Introductory Author's Note: This is in a continuous episodic fashion. I'm planning to make it much more scripted once the actual adventures start happening. Midway through this chapter, the episodic layout will start to be maintained. However, I will be shaking it up, so that the format doesn't become repetitive and predictable. That way, readers can always find something new to look forward to. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: The Fallout franchise belongs to Bethesda Game Studios.

Chapter 4:
Tenpenny Trial

"I feel brand-new again!" Dashwood said, stretching out his back. "It's as if the wounds aren't there at all!"

"Yeah, that would be the married couple of the Stimpak and my meticulous wound care." Argyle got up, brushing the sand off his dusty ripped jeans.

The desolate landscape ahead of them didn't stretch too far before being blotted out by the magnificent Tenpenny Tower. Like a beacon in the void, it was magnificent, and it reflected in the tainted sunlight as if it was shining. Dashwood had a strong sense of pride regarding his home. He held his chest high, and his confidence seemed to peak the closer they got to it. Argyle had the opposite reaction. For reasons he didn't understand, he grew increasingly wary and uneasy. Something felt off - he was experiencing the same vibes that he would get before an ambush.

"You sure this place is safe?" Argyle asked precariously.

"Are you joking?" Dashwood beamed, turning to face Argyle to further exhibit his unabated conviction. "Tenpenny Tower is the most safe, secure, and beautiful place in the Wasteland. It's been here since before the War, and it will be here for generations to come. It's also the happiest place of all."

"How many people even live there?" Argyle rose an eyebrow.

"Plenty!" Dashwood replied. "As much as the Tower can hold."

"Once again." Argyle breathed somewhat impatiently. "How many?"

"Oh, I don't know for certain..." Dashwood seemed nervous. "I would estimate about thirty."

Argyle silently contemplated that small number. "Do you see how large that Tower is?"

"Obviously, I have eyes, dear Argyle." Dashwood laughed. "What of it?"

"How many people could actually live there, considering all the floors?" Argyle pressed, his eyes hardened with caution.

"Frankly, I don't know." Dashwood answered. "Why are you putting so much thought into an insignificant detail?"

"Hey, I've been living in the Wasteland a long time." Argyle retaliated. "It's the subtle details that drop the biggest clues. If that Tower has twenty plus floors, and plenty of rooms to go around, why are so few filled? Hmm? Think really hard about this." Argyle poked the edge of his skull, around his temple, as an over-exaggerated gesture of thoughtful reflection. Even though it was too soon to tell, Argyle blurted out what was bothering him nonetheless. "It's mostly empty because they don't trust strangers. They're only kind to their own."

"Nonsense!" Dashwood ignored the warning. "Tenpenny Tower is the most friendly place in the Wasteland. It's the most trusting as well!"

"Okay, beyond the meaningless propaganda..." Argyle refuted by ignoring Dashwood's statements. "... I think they won't be so welcoming to strangers. Namely, myself."

"You worry too much." Dashwood stated. "Look. They will be surprised that you're a Ghoul. Currently there aren't any Ghouls living in Tenpenny Tower. They're used to people who have skin on them, so they might acquaint your appearance with shock. It's nothing personal - they're just not used to it! Don't judge them so prematurely." He insisted, almost in a pleading tone.

Argyle sighed in defeat. "Fine. I'll get relatively close, but when they start shooting at me, I'll say that I told you so."

"I'm a man of my word." Dashwood held his chest high. "If I say they won't shoot, then they won't shoot."

Regardless of his constant reassurance, Argyle felt uneasiness stir in the core of his chest. It felt like there were eyes in the dead vegetation, specifically locked on to him, watching. Entering elitist territory, anyone who could be identified as a minority was threatened. In this post-apocalyptic world especially, Argyle knew that these already uptight folks would be even more-so, due to the pressured situation they were in. It was either kindness, so that the Raiders and Super-Mutants would have overrun Tenpenny Tower long ago, or it was selective cruelty, so that only elite non-mutated human beings could band together and fight against the mutants. What a sad philosophy to adopt, Argyle thought to himself.

They silently approached the large metal gate. Dashwood nervously pressed the button on an intercom and spoke into the speaker. "Hello, Guard? It's me, Hebert Daring Dashwood." He had to use his full name, probably as an attempt to impress his ally on how well-connected he was. Argyle merely replied with an indifferent shrug.

"Who's with you?" The voice on the other end asked, with too much apathy to not be suspicious. Argyle shivered at this tone - he hated that tone.

"My manservant." Dashwood casually replied. "He's with me, so you need not worry."

"What don't you comprehend about Tenpenny policy?" The voice was much harsher now. It even caused Dashwood to fumble his vocabulary, to the point he wasn't quite sure what to say next. Argyle took several steps backward, instinctively holding his hands up, not yet surrendering but definitely ready to whip his weapons out if he needed them - his weapons being his bare fists.

"I beg pardon?" Dashwood blinked. "I wasn't aware that Tenpenny had a policy."

A mocking laughter erupted from the other side of the intercom. In a scoffing tone, the guard said, "No mutants are allowed entry. Especially Ghouls."

Dashwood didn't even want to turn around. Argyle was already mouthing, "I told you so." Dashwood didn't even want to see him, because it meant admitting defeat. It meant that Argyle was right, and he was wrong. Oh dear, we wouldn't be having that, would we?

"Can he wait outside for me, then?" Dashwood asked politely. "He's completely fine. He isn't feral, I made sure of that. If he ever is, I'll put him down."

"Hey." Argyle snapped under his breath. "Watch your mouth." Argyle didn't even know this guy very well, and he wouldn't give a second thought to defend himself should he be attacked. This half-witted, unprepared adventurer couldn't stand a chance if the ghoul was truly his enemy. His neck would be snapped in two seconds flat. Dashwood, not realizing the true risks of the situation, seemed to think that diplomacy would resolve all of the Wasteland's problems. If only he realized how naive that logic was.

Apparently Dashwood was deaf to Argyle's back-talk, because he continued talking to the guard. "I'll be watching him. He's my responsibility entirely. I just need to grab some things from my suite, and I'll be on my merry way. Does that sound good, my dear fellows?"

"I don't like this." Argyle whispered, taking further steps back. He shuffled backwards, and soon, he began a galloping run away from the Tower. His ghoul instincts were begging him to leave the scene, even though he wasn't consciously aware of what particular danger lurked around Tenpenny. His fears were affirmed with the deafening crackle of a sniper's shot whistled through the dead air. He barely missed. That long, sharp bullet hit the miniscule sand dune in front of him. It occurred to Argyle that they were specifically trying to shoot him in the head with a fatal shot.

Dashwood made senseless pleas to try to stop the violence from erupting, but it was too late either way. Tenpenny was hostile to ghouls, and the fact that one was tagging along with a clueless resident meant that they probably suspected something suspicious. Dashwood never brought home pets. Argyle scoffed at the notion of being referred to as an animal by Dashwood - the way he spoke about him just seemed really condescending. Argyle didn't like that one bit, yet what was he to do? He was part of the disadvantaged lower social class, just for being a genetic abomination.

What nobody expected was a sophisticated white man's brawl, Tenpenny's finest marksmen against a sole Ghoul. Multiple guards flooded through the gates, with small guns in hand, prepared to take down the perceived threat. Dashwood couldn't even attempt to rescue his manservant - they had guns! Dashwood went through the mental process of a tearful good-bye to his brief partner in crime. This was the end - but not if Argyle could stop it.

At first, it was hard to watch as these merciless guards pelted dozens of bullets into Argyle, despite full acknowledgement that they were up against an unarmed person. Although Argyle's Ghoul status probably demoted him from authentic personhood a long time ago. Argyle took those bullets bravely, as they showered into his shoulders, arms, and chest. Dark red blood splattered where they landed. Argyle weakly staggered back, his skeletal frame barely capable of holding himself upright against that much force. His face cringed with pain, his eyes tightly squinted, and his teeth clenched. He didn't make a single sound, but the expression was nearly unbearable to watch.

When those bullets didn't bring him to his knees, Argyle knew he had to take out at least one gun, or he would succumb to his injuries. Immense pain shot across his entire upper body, but he fought as if no bullets were lodged in his flesh. He held out four fingers, and with a single swipe, he made a strong cut that managed to sever the jaw off one of the guards. Argyle nearly gagged from the amount of blood that kill produced. Trying not to think, he side-swiped another guard by dislocating his knee, and another strong blow resulted in a near-fatal leg fracture, also resulting in copious amounts of blood. Argyle had grown accustomed to the sight, smell, and consistency of blood, but what was especially unnerving today was how many people he was up against, and how much killing he had to endure. He was used to taking down maybe three or four people, not a miniature army. The bloodshed made him sick to his stomach.

After many thoughtless physical blows, Argyle looked up and saw corpses littered all around him. He looked down at his bloodied hands, shivering from how many lives he had to take in self-defense. It was too many this early in the afternoon. He gagged again, but soon regained his composure. It came to his attention that some of the nausea he was experiencing was due to a particular bullet that landed dangerously close to the pyloric sphincter, the biological valve that connected his stomach and small intestine.

"They're all dead..." Dashwood finally said, aghast at the sight of butchered corpses surrounding Argyle.

"They..." Argyle said drowsily, trying to not lose consciousness. "They attacked me..."

"My God, you don't look well at all." Dashwood said, walking over the bodies of the fallen to reach his manservant. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Argyle lied, trying not to lose his bearings. He preferred food, no matter how irradiated, to stay down.

"If we don't remove these bullets, you'll catch an infection." Dashwood said. Although it seemed like he had medical knowledge, he was truly just recalling how his own knife wounds got infected. He pieced the puzzle together, and realized the same would happen to his companion.

"I know..." Argyle said weakly. "Before we do that... Quick..." Argyle got to his knees, but soon fell forward and collapsed. He was trying to reach something on the nearest adjacent corpse, but his arm couldn't bend that far at the moment, due to three solid bullets blocking his free-ranged movement. "Can... Can you... Give me that gun?" He asked softly.

"Certainly." Dashwood said, his voice heavy with sympathy. He bent over and picked up a simple small gun. He didn't know what exactly it was, but he handed it to Argyle.

"This gun..." Argyle croaked. "You gotta know... how to use it..."

"You're trying to teach me about weaponry in this state!?" Dashwood asked, his mouth agape.

"Yeah..." Argyle coughed tiredly. "Because you need it... you damn fool..." Dashwood tried to open his mouth to argue, but Argyle silenced him. "Shut up... Watch closely... Repeat after me..." Argyle delicately held the small gun in his trembling skeletal hands. "This is... a ten millimeter pistol..." With flawless expertise, he pulled out the used clip, and reloaded the gun effortlessly with a new round of bullets. "Make sure it's loaded... safety's off..." Argyle groggily demonstrated. "And... shoot." He pulled the trigger softly, and with a loud bang, the bullet whizzed by them. Argyle held his limp hand out, nudging the weapon closer. "You try it..."

"I..." Dashwood stared at the .10 mm pistol. "I can't."

Author's Note: Cliffhanger! I really liked the feeling that I got playing Fallout 3, that realization that when I left Vault 101, I wouldn't be able to return to it ever again. (Although I heard there's a quest you can do to get back inside, but I've never successfully returned.) I wanted to hint towards that idea, that Dashwood may have prematurely left Tenpenny Tower, but now there's no going back. They will always be hostile to him, because now he is an outsider, and he no longer lives there. I'm going to delve more on those details. In this chapter, I just wanted to focus on the action. That will impress some, and disappoint others. That's the risks of writing. More character development to ensue. Thanks for the read!