The first time Eros was blinded by the aggressive Wasteland sun, he was bloodied and tired. As the fractured wooden door swung open, he fell to his knees, eyelids tightly embracing his burning eyes. Eros fell back to sit against the door as it slammed shut, gripping his knee tightly. Goddammit.
Paul's dad shot him in the knee. Thankfully, due to the chaos, he hadn't hit it very well. Eros brought a scalpel from his father's office - old office - and cut into the leg of his jumpsuit. He sliced around the fabric and tore it gingerly from his leg. Gaping at him, the wound seemed a gnarly grin in his flesh, just outside the range of his MCL. It had exited, thankfully; however, the effect of the cavitation was too painful to ignore. Tearing the fabric again, he wrapped a tourniquet tightly around his knee and grimaced as he stood.
Limping forward, Eros dragged his right leg, to stand before a path leading to a decrepit street. Air moved independent of a vent and something not unlike a mixture of hard dandruff and chili powder was swept from the ground and into his eyes. Squinting, he stared off into the distance. Never had his sight been tested this way. Far off, farther than he'd ever seen, the sweetly blue sky touched down to caress the Wasteland - at least that's what he'd heard it called - and, interrupting their touching, were two shapes near each other, irreverently jutting into the sky. One was a long, pointed finger, boney and rotting, like a digit of Old Lady Palmer; the other, short and stubby, resembled a lazily layered birthday cake.
Sharp, jagged rocks littered the land, coupled with black vertical lines, which branched out like desperate arms outstretched to embrace an empty sky. Between them, giants of steel stood erect, unphased by the area around them.
Despite the toothy stalagmites of the wastes, he noticed something unlike the surrounding area. Just to the southeast was something made entirely of rusted, dirty metal, erratically formed as though to indicate a magnet had brought the pieces together as a giant patchwork of razor blade edges. Despite all of the new scenes, including a dry brown plant beside a sign, Eros was disappointed in this new world. Just like home, everything was grey.
Stumbling down the hard, grainy hill, he came to the cracking street, reminiscent of Christine Kendall's secret excema - blotchy and deeply scarred. Scattered along the street were toppled, wirey mobile baskets and a variety of automobile skeletons. As he neared a small pond a few yards to the south, Eros felt the light tickle and overall sickness he'd learned to relate to radiation.
Past the street, he trudged between the rocks and wrought iron bones of the former world, toward the metallic monstrosity in the distance. He was forced to continually halt his progress in order to retrace his steps and choose a new path due to the sudden drops in the land. Had he been in better shape, he may have leapt from these heights with ease.
As he came closer to the great walls, he found birds floating listlessly above, vultures at a buffet of a dying world. Small bulbs of light hung from black wires and decorated the edges of the Frankenstein structure. Closer, still, he found life. Two men, one clad in a suit embellished in grime, the other in the tanned hide of beasts, stood beside a grotesque, heaving thing layered in roped bundles. A beast of burden, this wretch appeared to be cloven-hooved and two-headed. Eros tried to side-step the group in discomfort, but found himself an audience to the suited man.
"Hello! Welcome weary traveler! You look like a traveler in need of comfort. I'm Doc Hoff, my good friend, and I have the comfort you're looking for."
"I don't need anything, thank you." Eros attempted to limp on, ignoring the pushy stare of the man.
"Come now, my friend, you're limping and obviously in pain. I have the cure for that!"
Eros had heard stories of salesmen in his classes back home. Crafty and trained in the beautiful art of manipulation, they feigned succor in order to make their living. Succor the sucker. However, despite the man's obvious advances towards Eros's minor wealth, Eros relented. If it would get him somewhere quicker, he had to give in. "You've got medicine?"
"Medicine to fix you up and chems to keep you happy till they do!" Doc Hoff came to Eros in quick, long strides, and produced both a stimpak and an dubious syringe filled with unidentifiable red liquid.
"What is that?"
"If you have to ask, friend, it's just what you need! Just 65 caps for the two of them."
"What the fuck are caps?" His question provoked a light laugh from Doc Hoff and the other, leather-bound man attending to the beastly slave.
"Perhaps you've already had too much Med-X, my boy!" He slapped Eros on the back, making him stumble agonizingly. "Well have you got anything to trade? That will work just as well."
Eros straightened, pulling his bag to his side. Searching through the mess of batons, ammunition, and clothing, he pulled out his Vault currency - thick, green bills adorned in the portraits of the unsmiling ancients. "Will this work?"
Doc Hoff seemed disappointed, pulling one side of his mouth up in thought. "How about those beating sticks you've got there? A few of those would work. And I'll even throw in some caps for the remainder. How much do you want for them?"
Quickly calculating his potential earnings, Eros mumbled, "Maybe four for 80."
"You've got yourself a deal, my good friend! Let's get you fixed up, eh?" The 'doctor' slapped his hand into Eros's, jerking it wildly.
"Oh, my man - I feel like I've made it with a dozen dames."
The ragged man beside Eros laughed faintly. "Oh, I wouldn't know about that. You've got to be careful with that stuff. Where did you find that getup?"
"I'm from the Vault," Eros pointed weakly in the distance, "right over there."
Lying back on his elbows, an empty syringe on the ground, Eros smiled lightly, sweet numbness in his legs and the feeling of crashing waves in his head. Beside him, the man, Micky, had watched as Eros injected the medicine into his inner elbow and sat back in a lovely delirium. "I'm sorry to ask, but can you please help me?"
"What's up, my man?" Eros, half-lidded eyes and sluggish lips, stared, squinting, into the cloudless sky.
"Do you have any water? Please, I'm so thirsty. I can't take anymore of this radiated shit. Please."
"You know what, Micky?" Eros sat up too quickly and his eyes rolled to the side. "I'll help you because you can help me. Here," he reached into his bag again, fingering its depths for the plastic bottle he'd snatched in the diner, "this is from the Vault. Now," Micky tore the cap from the bottle and greedily gorged himself, "what is this thing?" Eros motioned to the metal walls behind them.
"This is Megaton," Micky spluttered between gulps. "It's just as bad in there, but there's more people."
"How are you supposed to get in?" As the bottle emptied, Micky's broken lips briefly hosted a smile.
"Thank you for that. Really, thank you. If you approach the wall just under than turbine, the man guarding the gate will open it for you."
Eros rose, tipping his head to the man. "Thanks again, Micky. I think I should find some more of that Med-x shit. If I find some more water, I'll throw it your way."
"Thank you, Eros. Thank you so much."
Thank you for reading.
Following chapters will consist largely of flashbacks. Deal!
Chapters will hopefully become regular. Reviews are pleaded for and faving is adored.