The office door opened and the man at the desk stopped writing. He greeted the newcomer.
"Welcome. How can I help you, outsider?"
"How do you know I'm an outsider?"
"Well, first, you're not a ghoul." The man at the desk laughed. He laid his pen down on the desk and put away his documents. He folded his hands on the table and smiled.
"But you're not a ghoul either."
"There's always an exception to the rule, and, currently, I am that exception." He spoke the words in a spirit of the peace.
The stranger looked at his Pip-Boy. Low traces of radioactive isotopes.
"This settlement is radiated. Why do you live here?"
"I'm here to minister to those who have been cast aside by the rest of the Commonwealth. After all, a ghoul is still a person worthy of respect and dignity. Now, is there a way that I can help you?"
The stranger stood quietly at the door.
"I'm looking for my son, Shaun."
"I see," said the man at the desk. His eyebrows furrowed in deep contemplation. "Currently, there are no children residing in Saint-Damian-Of-The-Wastes. We're mostly a colony of ghouls and castaways. All adults. I can ask around the settlement, if you would like. Maybe someone might know something."
"I would appreciate that," the Sole Survivor said. "In return, is there any way that I can help you?"
The man at the desk sat in silence for a bit. He was thinking about an appropriate response.
"Thank you for your offer. Our community tries to sustain itself through some farming and scavenging, but ends are hard to meet sometimes. We would accept any donation: time, money, food, water, medicine."
The Sole Survivor observed the room in thought. File cabinets lined the walls of the office. In one corner there stood an old magazine rack that held plastic bags of RadAway. Many of them were empty from use.
"I have some RadAway and Rad-X, if you would like."
"I would happily accept some," the man at the desk said. "It wouldn't do my parishioners much good, but, I guess, it will help me keep my hair a little longer." The man smiled as he patted the back of his head. Some strands of hair came loose and fell upon his shoulders. He brushed them off his black tunic.
"You should move somewhere less radiated. The Minutemen have a settlement nearby."
"And leave these good people? No, I cannot. Who else will take my place?"
The sound of someone running could be heard.
"Father Niels!" the voice cried. A ghoul pushed through the door into the office room. "Anaya is dying. A merchant caravan has entered carrying her body."
"Thank you, Chauncy. I'll be right out." Father Niels turned to the Sole Survivor. "Excuse me. I am needed."
The priest stood and began to gather various items. In a battered canvas bag, he placed a cup, a small glass vessel of oil, another of wine, and what looked like a small golden pocket watch.
"I will search for your son," he promised.
The priest and the ghoul left the building and went to the caravan waiting at the outskirts of the town. In the clearing, they could see that atop of one of the merchant's brahmin sat a female ghoul in torn leather armour. She was covered in a mixture of dirt and blood. Most strikingly, however, the entirety of her left leg below the kneecap was missing. A few dirty rags covered the wound in an attempt to staunch the bleeding.
The Sole Survivor watched the events unfold before him.
Father Niels and one of the caravan guards helped Anaya off the brahmin. She had lost so much blood that she spoke with a slow slur while drifting in and out of consciousness. The merchant informed the priest that he heard and explosion on the road. He thinks that the ghoul had stepped on a landmine out by the old fort. One of the caravan guards went to investigate the situation and brought her back. He gave her a dose of Med-X and a Stimpack, but the injury is too great to stop her death.
"We brought her here because she kept whispering 'Saint Damian. Saint Damian.'"
Father Niels sat her down by a rock and sent the others away so that he could be alone with Anaya. Everyone else gathered by the building beside the Sole Survivor. They looked on helplessly.
"She needs urgent medical attention. Why won't he try to save her."
Chauncy spoke to the Survivor without taking his eyes off the two in the distance.
"After a century or more, most ghouls aren't looking to live another day." He looked at his ghoulish hands. Several scars marked his palms, wrist, and forearms. Some of the scars were burns, others cuts, and others small gunshot wounds. "Plus," Chauncy looked him in the eyes, "he is saving her."
Father Niels whispered a few words to Anaya and made the sign of the cross. He opened his canvas bag and took out the glass jar with oil in it. He dipped his fingers in the oil and placed it upon her forehead. He prayed over his dying parishioner. Once the anointing was completed, Father Niels took out the golden pocket watch and the jar of wine. He continued his prayers. He opened the pocket watch and pulled out a thin wafer. He offered Anaya the wafer. She took it gladly. Then, he took out the cup, cleaned it, and poured a little wine into it. Once again, he offered it to Anaya. Once again, she took it gladly. He spoke to her a few final words. After a minute, he stood up and walked to the group.
"Chauncy, if you and the others want to spend some time with her and exchange of few words, you may do so now."
The ghoul and a few others of the community who had congregated by the parish building walked to their dying friend with sense of trepidation and sadness. Father Niels observed his community begin the mourning process. He spoke to the Sole Survivor.
"That is why I cannot leave." He folded his hands together. "Better men can do more, but the little that I do matters."