giving the scarred human a grin. "Sounds like a man after my heart!"
"Annnnnd that's the last of 'em."
The bag of cement was carefully placed next to the wall, the shirtless Wanderer stretching his sweat-covered body in the glistening sun. All around him people had been working on the wall, fixing it up with only a smaller section having to be finished.
"Thanks!" the Guard nodded, before handing the Wanderer a bottle of water. "Most couldn't carry it. How sturdy are you?!"
"Studier than you'd think." He winked at the Guard, before letting the cool freshwater flow through his throat. Exhaling a groan, he put the bottle down and looked over the construction. A faint smirk spread across his face as he observed the locals working on the wall, placing the cemented bricks on one another like building blocks, how they painted on the already finished side, returning the old color compared to the red of the bricks.
He never understood why a lot of towns didn't re-build using bricks or mud back home; there was plenty of it in the wastes, and with the wasteland's heat, drying and fixing should work decently. Hell, he could ask the same over the fact that Megaton was built around a fucking nuke!
Bunch of drawing defiers those people. Still, good that he managed to disarm the thing when he got there; would have been tragic if someone like Burke had the place blown to kingdom come.
Regardless at least the people in this world had built their towns, not around a freakin bomb. Though now that he thoughts about it, building a town and not having a lot of defenses around from hostile attacks was also kinda dumb.
Eh, at least this town was smarter in that sense.
Picking up his stuff and putting a sleeveless shirt on he entered the Village and began to pass through the streets. People waved at him and acknowledged his presence giving him genuine smiles and gentle greetings, something he hadn't seen since the Vault. Actually no, even in the Vault most smiles were made of cardboard; One half hated him for being "Wasteland-born" and the other half who did like him, he either rarely saw or NOW hated him ever since Dad left the Vault.
He shook his head; that was in the past.
His hand wrapped around the door to his temporary abode; An old shack they gave him that had belonged to an older woman that had died a while back; natural causes, fortunately. Her family had picked her stuff up leaving only bare essentials since they thought about selling it but lent it to him for helping them fix their fuse box a few days ago.
He passed by his power armor and lay onto the couch, letting out a breath. His eyes were looking over the ceiling fan which was spinning over his face, cooling it. He lifted his pip-boy up and turned the radio recording on, playing one of Three Dog's newer songs.
There's something happening here.
But what it is ain't exactly clear.
There's a man with a gun over there.
Telling me I got to beware.
A cigarette was pulled from his pants as he placed it in its mouth. As he placed the Ashtray on the table next to him, Dogmeat marched towards him and laid next to the couch as the Wanderer lit the Cigarette with a Nuka-girl pin upon it and the words "TUNNEL SNAKES RULE" etched into it.
I think it's time we stop.
Children, what's that sound?
Everybody look, what's going down?
Yet the longer he gazed at it, the more he could see it. The smoke from his cigarette was becoming swirly as started to look more like the smoke from heavy ordnance on the field.
Instead of a fan, it was a Vertibird rotor, and he was back in Alexandria, the Pride at his side. Lasers, Plasma, and lead were exchanged between the forces of the Brotherhood and the last bastion of the vile Super Mutants. The trenches between the area reminded him of the Capitol plaza yet they fought on, ignoring their fallen comrades.
Alongside the Brotherhood were two of his most cherished friends; Charon and Fawkes who stood alongside the power-armored warriors against the Mutant menace. The battle was brutal, it was horrific, but it was familiar. But he hadn't worried because he had known who stood by his side; known Sarah, the Pride, and his companions and he knew that as long as they stood at his side nothing would bring them down…
Until…
A few knocks at the door shook him out, his eyes widen as he looked around. He rose to his feet and made it towards the Door. It's only as he stood up that he realized the sweat that had formed as he had laid there. He blew the smoke out and walked over towards the door, cigarette in mouth.
He opened the door, glancing at whoever stood outside.
"Yeah, can I help ya?"
In front of him stood Choroksaek, in casual clothing and with a friendly disposition.
"Hey there Kid!" The Capitan smiled "Heard about the wall today, damned good work!"
"Oh, it's nothing." The Wanderer forced himself to smile, waving the compliment off.
"Don't sell yourself short, what you did is great! In fact…" Hwan lifted something up, revealing a bottle of wine. "Felt that with all your hard work, I'd give you a little something!"
The Wanderer looked at the bottle; Wine in the wastes usually tasted like water due to the time it aged = 200 years ain't great for wine compared to vodka and whisky. So to get actual well-aged wine was godsent.
"Thank you, but that's not necessary." The Wanderer lifted his hands up.
"Oh but I insist." Hwan handed him the bottle. "You saved my boy's life and helped our town for the past few days. You deserve this."
A nervous laugh escaped the Wanderer as he took the bottle from the Capitan.
"Thank you, it means a lot."
"You're welcome." Choroksaek nodded. "In fact, me and some others are gonna have a Barbecue in my backyard, you're invited to come if you want."
A part of him wanted nothing more; a chill evening with a few of the villagers after a hard day of work? Grilling meat in the backyard, drinking beers, and sharing stories is the type of thing he had grown to love in the wastes. Things like that time He, Fawkes, Charon, Cross, and Butch had a small grill party close to GNR. Even invited Three Dog and they spent the evening telling stories on the radio and sharing them with the Wasteland.
But then like a blade of ice stabbing through his chest, he remembered.
He couldn't get close.
Like a cold wraith, it whispered into his ears; about how he didn't deserve the praise, he didn't deserve the love. He didn't deserve friends and allies and he certainly didn't deserve to live in the house these poor people lend him. A Wretch like him only deserved to suffer, to fight those who wish to harm good people better people than him; and the only release he has allowed to have is to die a slow and agonizing death surrounded by those he slew.
He didn't deserve a good ending.
His smile faltered slightly and backed up a bit. "I'm sorry, but I need to prepare for tomorrow, but I appreciate the offer.."
"You sure?" The Capitan raised an eyebrow. "The others would love to see you…"
"I'm certain." The Wanderer reaffirmed. "I appreciate the offer but...I have things to do, and I've stalled too long."
Hwan nodded, understanding the implications.
"Well, then I won't hold you up lad." He placed a hand on the Wanderer's shoulder. "But hey, if you ever need something or are close to this place you're welcome with open hearts!"
He gave the Wanderer a warm smile before leaving him. Waving goodbye to the Capitan, the Wanderer closed the door and almost felt his legs give away. Using all his strength he shuffled back towards the couch, feeling weak before crashing into it.
He extinguished the cigarette onto the ashtray before looking back up.
He didn't want to leave.
This place?
The Folk here? The Nature? The Town itself?
Everything about this place made him feel happy.
He hadn't felt truly happy ever since he saved Dad from vault 112. After that everything that followed could be described as a fucking inundation of depression, rage, and murder.
Murder on a scale that made him want to vomit.
But here? Here he felt his heart stilling, his nerves not on overdrive 24/7. He never felt like he was in constant danger, and the people here were genuine. The Grimm attacks barely happen and even if they did, his Gatling Laser and T51 would finish that mess in a few minutes.
He could see it all; open some business, marry some girl, retire from the whole Wanderer schtick, and go back to being a normal human. Have a gaggle of kids, raise em and spend the rest of his life in peace; not looking back at the mess of his youth.
But he couldn't.
Someone like him didn't deserve such things…
He was merciless, brutal, and bloodthirsty; just like his enemies. And if he couldn't show his enemies mercy, then it would be hypocritical of him if he got to get away with it. Get away with the death of thousands. Thousands who haunted his dreams, yelling at him to perish, to burn, to suffer.
And sure most were utter scum, raiders, dregs, degenerates. But that didn't change the number; the quantity. Pulling out the picture from the truck, he gazed at the bandit at the lake, a frown forming upon his face as he sneered.
Besides, if he retired then assholes like the 'Branwen' tribe would still harass and murder villages; and he had to become their boogyman. He had to be on the top of the pecking order; so that decent people could live without fear.
No rest for the wicked.
And he was the most wicked of them all.
The Tents were packed, the fortifications unmade as Raven glanced up from a rock, her mask obscuring her smirk. Omen was strapped to her side as Venral strode up behind her.
"How are things." The Bandit leader spoke up.
"The tents and resources have been packed." Vernal looked towards a few of the men putting boxes into one of the Trucks. "We should be able to leave in an hour."
"Good." Raven nodded and glanced towards the Girl. "has our stash been cleared?"
"Y-Yes." Vernal shrunk under her leader's cold gaze. "The Grimm have been eliminated there. Once we arrive we'll be able to take off."
"Splendid."
Raven turned back towards her men who had just finished putting a few of the fortifications onto a cart. She looked up at the sky, thinking back to the night. Tenshi island though familiar was pretty far from their region. Travel there was going to be bothersome but she had it all calculated, thanks to some high-risk things she and the tribe had stolen a few years ago. However, due to their sizes and value, they placed them in a stash that would keep these things safe.
Now as the Wanderer and the Queen approached she knew that she would be well hidden.
It was time for the Branwen to return home.
He stepped out of the House.
He had cleaned it up, grabbing his stuff and making sure it looked as proper as he had seen it when he first was lent it. Decked in his power armor, he looked down at Dogmeat; the pack carried onto its back.
5 am and though it was dark there was a faint bit of light in the Horizon, yet giving it a slight purple color. He walked towards the Neighbour's house, and placed the keys, and put them into the mail slot in their door.
He then turned towards the gate, his mechanical footsteps making his presence known to the Guards guiding the entrance. As he passed by them, he couldn't help but notice their sullen looks.
He could relate.
With a few footsteps, he passed through the end and left the village, looking up at the road in front of him. Is gaze was in front; thoughts about staying still lingering. Sighing he raised Ol Painless and focused on the Task at Hand; Wipe the Branwen Tribe.
God willing; they would pay.
Turning to Dogmeat he whistled.
"Let's go, pal."
Marching he passed the trees, going down the path towards the bridge for it was where he had found the wrecked Truck. Following the river, he felt a certain calmness overtake him as he made his way there, Dogmeat by his side. Yet he still held steadfast, glancing around from time to time, waiting for any Grimm or wildlife.
A bit more down to earth, he exhaled what he could only describe as a weight of immeasurable amounts from his shoulders, and looked forward. Using his Hud he used his pip-boy to play some songs from his recordings.
A smirk formed as the swing from "let's go sunning" echoed in his helmet before the trumpets blasted through his speakers. Faintly banging his head up and down, he continued on his journey, reinvigorated to kick ass and take names.
Shorter chapter. Hell in fact the reason I didn't upload yesterday is that I wanted to extend the chapter but didn't have a good idea on what. Really this is both a sort of "filler" chapter and one where we learn a bit more about the Wanderer. Regardless not a lot of action either, though trust me; Chapter 8 is gonna make your balls flip.
holandia1103: Glad you enjoy it then, my goal is for people to like these sort of stories! As for the chems, I mean it depends. Chems and Drugs IRL aren't always 'bad' 100% of the time and tend to be used in medicine. I mean Heroine for example was created as a pain killer before getting replaced by Morphine since the side effects were too noticeable. Hell Med-X is literally Morphine just re-named cause of international censores. Now obviously drugs like 'psycho' which were combat stims created during the war of Anchorage were more unstable, but they quite literally were 'combat' drugs. I'd say it's obviously not healthy but if you know what you're doing you should be fine. AKA don't abuse drugs, and only use when you know what you're doing.
darkromdemon : Best kind of stories are those that are fun and volitile
ChroniclerofChaos07: Thanks man, and yeah made a typo and mixed them up. Fixed it by now.
nantono: Joe Swanson
djpj7652: Skill issue.
kurlyk1999: thanks but I wouldn't go this far, lol!
Lucky Prospector: "NOOOOO YOU CAN'T NUKE MY ANCESTRAL ISLAND! THATS CHEATING!" "Ha ha MIRV goes bo- (Nuke INTESIFES) "
Si Vis Pacem: Shame to see you go, but oh well still happy you stayed this far. Also the speedrun fic seems funny as fuck.
Guest 1: Honestly i'd rather use the Rock-it-launcher just so he can drink the nuka cola and the shoot her with the bottle in the face
Guest 2: Fusion Cores only drain so fast in gameplay and fallout 4 cause Todd got annoyed at people bitching about power armor training and removed it. In the original lore for 1 and 2, power cores lasted for like years so that's the one I'm going for. I mean hell you really wanna tell me that a fusion core can power a massive generator for 200 + years but a mechanized suit only last 5 minutes? That's bullshit and you know it. WHY MUST YOU HURT ME LIKE THIS TODD? I'VE BOUGHT SKYRIM 20 TIMES ALREADY! WHAT MORE MUST I DO TO PLEASE YOU OH GREAT AND MIGHT GODD!
Blaze1992: Yeah dude is hurting, hopefully he may heal one day...
Anyways that's all my guys, cya all next time!