Dad always used to tell me I was special. Now I know that's nothing but a load of shit.

My dad was a good father. Was. Until he ran off, leaving me to deal with his mess. Until I was shoved out into the world, gunshots chasing me out the door.

Dad always told me I was special.

I shouldn't be angry. I know he cared. But every time he looked at me, I saw it—the pain. Not for me, but for the woman I've never met and always wished I had.

My mother.

I can't help but wonder still if he looked at me like that because he loved me or because he missed her. I wonder which of us he would've picked to survive if he had the choice.

I shouldn't think this way. He did his best, all alone, raising an outcast son. How did I never notice? Never ask why people treated us differently? I was too busy being a stupid teenager, too caught up trying to fit in, trying to make Amata feel something, anything, for me. Maybe if I'd noticed, he might have taken me with him.

Maybe together we could've escaped the vault that hated us so much. And we could've brought Jonas to.

Jonas. The name stings. He was more of a father to me than Dad ever was. Hell, he practically raised me. I can't even remember a moment without him.

And the overseer's men had just gunned him down like he was some kind of animal.

Is this what you wanted, Dad? You told me I was special. But when I needed you most, you vanished. You left me with nothing. The only life I'd ever known, gone.

Because of you I left everything behind. Every place I've ever been, every person I'd ever meet, every memory I've ever made, gone. Gone forever

I stepped into a world I'd never imagined, a world without walls or rules, without the Overseer's guidance. Out here, people kill for a bottle of clean water or a scrap of two-hundred-year-old processed food. Out here, monsters from my nightmares are just another part of life.

And you knew about this, Dad? You knew, and you left me. Did you really think you could just leave me, and everything would be fine, and things could go back to the way they were? You were a good man Dad, but have you always been so naïve? Did you think you wouldn't leave a trail of pain in your wake?

And I don't even know where you are you couldn't even have left me a clue. Just a gigantic mess, before I was sent running for my life, never to return to the only home I've ever known.

You always told me I was special.

I shake my head, grinding my teeth as bullets slam into the wall by my side. Bullets slam into the wall beside me. I press myself against the bathroom tiles, shaking, gasping, fighting every instinct to break down and scream.

I never thought it would be like this. I sure don't feel special now

I stare at the dirty yellowed stalls across from me, trying to focus on them as an anchor as I heave rapidly, shaking, dripping with sweat.

My fingers twitch, my jaw aches from clenching so hard. The pistol in my hand is slick with sweat, but my fingers feel numb. Cold. I don't know how many bullets I have left. I let off a few shots as I ran and dove for cover. I must have around half a clip at least.

Dammit, why didn't I count my shots. That was the one thing that raider back in Megaton had told me to do.

What was his name? I can't even remember.

"Little boy thought he'd be a big man?"

I hear a voice ring out, taunting me in a singsong manner "come out little baby boy! You've had your fun now let us show you what grown-ups do to pretty little boys like you!"

Oh shit.

I feel my eyes widen, I can't even breathe anymore. Terror washes over me, and I feel paralyzed. I can't move, can't breathe. Everything feels so cold.

I lean my head forward, and move too fast, yanking myself forward so my chin slams against the top of my chest. Sweaty locks of my shaggy hair fall into my eyes making me blink rapidly.

But it's enough to snap me out of my stupor. I run my trembling left hand through my hair, Combing it back off of my forehead and out of my eyes. I can't just shut down. I can't just sit here forever, listening to bullets hammer the wall just outside the entryway, half cursing, half missing my father.

I have to move.

I push myself up to my feet, still pressing against the wall. I edge myself closer to the bathroom entrance when I realize things have suddenly gone quiet.

"Gotcha pretty boy!" a man lunges through the door, a sneer in his voice as he raises his rifle towards the far wall, opposite me.

The man is 2 feet away, but by sheerest luck, he doesn't see me, expecting me to be on the other side of the bathroom. I see his clothes are ragged, his body half naked, the clothes areas adorned with spikes and bones. He's tall, a full head taller than me, and a short, bleached blonde mohawk sits on top of a dirty, unwashed skull.

"Hidin' in the stalls, little baby boy? Don't be scared, you'll learn to love what a real man can do!" the man mocks, ending with a throaty laugh.

He steps forward, scanning the stalls, his eyes darting to the gaps below. I know I have less than a second—less than a breath—before I'm dead. Or worse.

I raise the pistol, I'm so close to the raider that the barrel of my pistol almost touches the back of his mohawk. And I squeeze the trigger.

I've never killed a man before. I thought it would feel monumental, life-changing. But it doesn't. I feel nothing as the bullet punches through his skull, spraying blood and brain matter across the stall.

The raider drops with a loud, wet thud, not even uttering a scream. Only after he falls do I realize how badly my hand is shaking. If he had been just a bit further away, I might've missed.

I feel so pathetic.

"Donny!" a shrill woman's voice calls out," ya get 'im?"

I whip around to see a woman, clad in scrappy clothes and bone fragments like the last man enter the bathroom. She wears a crooked, rotting smile, but it disappears as her eyes lock with mine.

She reaches for a knife. I don't think. I don't aim. I just pull the trigger.

The bullet hits her, low in her exposed midsection. She staggers back, twitching and reaching to touch the bloody wound in her stomach. Her eyes lock back onto mine, and even through the dark, I can tell she's on some kind of chem, probably a lot more than one, from what I've seen and heard.

I take aim and shoot the raider in the chest, just above her barely covered left breast, and she goes down, her head striking the wall to her right.

That's two people killed in the span of as many seconds. And I still don't feel a thing. All I can focus on is keeping myself from shaking and vomiting from the adrenaline rushing through my veins.

I make my way down the corridor, keeping crouched and pressed to the right wall, stopping only once I reach the end. It would be suicide to barge out into the fast, open space of the Super Duper Mart's central room, even if there were aisles set up as some form of cover.

It's dark, but empty as far as I can tell. Yet I can hear footsteps, across to the opposite side of the massive room. That means there's more of them. And there's no way they hadn't heard those gunshots. I have to be ready, or I'm going to die.

I wish I could've stayed in the vault. All my problems from back then seems so trivial now. God, I'd give anything to go back.

I rushed to the first aisle, quickly surveying my surroundings, using it as cover. No one spotted me, but I can hear the footsteps coming closer. I glanced soft to my right, and see another raider, staring out blankly into the central room. I guess his eyesight isn't so good, because he hasn't started firing at me from behind the counter.

I scoot down the aisle, pausing as I reach the end. If I wanted to I could make a mad dash for the exit, and run all the way back to that town, Megaton. I might even survive.

But no. No, I have a job to do. The only person who had been kind to me, Moira, had asked me to help her. I can't just give up, and come back empty-handed, my head hung in the feet.

I take a breath and dart to the next aisle. Two more raiders come into view—one gripping a pool cue, the other clutching a patchwork rifle like the one I'd seen before.

Incredibly, they don't see me. I think they were both looking at each other. I press myself flat against the aisle, and begin to edge myself down the opposite way, towards the back wall with what appeared to be offices, behind counters. And I know now I've lost the only chance I might've had an easy escape.

"I swear, if those two idiots got killed by some wasteland we wannabe hero," one of the raiders shakes his head, as he and his companion pass me by.

I keep my eyes on them, as a side step as silently as I can. They're nearly passed me now, and I feel myself begin to relax. I take another side step, still watching the raiders, when I bump into a bucket.

My heart stops as I reach for the bucket. Too fast. It tips, spilling its cold contents all over me.

My pants are now soaked with cold water. No, not water. I inhale the foul scent of dehydrated urine, as my head whips back towards the two raiders, who heard the sound of the metal bucket hit the ground and splash it's foul contents all over me.

"There he is!" The raider with the rifle yells, taking a wild shot.

I fire three shots and bolt. A scream echoes behind me. One of them must've been hit.

But judging by the thumping of running feet behind me, I know I only had one.

I feel a gust of wind, a split second before something smashes into my right thigh, making me stumble and slam against an aisle wall to my left. I look up frantically, and see the man with the pool cue bringing his weapon to bear for another strike.

My leg stings, pain searing through me like it never has before. But I ignore it and raise my pistol, the raider's head in my sites.

I raise my pistol, locking on to the raider's head, and he stumbles back, searching for cover that isn't there. I pull the trigger.

Click.

Oh, shit.

His shocked expression twists into a cruel grin as he swings the pool cue. But he's off-balance, from the step backwards, and the wooden pole glances off my left forearm, giving me the time I need to scramble away into a run.

I got lucky with the blow to my arm, although it certainly stings. My leg hurts like hell, but I have to keep running.

My spare bullets jangle in my pack, taunting me as though they know I'll never be able to use them. I tuck my pistol away into my pack as I continue running.

"I got 'im!" a man's high pitched voice rings out.

The man behind the counter in front of me raises his weapon, a sub machine gun by the looks of it. I can't make out his face, his skin is so dark, but I imagine he's tweaking on something fierce like the rest of this gang.

The raider sprays deaths from his sub machine gun, I feel a bullet whip past me, then another slide past my shoulder, grazing me enough that I feel it's burn.

"Dyno, stop! Watch where you're firing!" The man with the pool cue's screams are cut short.

I dare to take a glance back, and see a bullet wound in my pursuer's chest, as he slumps against the far aisle. In the dark like this, aiming from a distance can't be easy. Especially if someone's already high on chems. Not that I'm complaining.

"I got 'im! I got the bitch!" the high pitched man's voice rings out," telling me to watch my aim. At least I'm good enough at shooting to have a gun."

I creep forward, crouching beneath the counter opposite the raider. My trembling has stopped. I'm not the same person I was minutes ago. Out here, it's simple: kill or be killed.

In this world, I must kill, or be killed.

I draw my knife, knowing I can't reload my pistol silently, and vault myself over the counter. The raider raises his hands, as I lunge at him, aiming for his chest with the blade.

I miss, and hit him in the shoulder.

The raider screams, as I tackle him to the ground. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him attempt to aim his sub machine gun in my direction with his right hand, as he grabs my wrist with his left. I drive a knife deeper and twist, causing the raider to let out another cry of pain.

I knock the gun from his grip and slam my fist into his face, twisting the knife deeper with every hit. I feel the man's grip on my wrist weaken, just enough I can rip the knife out, and drive it into his throat.

Blood foams at his lips as he coughs, weak and fading. I tear the knife away, spraying myself with hot blood. My jaw hurts, and I realize it's because I still haven't unclenched it since setting foot in the Super Duper Mart. In fact, my whole body aches. The pain in my leg, my forearm, the grays against my left shoulder. Everything hurts.

The man chokes, and I drive the knife down again, and again, and again. I only stop when he doesn't move anymore.

I roll off the lifeless corpse, gasping and heaving. Killing someone like that, up close, just makes me feel… Different. Sick. But I had to do it. I know I had to.

Is this what you had wanted for me, dad?

"What's going on?" a woman with a raspy voice stares at the gory scene played out before her.

I scramble for the sub machine gun, as she lets out two shots from her sought off shotgun. They both miss me, but they hit the weapon, causing it to shatter apart and help me with shrapnel.

The raider pops the expended shells from her sawedt off, as I look frantically for an escape. My head whips to the right, but the counter is too far for me to be able to escape that way. I turn to the left, my eyes hunting desperately for something.

And I see it. A door, with a terminal computer of some kind next to it.

I throw myself at it, and just in time, as I hear the twin shotgun blast behind me, echoing through the office. I slam into the door with all my might, knocking it open and falling down on my face. My forehead bangs against the floor, and pain floods through my head and a dull throb.

But I have no time to wallow in my misery. I scramble to my feet, swinging the door closed in the raider's face. But I cannot stand here, holding this door shut. Eventually, she'll break it down. Or shoot me through it. Or both, and she and her raider companions will do unspeakable things to me.

I take in my surroundings, and the first thing I see are shelves.

Perfect.

I grab one within arms reach, and yank as hard as I can against it. The shelf totters, then crashes down against the door. It's not much, but it'll give me some time.

I run to the next shelf, and pull it against the door, spilling its contents all over the floor. Then I rushed to the next one, hoping to barricade the door with as many shelves as I can find.

The raider bangs and pounds against the door, but it will not budge. For the moment at least, I am safe.

I slump against the shelves, allowing my eyes to wander across the room. And then I see it.

A laser pistol. Ammunition. Medicine. And a terminal linked to a Protectron.

I might have an idea. And if it fails, I won't be coming out alive.