A.N. - I know it's been a while, and I haven't kept up on my promises for his story and my others. I don't have an excuse for it, but I do have reasons. Back when I first started writing this story, I was heavily addicted to painkillers. It started with a surgery gone bad back when I was 15 in '07, and it was only until recently that I fully stopped taking any pain medications. Let me tell ya, dealing with the withdrawals was a fucking nightmare. Reading back on this now, it's clear by my spelling and grammar that I was high off my ass. The addiction, coupled with bouts of depression and laziness, lead to me all but letting my stories die. I've since gotten my life back on track, my job has given me plenty of free time to write, and the lack of motivation caused by the constant need to be high has kickstarted my idea for writing again. That being said, my job gets unexpectedly hectic and also incredibly boring. I will try to get updates out regularly, but at a minimum expect one a month.

You'll also notice I changed up some of the equipment for James. Since the first draft, I've learned exponentially more about firearms so my favorites have changed, and James' loadout reflects that. I will try to keep the weapons as a mix between mainstream firearms and Fallout style guns. But sometimes I may just want to shoot a legionnaire with a .375 Cheytac.

Anyways, here's the new and (hopefully) improved Law of the Wasteland.

Chapter One

The first thing I felt when I opened my eyes was a knot of pain above my left eye. Pulling myself from the depths of unconsciousness, I reached up to see what the hell was wrong with my skull.

"I wouldn't do that just yet if I were you," a voice from my left said. Sounded like an older man, but not ancient. Don't see many of them around the wasteland.

"What happened to me?" I asked, looking over to the old man sitting next to the bed I was in. I began taking in the room, scanning for threats and exits. It looked like a clinic, but the building itself was a home. The old man must have paid a lot of caps to get this kind of medical equipment out here.

The old man spoke up, "You got shot in the head. I'm Doc Mitchell, and you're in Goodsprings. The metal fella, Victor, brought you in half dead a few days ago. Handed me a bag of caps the size of my head and told me to keep you alive. It was touch and go for a while, but I've never seen someone recover as quickly as you have. The hole in your skull started healing almost as soon as I pulled all the lead out. Didn't have to do much else myself, just gave you a stimpak to help you along."

I shifted nervously for a split second in bed. "Yeah I've always been a quick healer. No idea why," I lied. But the Doc caught it.

"Uh-huh," said Mitchell, "Son, I grew up in one of them Vaults they built before the war, and I've been a doctor for longer than you've been alive. I know all about those fancy cybernetics they have for emergencies. I've just never seen any as advanced as yours."

"Yeah well they're only there because I got between a girl and a shotgun blast. Nearly tore my spine in half. Damaged my left arm pretty good too. All told, they had to reinforce part of my spine and replace my left arm with a prosthetic. They threw in the healing unit to keep everything working smoothly. Believe it or not, that was five weeks ago. Still getting used to having an arm that can bend a rifle barrel, but it comes in handy."

The doc just stared at me, mouth open, wide eyed and disbelieving. "Where the hell did you get the money to pay for that, and where did they have medicine that advanced?"

"Oregon, and they considered it an experiment. See how much they could repair. Can't say it was an experience I'd like to repeat. I wasn't conscious for most of it, but when I was..." I trailed off looking at the floor, shivering from the memories of the pain in my head.

Mitchell sighed, and then got up to help me out of bed. "Well I'm not surprised you survived a shot to the head. Seems like you'll be out of here just as soon as I make sure your brain didn't get too scrambled from the bullet."

"Sure thing, Doc. Did the robot bring anything else in with me?"

He pointed to the foot of the bed, before excusing himself into the next room. I gathered my things and moved them to the bed. I smiled as I realized all my things were here, and then frowned when I didn't see the package I was supposed to deliver to New Vegas. As I dressed myself, I tried to recall the events that had led to me getting shot in the head. The last thing I remember was parking my pickup in front of the general store for fuel and food, before climbing the small hill behind the saloon. Everything went blank after that.

As I finished dressing, I looked at myself in the mirror. Lightweight leather chest piece, the dark green reinforced leather duster from my Ranger armor, dark green trousers with composite leg plates, and my old boots. My father's pistol, a Sig Sauer P320 hung in the hostler strapped to my thigh, and his combat knife was sheathed handle down for a quick draw from its place on my chest. Apart from that, I knew my father's rifle was in the back of the truck. It was all I had left of my entire family, my entire life back west. As I stared at myself in the mirror, my mind flashed back to that day...

"WAKE UP! I'm not going to tell you again!"

My dad's voice broke through my dreams, pulling me awake. I looked up to him crossing his arms above me.

"Hurry up and get dressed, you'll have to drive yourself to school. I have too much work to do to take you. Probably slept in on purpose just so you could," he smiled at me. "You are my son after all."

I sat up in bed and laughed, "Alright Dad. Need me to help with anything before I go?"

"No, you're gonna be late if you don't hurry up," he shook his head as he headed downstairs. He stopped and turned to me again, "James, tell her when you see her. This wasteland is a shit hole and love is the best way to bear it. Be confident, she likes you enough if she's friends with you, and has been for a while. Just show her you want to be more."

I smiled nervously, "I'll try, Dad. I just hope I don't screw up anything."

"You got the looks, you got the brains, and you're tough as nails. Just tell her." He turned and went downstairs, leaving me to wash up.

Five minutes later I came downstairs to leave. As I stepped onto the porch, my dad closed the hood of the old pickup he had repaired and got running years before I was born.

"She's all set, son," he said as he tossed me the keys. As I opened the door and got inside, he handed me something else.

"Why are you giving me your Sig?" I asked confused.

"Son, you're 16 now. You're old enough and smart enough to carry this without me worrying. And I figured it would make a good family heirloom, something to pass on. Now get going, you're late."

"Thanks, old man," I laughed as I started the truck up and headed for town.

The rest of the morning was pretty average. Even though I promised my father I'd tell her about my feelings, when Kara gave me a good morning hug, I just hugged her back. Coward. A few hours later, when everyone went outside for lunch, Kara sat with me and we talked about nothing until someone called my name.

"James! Isn't that by your house?" They pointed towards the south.

I glanced up and when I saw the thick column of smoke, my blood froze. I jumped up and sprinted for the truck - and my dad's gun - ignoring the shouts from Kara and the rest of my friends. My heart was growing colder as I started the truck up and floored the gas, tires spinning before catching the dirt, and I accelerated out into the desert towards home.

As I drew closer to home, I saw other dust clouds being thrown into the air in the rear view mirror. That was probably the sheriff. He was still a few minutes behind me, so I had to take care of whatever was going on myself, or help my dad. I refused to think the worst, even as I slammed on the brakes in front of the house, putting the pickup and me between the house, and heard gunshots. As I grabbed my father's pistol and began to step out of the truck, a body went through the side window. It wasn't my father so I ignored it.

Then even before I could circle around the vehicle, my father came rushing out, firing behind him as he took cover behind the truck, gesturing for me to do the same. That's when bullets tore through the back windows and doors. My father was bleeding from a few cuts near his shoulder and cheek, but seemed fine.

"James what the hell are you doing here?" my father asked, rage and concern in his voice.

"I saw the smoke and came as fast as I could. What's going on?"

"James, listen to me. No speaking, just listen. They tried to ambush me. I got the jump on them from the back, and I got most of them. There are about six of them left, and I can't do this myself." He glanced back towards the town. "Where's the sheriff?

"He was barely leaving just as I got here, no way he'll make it in time. What are we going to do?"

My father took a deep breath and said, "I never wanted this life for you, son. The killing, the running, but it seems like my old life has caught up to me… and I'm gonna need your help," he said as he reached in his shirt and yanked off his necklace, handing it to me. A key dangled from it. "This is the key to the strongbox in the bed of the truck. I'll get their heads down while you get to it and my rifle. When you do, I want you to bring it, and all the magazines for it, to me."

Before I could protest, he held up a hand, "Son, you're 16 years old, you're too young to be killing someone. Just get me that gun."

I nodded and he popped up from behind the hood and unloaded his pistol, not aiming, just suppressing, giving me the chance to pop open the door I was crouched next to, giving me protection as I attempted to get the rifle. In my panic, I fumbled the key before it slid in place and I twisted it. As quickly as I could, I removed the black assault rifle and extra mags. That's when I heard him yell in pain. Spinning around, I saw my father collapse in a heap, a bullet hole right where his heart was.

Furious with anger and grief, I loaded the rifle and, taking a deep breath, popped up from cover and took aim. The first thing I saw was a raider's face, and instinctively pulled the trigger. Then I swept left, taking out three more, just spraying bullets out on full auto. I ducked again when two rounds struck near me and one went through my shoulder. Then I popped back up and finished the final two with a burst of rifle fire through the torso and face.

Dropping the rifle, I rushed to my father's side. His eyes were open, and he was still breathing. He was moving his mouth and I leaned closer to hear him.

"James, you did good. I raised you proud. I wished with all my heart that you would never have to take a life like that, but the wasteland had other plans for you. I'm sorry I won't be there to see you grow, I'm sorry I won't be there to see your first child, and I'm sorry I couldn't save your mom and sister."

"No dad, no. It's not your fault, you're gonna be fine. The sheriff will be here in a few minutes and they can fix you up. You can still..."

He held up a hand to silence me. "You know as well as I do that's not true. Son, I need you to be strong for me ok. I need you to always remember everything I taught you. I need you to live your life as a good person, someone who protects, and keeps things like this from happening again. Now go, whoever sent these guys knows I have a family, and wants revenge. GO! Live, and make the son of a bitch pay. Everything that was mine is now yours.' As he spoke, he was getting quieter and quieter. As I held him in my arms one last time, he whispered, "I love you."

I pulled myself from his arms as I felt him leave. I slowly stood, fighting back the tears, barely registering his blood smeared on my shirt. His pistol hung limply in my hand as I slowly retrieved his rifle. Part of me noticed the sheriff's car pulling up, and I just glanced up as he jumped out, along with the mayor, and Kara. That's when I heard a groan coming from my right. I looked over and saw one of the raiders struggling to sit up. Before anyone could do anything, I raised my father's pistol and emptied the gun into the raider's chest. When I glanced up, I saw Kara's face first. I could see everything in her eyes, her sorrow for what just happened, her need to hold me, and the feelings she had for me.

It broke me. Now I knew she felt for me the same way I had for her, and I had to leave. The tears began falling down my face, but I remained silent. She stepped forward to comfort me, but I just shook my head. Without meeting the eyes of anyone else, I walked to the truck, aimed it east, and drove. In the rear view, I saw my entire life, and possibly my future, disappear. I cried for the rest of the day...

"You alright, son?"

Doc Mitchell's voice brought me back to the present. I saw a few tears rolling down my face in the mirror, but there was no anguish or sorrow on my face. I wiped my face and turned to the man.

"I'm fine, just thinking about something I haven't in a while. Now you said something about questions? To make sure I'm not bat shit insane?"

The old man chuckled, "Something like that. Have a seat on my couch and we'll have you outta here in no time."

"Sounds good," I smiled as I followed him into the other room. As I answered his questions, I thought about the past, and everything that had happened since then, and I decided my father was right. He raised me well.