Introductory Author's Note: I'm somewhat satisfying with the introduction I made. I may revise it in the future, and I'll make a note of it when I'm going to revamp the story, if I ever do. I'm going to go on with this for about ten chapters, and by then, I'll know whether or not to revise. For now, it would be helpful to review and let me know if what I'm doing is pretty good, or if I have something I need to improve. Feedback of any kind would be appreciated.

Disclaimer: The Fallout franchise belongs to Bethesda Game Studios.

Chapter 3:
Wounded Wastes

"I'm telling you, this is a horrible idea." Argyle chimed, wearily following Dashwood's footsteps across the expansive Wasteland. There wasn't anything too out-of-the-ordinary about two wanderers traveling from point A to point B, but they were headed west, towards the looming Tenpenny Tower. It stood as a majestic beacon in the distance, a pinnacle of human engineering and tasteful architecture. Under Dashwood's directions, Argyle found himself following him back "home", where the sophisticated folk took residence.

"Nonsense, my dear Argyle." Dashwood spoke, waving a hand around as if elegantly dismissing Argyle's worries. "Once we gather sufficient supplies, we should set out, and find adventure out in the Wasteland."

"You didn't think about gathering supplies before you took out for adventure?" Argyle groaned, recalling the Raider incidents back at The Overlook Drive-In, and at the Cliffside Cavern.

"I wasn't planning to permanently leave just yet." Dashwood explained, turning around to face Argyle, however hard it was to examine his deteriorated face. "I was merely scoping out the environment around my home, getting a taste of what it's like to actually be out there."

Argyle thought to himself about the entire situation. From what he pieced together, Dashwood was a spontaneous fellow, who seemed to think his actions were heroic even if they were chaotic. Dashwood burst into the scene, leading Raiders right to Argyle, and then claiming to save him from them, despite being in grave danger himself. What kind of noble adventurer did that? He did seem to lack expertise entirely.

"So you weren't kidding me?" Argyle asked, lifting his head and looking up at Dashwood, whose back was faced to him. "You've literally never been outside in the Wasteland before?"

"I've never been outside, no." Dashwood admitted. "I also wasn't kidding when I said that I've watched the Wasteland my whole life from above. From there." Dashwood pointed specifically to a particular window on Tenpenny Tower. He seemed to be nostalgic, because his expression and entire demeanor changed. Vivid memories seemed to be playing in the back of his mind, especially by his stance and slowed pace.

"So why did you travel yesterday night in particular?" Argyle asked, folding his arms. "Was it because of the holiday?"

"Precisely!" Dashwood explained. "Normally it's too dark to travel at night, but the bombs were capable of illuminating my path."

"Since it's too dark to see, why didn't you travel during the day anyway?" Argyle asked.

"From my observations, I know for a fact that it's too dangerous to travel in daylight." Dashwood said with a thoughtful gesture. "Too much marauding, pillaging, and robbing occurs where there are witnesses. At night, the darkness forbids crime to take place."

Argyle stared blankly. "Perhaps that's only true of Tenpenny, because I've witnessed plenty of this marauding, pillaging, and robbing at night."

Dashwood fell silent after that. He seemed to be thinking deeply. Perhaps he rationed how irresponsible it was to dart out into the Wasteland at any given time. Maybe he was thinking about his family, that is, if he had any. Maybe he had no regard for life, which seemed to be the case, because his rash actions were detrimental to living. This illogical puzzle didn't seem to be making sense, especially not to Argyle. As opposed to Dashwood, who seemed to long for the troubles that adventure brought, Argyle sought a peaceful and permanent place of belonging - one he probably would never find. The remainder of their trek to Tenpenny Tower was speechless, with Dashwood slowly leading the way, and Argyle following behind him.

Suddenly, Argyle turned in a particular direction, and spoke in a loud whisper. "Get down!" He pushed Dashwood to the floor, causing him to fall awkwardly on his face and arms. However, before Dashwood could retaliate, he saw that Argyle's eyes were locked on to a threatening figure. It was a Radscorpion, stalking them in the shades of the burned sagebrush. Only its stinger was seen hovering above the vegetation. It had been clicking its claws in anticipation, with multiple eyes observing them, and its eight legs scrambling loudly on the ground.

Argyle bolted towards the Radscorpion, and the second it noticed the movement, it aggressively struck out with its stinger. It completely missed, due to Argyle's rapid dodging skills. Suddenly, with one swoop of an arm, the stinger flew several yards away. The Radscorpion collapsed, dying from blood loss. As an act of mercy, Argyle bashed its thorax in to spare it the pain of bleeding out. "There." Argyle said quietly.

"That poor creature!" Dashwood exclaimed. "Did you have to kill it?" This strange man seemed to be torn as to whether or not he valued life. To Argyle, it seemed that he thoughtlessly threw away his own life, but desperately valued the lives of others. This abnormal altruistic behavior would get him killed instantly, had he been entirely alone in the Wasteland.

Argyle sighed and pointed to the stinger in the distance. "See that pouch? Had that thing poked you, you would've been turning purple from toxic shock." Argyle described gruesomely, just to induce a deep-rooted phobia into Dashwood, so that he would cautiously deal with these over-sized arthropods. "Its sting is very painful, and it doesn't leave you alone, it hunts you. After enough venom is in your blood, you'll asphyxiate and die after an instant blood infection."

Dashwood was cringing from the vivid explanation. "Dear God, you make it sound as if you've witnessed it."

"I have." Argyle said plainly, although he had an apathetic expression as he spoke, probably to conceal the true emotional trauma that he experienced from witnessing that incident. "Now please tell me, Dashwood, do you value the creature's life or your own more?"

"That's Daring Dashwood." He reminded - Herbert alone or Dashwood alone wouldn't do, his name had to be Daring. "Obviously I value my life, but I just feel so bad to take another's life..."

Argyle threw his arms up in frustration. "Wake up! This is the Wasteland. The WASTE-land! It's kill or be killed out here!"

"I would rather sacrifice myself than to take another life anyway." Dashwood said softly. Argyle was finally starting to figure it out. Dashwood was naive - he never had to face a threatening life-or-death situation, where any mistake would've meant meeting his end. He never experienced significant loss, if any loss at all, up in that lofty tower. He never had to make any major decision that would affect the course of his future after that certain point. His life was static, void, and pointless - hence why he craved the adventure and the dynamic yet tragic flow of the wastes. Pity wallowed in Argyle's heart, the more he started to understand how truly clueless and innocent Dashwood was.

"You wouldn't survive for a day out here." Argyle said cold-heartedly.

"I know." Dashwood admitted, slowly getting up to his knees, as he was still lying on the floor after Argyle had pushed him. "Had you not been here, I would've died from the first Raider attack."

Argyle twinged - was he really this man's savior? Speaking of which, Argyle recalled Dashwood taking multiple hits from the Raiders. Although he injected a Stimpak, the actual flesh wounds would take some time to heal, even if healing already occurred at the molecular level. "Can I see your wounds?" Argyle asked.

"They're fine." Dashwood blew it off. "It's no big deal."

"The blood on your shirt hasn't dried." Argyle noted. "Therefore, they're not fine."

"I hadn't even noticed." Dashwood commented. "These Stimpaks are so powerful, it's hard to remember the bleeding."

"Yeah, I know." Argyle rolled his eyes, as he was fairly experienced with the medical technology in the wastes, and how the chems were often strong enough to give the impression of well-being, even if the body was still actively dying. "Let me see them. I can help you."

"Fine, just be hasty!" Dashwood insisted, lifting up his shirt. He regretted looking down. The stab wounds were thoroughly infected, with pus forming at the edges, and fresh blood still leaking out the pores. Dashwood gagged and abruptly looked away. "Dear God, why do they look like that?"

"Let's see. You were stabbed in the chest and abdomen by a deranged psychopath with a dull rusted knife. I wonder why they look like this?" Argyle's sarcasm came back into play.

"Please help me." Dashwood pleaded.

"I already said I was going to." Argyle grumbled. "Sorry that my hands aren't the cleanest." Argyle held out his skeletal hands, where flesh barely clung on, and delicate white tendons were exposed to the air. Dashwood kept cringing, to the point he couldn't keep his eyes open for the duration of whatever Argyle was going to do to him. Dashwood felt a light nudge in the middle of his chest, at the sternum, and without the visual, he felt as if an itch was being scratched. What he didn't know was that Argyle was gently picking off the infected pus, with such meticulous care that no pain was sensed.

Argyle seemed to be very handy with medical supplies. He pulled a few cotton balls out, and used them to remove as much blood and pus as possible from the wound site. Argyle counted twelve stab wounds total, but thankfully, they were rather small slits. If the infection was gone, they would heal up in no time at all. "Okay, sir, please don't be too concerned with what I'm about to do next." Argyle warned. "It may feel strange, but I assure you, it's for your well-being."

Dashwood was thoroughly warned, but he still didn't prepare for what he felt next. A wet, slimy coating was being applied over the cleaned stab wounds. The surface of the object was rather soft, yet firm. "What is that?" Dashwood panicked. He opened one eye and caught a glimpse of Argyle's head leaning far too close for comfort. "Are you licking!?"

"I told you to not be concerned." Argyle repeated, wiping his mouth. "If you know a thing or two about medicine, you'd know that saliva is a coagulating agent. In simpleton terms, it clots blood. In even more simple terms, it heals wounds. Haven't you ever seen an animal lick their wounds?"

"I-I have!" Dashwood gulped nervously. "But that's an animal behavior! Humans don't - Oh God, I don't know about Ghouls. I didn't think they..."

"Shut up." Argyle's eyes narrowed. "This isn't a Ghoul thing. It's a logical thing. You don't have to worry, I'm not feral, and my spit isn't radioactive, believe it or not." He folded his arms. He was quite offended at Dashwood's constant implications, that because he was a Ghoul, somehow he was totally different than a human being.

"I'm sorry." Dashwood apologized. "I don't know that much about Ghouls, but I must admit, my wounds feel much better. Thank you."

Argyle lowered his gaze, and pulled Dashwood's shirt back over to cover the wound sites. "You're welcome."

Author's Note: A rather gruesome chapter, but gore tends to arrive in a Fallout package. I wanted to contrast Dashwood's personality with Argyle's, and show how they're polar opposites of each other, especially at first. Dashwood is naive, inexperienced, and longing for the adventurous life he never had. Argyle is mature, self-sufficient, and eager to settle down after a rough life in the Wasteland. However, Dashwood does incite that youthful feeling that Argyle lost a century ago. Also, the more medical knowledge you know, the better. Thanks for the read!