There is a little bar in the middle of a big little city. It's not a very presumptuous bar, neither is it ever empty. It's a good place to get lost in your troubles and buried further in your troubles. It's also a great place to meet many interesting people.
"Hey there, kid. Know who I am? Not a chance, right? That's the likely choice. Not many people know me. I'm Razor, a Scav. Many people've called me a [scoff] thief. Most people don't like to spend much time around a windbag like me. [Sigh] There's not much chance you're gonna be any different either. Oh well. Life's rough, no? While we're here, you wanna buy a wrinkled old hag a round? Just a beer, thanks, none of that wrench-gut-Rot-Gut for me. What are you doing in this part of the Waste? Not much I'd bet. Oh. Well, a bar's as good as place as any to lay low. Just don't get too drunk. Hah. Not very likely here. I'd bet ol' Tom buys more water than he does booze. But that's the way it runs, eh? Bottoms up!
"My story? You gonna be in here for long enough? I've come a long way. No way I'm gonna go about telling you my age, don't even ask. But, you could say that I'm older than this here town. By how long I've been around, I'm older than...well, I'm older than...ok, I'm older than a lot of stuff. But you wanted my story. I came from down south. Way down south. Further down south than you could have walked in your entire life. I'm tellin' you, it's way down there. Heh, you might not believe me, but I was a leader down there. I had a bunch of people who were just struggling to get along, and they needed someone to help them out. When I ambled into their neighborhood, I was just a young little girlie. Though I was smart, didn't I. Yeah, just a little girl, fallin' in love, trying to help the world. Yeah, just a little young girl. But, hey, we were all kids once, weren't we? You should know that. Hey, buy me another drink; I'm just getting to the exciting part.
"Ahhh, that hits the spot. Right, now, I was in this town. City of Angels, they called it. Dead angles. You ever hear of the Boneyard? No? Didn't think so. Well, that's were I was. And, I can tell you, the people I was with, we were oppressed. Ha. Oppressed. Just like the rest of the festering peoples of the Wastes. But, we all there thought we had it bad, with a roof over our head, and danger only when we went looking for it. Call that oppression to some of the people I've seen, and you'll get beat up for your jacket and however many stims you're carrying. Hell, they'll beat you up anyway, even if you're oppressed too and don't have any stims. Hey, did you notice my jacket? Nice, isn't it? Genuine leather.
"But, anyway, my little group was oppressed (so we said). And it ended up that they liked me, or I was real good at surviving, or something like that, and all these people made me their leader. The little girl that I was, I ended up screwing things up, and got us more oppressed. Heh, like it mattered. About a year after I got to be the leader of this pathetic bunch, some action-package came in with a big ol' gun and cleaned up out little corner of this sucky world. We moved into the town, got the run of the place. Never did find out who it was that cleaned out the rabble of that place. He did leave the reddish-colored stains for us to scrub up, though. But that doesn't matter much. We got our little city, and I got to come out on top. You see, these people trusted me to lead them. I did that. Course, it's a different matter to have lead them well. [Sigh] That's the problem with doing stuff. It's hard. Hard, hard, hard."
Razor stopped to drain her bottle. She was showing the classic signs of drunkenness. Slurring, not exactly balancing, a little bit talkative. Actually, a lot bit more talkative. Quite loose-lipped, in fact. Her loudness makes you begin to wonder if this was ever going to get over with cleanly. A drunkenly loud old woman raving about her past is not the best way to keep attention away from yourself. Just hunker down, and hope the people in here are used to her and won't look over.
"Yup. It's hard. So hard, you end up messing up, you know, just every once in a while. You've messed up, sometimes, right? Oh, of course you have. That's the joy of life. Messing up and getting beat down over it. Well, I can tell you, not many people in the god-forsaken wastes are ever interested in just a little forgiveness. Nope never. All I did was botch up one lousy trading deal. It was a sorta big one, but you know how it is! No biggie. But, like it or not, they kicked little Razor out. This other guy, though he could do better leading a town than a woman. Heh. I would've kicked his ass good, if the others didn't like him so much. But that's that, and I left. I'd bet their little town went down the drain in half a year. Not much chance they had without me, the little girl (I wasn't so little then, startin' to get older and much more [hic] mature). Yes, the little girl who could have saved them, but they kicked her out. Wanna know what I did next? Huh? Where did I go? Buy me another beer, will ya? All this talking, you know?
"Thanks, there. That's good, cools the throat, and burns the gut. Keeps you warm on a cold night. Girl's best friend, you know? But I was out of there, so fast, you know? Didn't wanna stick around, those rotting sons of whores deserve what they got, [hic] whatever they got. But me, no, I got out of there and went into the Wastes. Not much left down south, so I went up. Up, yeah, I like the sound of that. Up, to the north, where there's more happiness to go around. Load of crap. There ain't no happiness in these Wastes. Plenty of lyin', cheatin', killin', stealin', and more killin'. That's the way, right it is. And I knew how to survive. I knew the way. That's why I'm a Scav, see? See, I survived. Found a nice little place, plenty of stuff to scrounge up. Plenty of people who wouldn't risk their own necks to get it. I had plenty to do.
"Hell, I was even living the high life once. Everyone wanted someone who would risk it all. For a price, you see. [Hic] Simple math, wouldn't you say? But, once you get comfortable in, ah hell, anything, that's when things start going wrong. Jealousy. Competition. This tough old Scav might look weak, but in my day, I was something else. I can tell you, all the Collectors needed my services, all the other Scavs wanted to be me, and all the men wanted me. Joys of success, right? Make all your friends hate you; bask in the glory of being better then them? No. Hate is a powerful force. Hate is why I'm here now. You got that right. They forced me out, the other Scavs. [Sigh] I was a wanderer again. There wasn't much else for me but to go somewhere else. Did I mention I had a kid? Yeah, really, long time ago. Little boy. Kinda strange."
While this information pricks your ears, it still is nothing new to your Waste-hardened experience. Strange children? Yeah, seen that. A few quick glances around show a few people who might be quickly glancing away from you. You pull your collar up, and slump even further into the chair, hoping that no one has been informed of your face yet. You wish Razor wasn't so loud.
"Little kid, yeah. Called him Marky. Fine little guy. Made me happy, for a while. Cute, too, [hic] or did I say that already? Fine little guy, indeed. But, he sure did turn out strange. I gave him a knife when he was four. Had to. We lived in the Wastes, and we both could be robbed, or worse, any day. Thing was, the kid took a real liking to the dull little blade. Frankly strange, how much he treasured that knife. And I don't know when he ever practiced, never saw him, but we were attacked once by this crazed raider, and the boy carved him up. Barely knee-high, and he practically carved out the giant's heart. Heh, after that, I gave him my good blade. Not many people messed with him after I told 'em stories about his knack. Not many people talked to him anyway.
"He was a strange boy. So quiet, all the time. Sometimes, I, heh, forgot he was there. Always quiet. Had raven black hair. What's raven? Don't matter. Black hair. He had black hair. Really deep eyes. It's the eyes, those eyes, that scared me the most. Yeah, scared. A dark green. Weirdest colour. When I looked into those little boy eyes, I got scared. You would be too. There was purpose in those eyes. When he was getting as high as my waist, he starting talking about scary things. He would look people in the eyes, and tell them that he knew the Truth. No one knew what he was saying, and he never cared to explain, just went back into himself. People would tell me later that he scared them, and a lot of people didn't want to see me because of him. That scared me, more then a mysterious little boy could. When he started acting strange, that's when I had to be afraid. Snuck away every night. I could guess what he did, from rumors I heard in the morning.
"Did the strangest things. Broke into people's houses, and just stared at them sleeping for hours until they woke up. Never stole anything. Just played hide-and-go-seek in their houses. I even heard that he started giving sermons to people while they were trying to find him. Before people found out that he did what he did, they said that there were shadows talking to them. Never stayed anywhere long once that happened. Got attacked once, in the morning, by someone so angry an the kid. Got to say, he didn't get far. He was mad mad mad, and looked big enough to take out any Super Mutant with his fists, and he was aiming to take it out on me. The boy slipped out from behind a wall when the townsman was almost at me, and slit his throat clean. Never seen anyone so short kill someone so big so fast. We left that town before I could even finish a Scav deal.
Razor was quite sober now, her face long. This talk of this Marky of hers had brought up sad memories. The bar was clearing out now, and, and so far no one had said anything to you. Your barstool squeaked as you fidgeted. Hope beyond hope that this place stayed open late and cleared out totally soon. Course, Razor might be good company for a long night, as long as you kept her beer coming. You motioned for another, knowing alcohol will get her out of the sad funk. A lukewarm bottle is placed in front of her face, but she does not drink.
"I wasn't taking any chances after that. I knew that life just wouldn't work with someone like that. I didn't want to get rid of my own boy, but he wasn't a child anymore. He killed when he had to. He was a child of the Wastes, and a damn freaky one at that. I passed him off with some Tribal caravan way up north. I convinced them primitives that he was some sort of prophet. They believed me, and got them talking to him while I got ready. He seemed happy to tell them about his revelations, and they seemed awed to believe that he was some sort of messenger from whatever gods they believed in. He played the part well. Only he wasn't playing, and that's why I got out of there. I don't know what was wrong with that boy, or why he did what he did or acted how he acted. But that kid, I've thought about him so much. He was so little, but he had such purpose. I don't know why, but now, here, and now, I believe that he knew something. Might not have been anything much, but in the Wastes, there's not much to believe in. I believe in him. But I'll never see him again."
The alcohol had its final effect and Razor broke down in tears. Her head lowers to the bar and stays there, her body wracked with sobs. You know that this woman knows hardship, and you'd like to stay and comfort her. But, helping people is a great way to draw attention to yourself. You drop a stack of coins at the bar, and stand up. The old Scav is still crying silently. You truly hope that she finds her hope soon, or at least death soon enough. Cursing yourself for having to be so furtive, you steal out of the bar and into the night.
If you weren't so inebriated, you might of seen a dark shape slip into an alley. If you weren't so busy looking out for thugs on your trail, you might have seen a shadow tracking its own prey. If you had heroic perception, you might have had a chance of catching a glimpse of the mystery that had been haunting the Wasteland towns. You don't. No one does. He is the darkness that is not conquered by the light. He is the night that hides from all but who are shown the Truth.