Summary: After John is given the task of hunting down the last three members of the Van der Linde Gang, he enlists the help of a peculiar doctor in Armadillo, only to realize that he has run into Arthur's long lost son -- Isaac.
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Summary: A short story about my evil karma Lone Wanderer, and his journey after the main events of Fallout 3.
POV: third-person
This story is also on AO3
Author's note: I've been wanting to write a Fallout fic for a long time, but never actually did it until now. I'm not 100% sure if I'll continue it just yet, but I do have more parts planned. For now though, I hope you guys enjoy the first chapter :)
CHAPTER 1: OLD GLORY
There it was. The Washington Monument. Marred and broken, but still standing; much like the land it called home. Alone it watched over the Wasteland, towering above the remnants of a bygone nation. Its white stone beamed brightly under the colorless sun, splitting the skyline like a pillar of light. Behind it, a foreboding green sky loomed, mottled with faint clouds that sailed somberly across the horizon.
At the monument’s base, a dog roamed. For a long time it skittered along the pool’s edge, stepping over fallen debris and exposed rebar. It traveled to-and-fro with its nose to the ground, rummaging through the ruined landscape. Sometimes it would stick its snout in a duffel bag or a sack, sniffing around for some food. Other times, it would find weapons, and drag them out of the clutches of the dead.
Everywhere the dog went, men and women of different factions lay strewn across the dirt, their hands still grasping items that had long since disappeared. Their uniforms were burnt and torn beyond recognition, and their bodies blended together in an indistinguishable, grey mass, blanketed by a thick fog. Like thousands before them, they had died in a battle already lost from memory.
Nobody knew their names. Nobody cared. To the rest of the world, they were little more than mounds of loot waiting to be picked.
Intrigued by one of the bodies, the dog came to a stop. It bent down and used its nose to push an arm aside. Underneath lay a first-aid kit with a single stimpak. Immediately, the dog started barking.
Within seconds, the sound of music echoed nearby. It resonated in the hollow Capital like the mutterings of a phantom, growing louder and louder. As it drew close, it was joined by the clatter of armor, and a series of solid thumps.
Holding the stimpak between its teeth, the dog peered into the fog and wagged its tail. Before long, a man emerged from the haze, carrying a rifle in his arms, one of which was equipped with a Pip-Boy: the source of the music.
A thick string of severed human ears dangled from his neck. With each step, the morbid accessory bounced against his torso, which had been fitted with a chest piece bearing the crest of the Talon Company. It wasn’t a symbol of the man’s allegiance, but rather, the armor’s previous owner.
Though, that was of little importance now. The crest was covered by a ragged cape that draped over his left shoulder. Beneath it hid other equipment, such as pouches, holsters, sheaths, and a bandolier. On his right shoulder was a pauldron made of dented metal, which had been paired with a set of gauntlets. Metal had also been embedded in his boots, providing protection for his feet and shins.
The man came to a halt and crouched so that he was level with the dog. He then took the stimpak from its mouth, and rubbed it on the head.
“Good boy.”
His voice was low and wispy, somewhat distorted due to the massive scar on his mouth. The upper half of it stretched across his right cheek towards his ear, whereas the bottom half tore through his lips, tugging the flesh away from his teeth.
The man began patting the body down, checking to see if there was anything else worthwhile. Most of the pockets were empty, but one jingled when he reached inside. He pulled out his fist and opened it, revealing six caps.
Not much, but better than nothing. He stashed the money.
Just as he went to unbutton his pouch, something twitched in the corner of his eye. The man paused. Before he could even question what he saw, a hand shot up and grabbed him by the wrist.
A woman’s face rose from the corpses, pale and cadaverous, as if she were wearing someone else’s skull. Her eyes, which bulged from bruised sockets, locked onto him in a frenzied stare. A horrible cough escaped her.
“Please…” she wheezed, “…water…”
The man yanked his arm free and continued what he was doing. Desperately, the woman watched as he opened his pouch. There, a pile of bottlecaps sat, their flat tops shimmering in the forlorn daylight. He added hers to the collection.
“Please…” the woman said again.
She got no response. It was as if the man didn’t even know she was there. He just kept sifting through her gear, taking whatever he thought was useful. From her backpack, he pulled out a whetstone and some duct tape, then rose to his feet.
The woman looked up at him, squinting. His figure had blackened against the sun, but she still managed to catch a glimpse of his face. It was almost as grey as the bodies around him. The only color she could see was in his eyes, which were green and bloodshot. The skin under them was also red.
She held an arm out, hoping to get his attention. That was when she noticed she was staring straight down the barrel of a gun. A single breath escaped her.
The muzzle flashed. Her arm dropped.
With the rifle still smoking in his grasp, the man stayed in place, watching his surroundings for any movement. The fiery gunshot clapped through the air like a skipping stone, rippling throughout the city before fading into silence.
All was still.
He lowered the rifle, taking one final glance at the woman. A thought crossed his mind.
Not enough meat.
The man walked away.
* * *
For the rest of the day, the man and his dog ventured the haggard Wastes, marching without pause. Their journey led them through neighborhoods of toppled buildings and fractured roads, each one as barren as the next.
Everywhere they turned, they were greeted by the same eerie bleakness they had known for so long. The only thing keeping them company was Galaxy News Radio, which, at the moment, was playing Interlude by Timi Yuro.
Meanwhile, the sun arched across the endless expanse, toiling deep into the evening. It followed the man on his journey westward as he rummaged through buildings and camps, coming out with whatever loot he could find.
Occasionally, he would stumble upon a couple of Super Mutants, or a small band of raiders, but most of them proved harmless. If anything, he actually hoped to see more of them, considering the supplies they usually carried.
In one particular raider camp, the man found a collection of weapons similar to his own and took some time to make repairs. At first, he planned to leave once he was finished, but with twilight now bleeding into the sky, he chose to stay for the night.
As he worked at one of the tables, his Pip-Boy rested nearby. Its green glow illuminated the surface, giving definition to the otherwise shapeless night. There was a campfire in the base, but the man decided against lighting it. At his feet, the dog lay on its side.
Over the next hour or so, he tinkered with his rifle, only taking a break to eat. The sun had completely fallen out of view by now, and in its place, the moon hovered, surrounded by its twinkling entourage. At the same time, the song on the radio faded away, and transitioned to a familiar voice:
“Heyyy, Wastelanders! This is your host, Three Dog! Bow-wow! And you’re listening to Galaxy News Radio, where we bring you the truth no matter how much it hurts.”
“Time for some news: Today marks two years since Sarah Lyons’ death, when the Brotherhood sentinel sacrificed herself activating the purifier that brought us all that fresh, clean water you see flowing outside. And what have we done with this miraculous gift? How have we commemorated her bravery?”
“Well, by killing each other over it, of course! Because what else would we do? Word has it that, last night, the Brotherhood of Steel repelled another attack at the Jefferson Memorial. This time, from a bunch of ghouls. From what I understand, the ghouls were upset about the Brotherhood’s distribution of the water. Apparently, those boys have been holding out on our irradiated friends, so the ghouls tried to take some by force. And how did these valiant knights in shining armor respond? By gunning down the ‘abominations.”
“Now, to tell you the truth,” Three Dog continued. “The Brotherhood ain’t gonna be too happy with me for talking about this, but you guys know me. The Good Fight always comes first.” He sighed. “These are tough times, kids. Even with a reservoir big enough to do breaststrokes in, it seems Wastelanders will still find something to fight over. So, be the exception, and offer someone a bottle of water the next time you see ‘em looking parched.”
“Thanks for listening, chiiildren! This is Three Dog! Awoo! And you’re listening to Galaxy News Radio. We’re radio free Wasteland, and we’re here – for you. Now, some music. Here’s Johnny Mathis with ‘No Man Can Stand Alone.”
Wrapping up the last of the repairs, the man removed himself from the table and trudged to a mattress in the camp, grabbing his Pip-Boy along the way. He turned the flashlight off, but kept the music playing. Before lying down, he slipped off his cape and bundled it into a pillow, making sure to hide a pistol under it.
Seeing that its owner was going to bed, the dog ambled over and curled up beside him. Together, they huddled under the stars, shielded by walls of wooden panels and barbed wire. Every once in a while, gunfire would rattle in the distance, drowning out the voices shouting over it, only for the commotion to die down after a few minutes.
None of the gunfire sounded too close, so the man allowed himself some rest, albeit with sharpened ears. Soon, the world drifted away from him, and his thoughts melted into nothingness.
* * *
Morning arrived without incident. The man woke not long after sunrise, still lying in the same position. His dog hadn’t moved either, apart from rolling onto its back. It slept peacefully near his chest, panting quietly. Around them, the air whistled as it soared across the camp and over the bed, brushing their skin with a chill, delicate touch. A putrid smell traveled along with it, making the man’s nose crinkle.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes.
Despite the strange stench, he found nothing in or near the camp that would’ve explained it. Everything appeared to be the same as it was when he arrived.
Oh, well. He thought. Must’ve had something to do with all that noise last night.
With a yawn, the man picked up his Pip-Boy and blearily read the numbers on the screen: 7:13 A.M. Good, he had plenty of time to reach his destination.
Not wanting to stay in the same spot for too long, he prepared a small breakfast for himself and the dog. Both of them hurried through their meals, then departed from the camp in about ten minutes. Right before heading out, the man switched off the radio just as it began broadcasting one of Daring Dashwood’s adventures.
A gentle breeze sighed against them as they walked, causing the man’s cape to flutter. It seemed that the skies had cleared a little since the previous day, allowing more warmth to settle in. A comforting, honey glow embraced the desolate city, bouncing off the bleached concrete and browned metal. It would’ve been a pretty view, if not for the devastation.
The man wandered onto a street. To his left and right, alternating lampposts lined the road, their bulbs shattered and their necks crooked. Rusted vehicles crammed the spaces between them, some of them dotted with bullet holes from battles long since past. Inside, skeletons lay undisturbed, their naked bones left to the dust. Sweeping the Capital, a brief gale rushed by, dragging crumbs of rock down the asphalt. In its wake, traffic lights groaned, and rickety steel signs creaked above.
The man found himself wondering what the world looked like before the bombs fell. He tried to picture a city where the buildings stood upright, where the metal gleamed and shined, where the concrete was smooth; where verdant trees bloomed to their fullest, where people – not raiders, or paladins, or bounty hunters – just, people, zipped around in droves, and polished cars sauntered down the streets, glinting in the unblemished sun.
He gazed at the cracked windows, piecing them back together in his mind. His ears honed in on a cacophony of sounds that his imagination had conjured up of grumbling engines, jaunty chatter, rustling leaves, and calming winds. He didn’t even know if that was what a city sounded like, or if the Pre-War world had actually been that vibrant. For all he knew, it could’ve been far worse.
In the Vault, he often heard about how things were better “back then,” but he found it difficult to believe. After all, the very Wasteland which he had been raised to fear was a culmination of the old world’s accomplishments. Every milestone they made, every invention they created, all led to the destruction he now lived in. How could a civilization that was so full of life have been the architects of such an irreparable death? How did this become their legacy?
Maybe his education was wrong. Maybe the bombs hardly changed the world at all. Maybe the people back then fought the same battles and made the same mistakes. Maybe this was what they wanted all along.
The man shook off his thoughts before he got too carried away. Whatever happened in the past was beyond his power to change. In fact, he often felt the same about the future. Unlike his parents, he carried no desire to reshape the Wasteland. He had simply accepted – or convinced himself – that he would never be able to rewrite the nature of mankind. Wherever there was a vacuum of peace, war would fill it. It was their identity as a species; an identity that the man had no issue claiming, even if others condemned him for it.
Reaching the outskirts of downtown DC, the man checked the map on his Pip-Boy to make sure he was still on the right track. He had completed about a third of the journey, and was just about to enter the fields beyond the city when a clutter of footsteps scrambled in his direction. Swiftly, he reached for his pistol and whirled towards the noise, only to find himself being confronted by two men in duster coats.
Regulators. He’d recognize them anywhere.
Though, there was something different about these ones. They bore the look of people who had already suffered a battle. Their flesh was bandaged, their coats were reddened with blood, and the stench of rot clung to their clothes.
The man’s gaze traveled behind them, further down the road, where he discovered a group of dead Super Mutants scattered about, as well as the gory remains of a lone Regulator lying among them.
He returned his attention to the two men, waiting for something to happen. They spoke first.
“There you are, you son-of-a-bitch,” one of them snarled. He was holding a shotgun. “We’ve got you now.”
The man disregarded his remark and tilted his head at the dead Super Mutants, keeping a hand close to his pistol.
“Have some trouble last night?”
The Regulator glowered. “Goddamn mutants… They caught us by surprise. Everything seemed fine, but then they…” his tone sank, “…oh, Nick. They got to him first. Poor kid didn’t stand a chance.”
“Just as well,” the man said. “If he couldn’t survive that, he wouldn’t have survived this.”
“You watch your fucking mouth!” The Regulator snapped, tightening his grip. “He wouldn’t even have been out here if it wasn’t for you! He just wanted to help out. Damn boy was tired of catching ‘small game.’ Thought he could make a name for himself by killing you… maybe start a new life.”
“Aaand I’m sure he had a pretty girl waiting for him at home too. Heart-wrenching. Anyway, are we gonna do this or what?”
The Regulator’s jaw clenched. “Oh, we’re gonna do this. And when we’re done, I’m gonna parade your head around on a pike ‘til the sun dries it to the bone. Get him!”
A shell erupted from the shotgun’s mouth, blasting the man backwards. He stumbled to the ground, clutching his chest. His armor had blocked the pellets, but the impact was still enough to stagger him. With labored breathing, he whistled sharply, signaling the dog to attack.
Baring its teeth, the dog sprinted towards the Regulator and pounced on him. The two fell together, and soon, a flurry of screams stained the air. In the meantime, the man whipped out his pistol and shot the other Regulator square in the head. He then sprung to his feet and stormed over to the dog, commanding it to back off.
Squirming underneath, the Regulator held up a mangled arm, his face contorted with pain. He was still trembling when the dog jumped off, and only realized what was happening after it was too late. The man marched to his side and took aim, firing without hesitation.
A heavy silence froze the city. Both the man and his dog stayed in place for a moment, as if expecting something else. They surveyed the horizon, keeping a lookout for anyone that might’ve heard the battle. But no one came.
“Tsh,” the man muttered. “Fuckin’ cowboys.”
Satisfied, he holstered his gun and urged the dog to calm down. Once it was certain that the threat had been eliminated, it joined its owner in searching the bodies. Like lumps of meat they roasted in the sun, still bleeding on the pavement. Yellowed bounty notices peeked out from their pockets, flapping wildly in the wind. Normally, the man would’ve burned them, but with the amount of infamy he had gained over these past couple years, he no longer saw the point. More people would come regardless. Not that he minded. He was always happy to get free caps.
Standing up, the man wiped his hands clean and examined the dead Regulators. There was nothing more on them to take, except for one thing.
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"The Capital Wasteland proved a cruel, inhospitable place, and the Lone Wanderer ultimately surrendered to the vices that had claimed so many others – selfishness, greed, cruelty."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
