Each time I look at myself in any reflection, I feel a disconnect with the person looking back. Why did things turn out like this? How many people have I killed or gotten killed? Who have I become? It was like an abyss had swallowed me up and then spit out this stranger that I could barely recognize. He was older, wiser looking than who I couldn't remember being. I want to deny this stranger's existence but I can't. He's much stronger than me.

The man looking back… Is not who I am. Or is it? I shaved for the first time in two months, the thick brown kinked curls falling in chunks at my feet. The person looking back now, seems more familiar. His eyes are sad, his mouth doesn't smile, it never smiles when I look at him. I don't remember smiling too often. Did I ever smile? Did I ever have something to smile for, or about?

The scars that began to appear on my heart all those years ago, seem to be on my skin. I know they didn't surface from inside, but that's almost the way it feels. That my body has begun to show the pain I have felt inside, for the past twenty years, since I left the Vault.

Since he left.

My heart feels as dead, as these tired blue eyes look while they peer back at me. How long will they look this way? Will they find the light again or forever be dulled by the pain I can't seem to disconnect from? Holding onto it like some kind of masochist, praying for more heartache. To be a nicer person, to be the person who, so many years ago, was the one who looked back at me instead of this stranger.

This new life I've lived, was it really twenty or had it been more years? I found a new home, once again. Surrounded myself with people who didn't take shit from anyone. If you fell behind or didn't cut it, you might as well just put a barrel in your own mouth and prey you don't miss. I've seen it, the gruesome horror of seeing someone try to blow off their own head, only to survive in writhe in agony until someone took mercy and completed their fuck up. I was lucky to be a fast learner, it helped me survive the worst the wasteland had to give. Grew into the mean ass son-of-a bitch, I saw now.

I had people scared of me now, instead of me fearing everything like an abused puppy. Grew a reputation as the tough bastard that didn't say shit. Expected you to pull your weight and don't ask too many questions. But for as hard as I tried to be, I still wind up holding hands but I refused to wipe ass. If they didn't learn fast enough, take too long to adjust, I would leave them behind to sort their shit out or die in the process. Although, I've somehow built a wall with my teammates, the one where they show nothing but fear towards me but was able to gain their trust. I figured that if they can't keep up with me, I will have to pull their weight along with my own. I did just that and I became a hero to the new recruits.

I didn't want to be a hero to them. I didn't want their admiration. The way they look up to me. But the more I ignored them, the worse it got. Honestly, I was becoming weary of this. All of it. But I won't leave. That would leave me with nothing to do all over again. And, as bad as the Talon Company was, I don't want to go back to being alone. Perhaps what I want is to fill my life with people like him?

Bad tempers, bad demeanor's, bad attitudes. In a way, they all resemble him in some small way. I think I really am a masochist. I have to laugh at that thought. Could I be attracted to being hurt? Did being smacked around, somehow, make me feel good in some odd fucking way?

Perhaps. Pain didn't bother me like it did everyone else and it took a lot of something to make me hurt. I could take twenty lashes and figuratively ask for more, I worried about myself a lot.

Perhaps that is exactly what my problem is. I did come to find it satisfying to hurt people, just as much as I liked to be hurt. Maybe I am unleashing the hurt that I want so bad. That's ridiculous though, because those people I hurt end up dead.

~-,-~

Today is the same as every other, dull. I got pulled back to the compound. Jabsco is getting old. Stupid, he's not that old, they say he's got his eyes on me. He looks to make me his successor. I don't want that. I want to be out moving around, not here issuing bounties. Besides, I can't tell them what to do. What will I do, fling paper at them with written instructions?

That will be boring.

Maybe a bit amusing. I could see myself tossing wads of paper at people with bounty information on them.

This dog has bite, but no bark. And the others know it. I guess I am respected enough, that they don't bring attention to it and God help you if you were new and brought it up. I don't remember what happened to the last poor sob that got a good chuckle out of my silence. He made the mistake of taking my silence as passiveness, oh how wrong he was. The moment happened so fast I don't even remember what I had done, only the fact that when I regained focus he was face first in the dirt, my boot on the back of his neck, and he was begging me for forgiveness.

~-,-~

Before he disappeared from the face of the earth, the Talon Company began to dwindle in numbers. Because he annihilated everyone he came across. The bounty on his head got larger, with each four man squad he put down.

Once he vanished, the numbers began to rise. Then once word about me got around, the Fort flooded with newcomers. All looking to make good caps.

And the jobs were all good caps. But the chance to bring in a bounty is slim. Not much gets by, without Three Dog bellowing it out over the radio. So once our numbers got too high, the marks went underground. But they all make the mistake of thinking it is safe to come out. We got so large, there wasn't a corner of the D.C area we didn't have eyes on.

There isn't a moment, I don't have eyes on me either, I can feel the stares. Every glance, every set of eyes burning into me, all with their own motives. Only a few have the actual nerve to introduce themselves, I ignore them, then they discover who I am, from just the silence. One grabbed me and on reflex, I knocked him out cold.

Turns out he just wanted to shake my hand. 'Whoops'

I lost count of how many I beat out of my tent. Turns out, in a camp full of men, certain frustrations arise. I can't say I'm not like them. If I had to be honest with myself, I wasn't saving myself or anything like that, I just didn't need the distraction. I could take care of myself.

~-,-~

While in my head I didn't realize the advance. I don't usually reminisce anymore, and this is why. From what I can see in this slight darkness, he isn't all that bad looking. It's been so long since I have had contact with another person, that my body was getting what it wanted, without my mental participation. The look of him with my dick in his mouth, is actually exhilarating.

The slick recesses of his mouth. The warmth of his saliva, the way the air cools it as he retreats then bottoms back onto me. To have that, oh so delicious, feeling of warmth.

What am I doing?

Is this what I'm reduced to, a touch starved unwilling participant, taking a back seat to my body's desires? A fiend, that as long as I am being touched, I'm unable to react the way I should? The way I have trained myself to act?

I should push him away, as I have all the others. Only they never got this far and he has this look. I can't explain it, it's almost like a need. Am I someone they want to be near like this? I don't understand.

He's good, good enough I groan. Then I inhale a hiss, when he lets go, the warmth that I missed was being replaced when he begins to move up my body and sinks himself onto me. He was tight and I released another groan. His eyes are so full of lust, he looks drunk. Although I didn't smell liquor on his breath.

Tasting his mouth, as he kisses me, it's wet and cold from sharp inhales of the cold night air. His cheeks are warm and bright red. His ass, tight and contracting around me. He tries his hardest to keep his, steadily rising, moans to just us. I have to cover his mouth, he's far too loud.

He rides me, his chest heaving in deep breaths. How long can I last like this? I have to suppress it, the feeling to just cum. I have to do something, so I flip us over. I have never done this, but it feels so natural. So good. I turn him onto his knees, and he complies with my every move.

Holding his hips, my thrusts become harder, deeper. It feels amazing. He bites his knuckles, "Faster, oh God, faster" He whispers. I only go slightly faster. I don't need everyone in camp to be able to hear him and come to investigate. He leans up, pressing his back to my chest, it's hard to keep a pace like this but I somehow pull it off.

I can see right down his front, and he's jerking himself. His pace quickens, as do I and he finishes in his hand. At least he's somewhat considerate. I conclude, he's done this before. As he comes, he tightens around me pulling my own orgasm out, spilling deep inside him.

I felt like collapsing. I'm sure he did too because he pulls me to the mattress with him. We lay there for what feels like hours, the only sounds filling the tent now, is the sounds of our breathing. Then he turns to look at me. The grin on his face, satisfied.

Would he have been so adamant about invading my space had he known? I'm not ashamed of my inexperience, I guess I'm good at lying about everything. Easy to do, when you don't talk and let people assume things.

How pissed off will the others, those that have tried before, be if they found this out. And I don't even know his name. After all the advances I forcefully and, at times, violently denied, one finally got me. Something about him seemed familiar, yet I can't figure it out. Perhaps if I see him in the light.

Unfortunately I don't get the chance. Once we clean up, he pulls his pants up and leaves. I feel disappointed, until he comes back and kisses me once again. I'm caught off guard and rather stunned.

He begins to leave once more, that satisfied smile on his face. Only he stops, looks at me for a moment. "Thanks." Is all he says before leaving, this time not coming back. I sit there staring at the door in disbelief, then I begin to laugh. I was just used, for the first time in my life, I was used and I didn't care.

Now I realize why he seemed so familiar to me. He, in a way, is exactly like me. Exactly like everyone else. We want something, someone. We want that touch of warmth, if even for only seconds. To have something that no one else can, and hide it like a dirty little secret. Perhaps I shouldn't push them away anymore. Maybe I should let them have me, one at a time. Piece by piece. We would both get something out of it, even if it was only once. And it would mean nothing. No one would have to worry about a broken heart.

But I know, deep down, I can't allow that. That would be ridiculous. I need to keep every piece I have left.

~-,-~

The next morning, I feel those eyes on me again. Only this time it feels like they know something. I cringe internally, shit, so we were heard last night after all. I have to note not to do that again.

"GARY!" I didn't even have to look to know who the voice belongs to, a fuckwit named Frank. He has been here as long as I have, and I don't know if I could call him a close friend. But a friend of sorts. His smirk is annoying and juvenile, I know that he knows. "Hey buddy…" He's staring at me, waiting for a reaction I'm guessing.

I stare at him, as I always do.

"So the camp is in a buzz. Wanna try explaining?" He's still smiling at me.

I roll my eyes and shake my head. Then frown, when he places a firm but playful punch on my shoulder.

"You dog." He laughs. Strange enough, he's the only person who has always known what I'm thinking. "So it's true!" He is too excited about this. "I guess ol' silent but deadly, is human after all!"

I rear back to hit him but he cowers, holding his hands up in surrender, laughing at his own joke.

I have to admit it is kinda funny. Although, rude. I do let out a small chuckle.

"Soooo, who was it?" He asks, so nosy.

I shrug, I wasn't lying. I don't know who it was.

"Hmmm, I guess that would have been expected. He would get murdered by your fans if everyone knew." He follows me when I start walking again.

Fans? I know there are those who look up to me, but to have fans? I don't think they would be like that, if they knew me from the past. Hell those I started with had a pool going, to bet on how long I would live. I knew about it. I didn't particularly care. Frank won, having the longest bet, that I would survive and make it to three weeks. Asshole.

I guess because I won him money, he feels he needs to be friendly with me. Fucking ridiculous.

Today, I go through the motions I have since I became a squad leader. I report to Jabsco, get whatever bounty he hands me. Usually the dangerous ones, and I leave, until I fill said bounty. We still go after the goody goody ones but without Blake the settlements have gotten desperate for the removal of all these overgrowing raider gangs. I never know who will be joining me, until I leave the tunnels.

This time I got stuck with rookies. I don't make it a point to be horrible to them, we have to work together. There isn't any point in being hostile to each other. Plus everyone starts somewhere, the same as I did. We all go through that nervous stage, even those who come in with some combat experience.

No one knows what we will encounter out in the wastes. Hell, a deathclaw got into the Fort once before anyone noticed or was awake enough to know it. That was a bad day, It managed to kill twenty of us. It was a slaughter.

Our target, a raider. Usually always a fucking raider anymore. At least they are easy targets. To fucking stupid to hide, or to damn strung out to care. Either way, It makes my job easier. My only complaint about raiders, they are hostile. I've lost more newbies to them than I have mutants. They are wild, like dogs. Loyal to each other, at least to a point. They roam or hole up in packs. And they always, always bite hard. Literally and metaphorically. I have a scar on my shoulder from a crazy raider bitch. Stung for a week.

At least the most known raiders sit in one place. Only the truly wild ones roam around.

So to get this 'Boxcar'... Boxcar? What the hell is wrong with them? Have they never heard of a real name? What the hell is wrong with a name like John or hell, even Gary? It's always something retarded like this.

I actually groan and slap my palm to my face. The three with me look at me in concern until I hand them the bounty.

I could hear the laughter slowly starting behind me. "What's next? Lug nut?" One mentioned.

The other laughed at that "Oh, what about Butter knife?" He adds. I just roll my eyes and move on. I guess, in the long run, It doesn't matter what they call themselves. If they become too much of a nuisance, we would be ordered to exterminate them and their little pack. And this Boxcar currently has a one thousand five hundred cap bounty on him.

We only get paid a percentage of the payment, But it's still enough to save up. We only have to spend caps on any excess ammo we need. I was always broke when I started, having to get extra ammo. Plus paying the more experienced ones to fix my gun, until I figured it out.

I pause in my tracks, my companions running into me. They look around on alert. I don't see anything, but something feels wrong. As the thought crosses my mind, the head of the man on my left explodes. One of them freaked, trying to run away, he didn't make it far.