There are many things in life we take for granted. Our names, our freedom. Our lives, our loves, and our pursuit of happiness. Hollow is another person in the Wasteland just trying to make it by in life. Aren't we all? But this man...he takes freedoms. He takes the choice of how to live, love, and pursue happiness away from people. Many people complain about life being unpreictable. Well, he's never had a life that was.
He's a slaver.
He can't remember much. Just the weight of a Mesmetron on his hip, a Sniper Rifle on his back, the feel of his armor on his flesh. He can't remember his own goddamned name. They gave him the name: "Hollow." He knows fewer things. Caps are currency, you need to eat and drink to survive, you need caps to buy food and water, and caps are hard to come by. So what is a man to do? The people at Paradise Falls accept him, no one else does. But a man can take only so much moral challenges. He starts to think. About what he's doing, the lives he's destroyed, the families he's broken apart. How in his dreams, they haunt him so vividly, he can still feel their hands groping his form when he wakes.
He's done with it.
He decides to say: "Fuck this" and tries to quit during an assighnment. Slavers are all good and well when you make caps for them, but they'll turn on a dime if you dissapoint them. And having their best worker try to quit is a very, very major dissapointment. So what can they do accept show their good man the error of his ways? Bloodied and battered, Hollow lies on the scaldingly hot sand, bleeding through cuts on his body from knives and bullets.
Watching as his chest heaves when his supposed last breath leaves him, the slavers walk off, laughing at who was once their idol. How did it come to this? I've done enough work! Will they let go of me? he thought, coughing blood. He made his decision: Even as his insides screamed so loudly in agony, he vowed that no matter how much they could push and pull him, he knew he would never, ever let them win.
He could scream to them that he would grind their bones into dust, rip out their hearts and dance to it's last beats, but there was really nothing left to say. So he didn't talk as much anymore. He would force a hate of the ones he had called friends, as it was his only trustworthy thing now. His vows were simple: Crush the Slavers, take vengeance, and most important of all:
To find out who he truly is. Not "Hollow," not what his victims had called him. His parents, his home.
And his own fucking name.
A/N
This is essentially a preview of a story my friend is writing. I made this for him, out of free will, just to see how people would react. So, review, and let me and him know how it sounds. He may use Al Sorenson(Forgiven?, Broken Hearts of Steel) as a cameo character or soemthing, he hasn't decided.