Forewords

I coast the world of Fallout with a rabid mind and ferocious hunger of a long time fan. I have played all of them, beaten all a thousand times over and praise Bethesda in its current re-imaginative of its world and demeanor and placation of obvious dark undertone. Also, I have a passion for writing and do so when my free time allows it. So, to compile a conclusion to why I write this I cannot tell..., it is just of pure enjoyment that I do so. Some elements of my story revere to the newest Fallout 3, and its counterparts from which it was spawned from, but most is my fictions of an inventive mind. Will I complete this story, will I write more, I cannot say. I promise however that when it seizes to be fun, or if time does not allow anymore, then I will no longer write to this piece.

And so, I close and hope that you enjoy reading, to those that choose to do so, The Wanderer

~Gabriel Logan
01/08/2009

Ch 1 "The Mark of Cain"
By Gabriel Logan

It wasn't long before Kirk came to his side, a breath of fowl sniffing up to suggest that maybe the wolf dog had eaten something that shouldn't have been eaten, but it was of no concern for Cain as he took look on his K9 companion with eyes that shelled his feelings, as most often he did, even to those that he was closest; and to that he just shunned the dog, taking stride to simple shake his head at the mutt of which replied with a simple wimpier and a solid yelp.

With that, Cain looked ahead, seeing beyond what the Wasteland held before them. A littering of nothingness, shadowed former by what was once there now draw into a landscape of pure listless that stretched beyond into the radiated mountain chains in the distance, a trifle expedition for one so bent on traversing and even he too thought himself to be crazy, but it wasn't about the journey, it was what was at the end that kept Cain on his feet, kept him from not just giving up, letting the Wastes take him as it had strived to do so since he left, what it had done to those he left for dead; a directive trail ladened with the blood of his enemies, persecuted with shells of bullets and a ting of fire.

Before him, mere miles breath away, was the town of Silver, a lone bastion in the wastelands of the far north, an old mining colony before the War, before the fires of light lit up the sky to rain death down upon the land, creating what was his reality. Now it was a town of people that struggled like everyone else to eek out an existence that wasn't full of danger, but only minutely speckled with a more simplistic degree of it.

He was running low. Water supply nearly empty, the .303 shell count less than 20. Cain could take on a pack of radscorpions with his collective sidearms and combat shotgun, but to peak a raider encampment that seemingly were obstacles in his way, would be somewhat suicidal. So he pushed forward, scanning the horizon with his eyes that had seen so much of the Wasteland. At the conclusion that all was clear, he pulled stride down the slope follow close by Kirk who took a bead to follow close behind.

The sun followed over the horizon beginning to cast gleam of an orange haze that litter the hard pan of the sub valley floor to which Silver rested within. The cast of color sent sheer across Cain's long-coat duster so that his approach could be masked due to the non-diferencal between himself and the Wasteland; the only contrast being that of the armor undercoat he wore that ripped through the right shoulder of the duster and the long barrel rifle on his back. It was this twinkle of light in the waning sunlight that sparked Silver's guardsmen to break forth their own weapons and taken ready in position to fire upon the stranger.

"Hold it right there wastelander," stated one of the more brash of guardsmen, the instant cocking of his .45 caliber rifle separating the air of friendly between the two, "you enter the town of Silver. Be you Friend of Foe?"

"Neither," sparked Cain who now held range close enough to gauge the guardsman speaking. The man held gaze like that of a veteran, a man who had killed countless times for no other way was presentable. He would hold no quarrel of shooting him where he stand if given reason to. The other, dressed in the same long robe and composite combat armor was hidden behind a series of head wear that draqed over the sides of his face, eyes placating through dark goggles that blocked out the harshness of sunlight and dust. "I'm passing through and need rest and equipment."

Silence passed between Cain and the guardsman who turned to the other with a look that seemed to convey more than just sight, but rather a message. To this the other guardsman exclaimed, his voice darker richer in accent. "Get in Wastelander, but you are here and then gone. Savvy?"

Cain simply nodded and walked closer to the gate that began to creak open with a loud squall of metal on metal, rust breaking oxidation to work towards its aged finality. Slowly the small community of Silver broke into vision as the twilight began to fall and the rasping clasp of the gate locking into position resounded with a dying hush that left nothing but scrap of wind and talk of the townsfolk below.

Silver was nestled in the shadow of the mountain that use to be ripe with mineral coal. Remnants of this operation of long ago cascaded over Silver. Cain sighted the old forman office and the compiled degree of fixation of a coal processing plant that now was compiled half with its original rusted metal structure and new scrounge materials of wood and even older metal. It was the biggest building in Silver, seeming to be the mainstay structure to which all others were erected around or near, giving only avenue to by way of a main road that was like that of a bazar with small kiosks and other hovels of shack riveted homes arranged in way of a grid so that one may walk around the many alleys that it created.

The darkness of the coming night was banished by the collective lamps that burned dimly and flickered to life with a calling of a motor whirl that seemed to echo through Silver, the smell of propane tinged the air as pilot lights and gas giants began to pass echoing a small brilliance to radiate before the flames died down to a constant burn, illumination and heat being the byproduct. It was an integrate system of piping that were arranged overhead by uprights and high-rised hooks that led the flexed piping towards tall poles that each held small tanks of white, numbered with red paint, and enclosed pilot ignitors that vented through the tops.

Cain gathered that the mechanical whirl was that of an engine located in originality at the coal processing plant to which fed gas vapor through the piping hierarchy. He further wondered if the processor was still in somewhat working order. It also seemed to impress him how mankind survived living in the wasteland, how long it would have taken for this to be manufactured and to what common good was its original thought behind it. Still, pressing the opportunistic nature of mankind's strife to survive also played upon the moral good of man. To some degree, peaceful and aggressive tendencies intermixed and to that there wasn't truly anywhere safe in the Wastes and again, nothing can ever be innocent in the wasteland, not even acts of kindness.

The Wastelander continued to walk down the broad avenue of the main road, taking stride and not noticing the looks from the others of Silver nor of how Kirk was handling them as well. Cain knew his dog, trained him as well as he trained another of which passed so long ago to the earliest of his journey. Dogmeat was a fine animal, a welcomed companion, resilient and cunning and hard pressed to the nature of the Wasteland. Kirk wasn't Dogmeat, his personality was that of a much more feral wild dog that took Cain a long time to break the mutt from. That training payed off as both he and his dog continued walking down the street for the children, some of which, if not all, never had seen a friendly dog, and took it upon themselves to try and pet him, investigation done with small child hands that could have easily been devoured if Kirk had not been broken. Now, he simple panted, showing a friendly demeanor towards the children that managed to reach him. He loved being scratched behind his left ear, his spot, always causing him to twitch his right hind-leg. Still, if commanded, Kirk would break back into his feral state, strike to what was commanded, and even kill if ordered to do so. In a sense, Kirk, in combat, was better than Dogmeat, but in loyalty, Cain still missed his former companion.

The familiarity of the Nuka-Cola sign blinking in the shelled window of a long rectangular shack melded the possibility of an inn or food dive. That notion was further proved as Cain took step on the wooden landing to bare the overhanging rusted metal sign that had been etched with the words, "Blackwater Tavern," with that same red paint, both sides in illumination by the two wielded lamps on the right and left of the main double saloon style doors that showed hint of integrate carvings at one time.

Cain's hand suddenly opened, palm side out, towards Kirk signaling him to stay. His well trained mannerism suddenly shifting to that of a stoic sovereign as the wolf took position to the next step landing, sitting tall. A sheer bark echoed as he took seat, scaring the children off to scatter. Kirk would remain there until Cain gave signal to move. Even if a raw piece of meat suddenly fell from the sky and a thousand [censored]es in heat passed in scent, Kirk would not move.

"Good dog," Cain stated before entering the Tavern.

The Blackwater Tavern was built much like others of its kind. A series of tables scattered around, old chairs of different makes and models shuttled to seating the many denizens that took to waste time on game, drink, and poon; a central bar surrounded in stools, and a wall behind that held stock of the many alcoholic beverages that one could partake in ingesting if the mood arise. The women of the night, who were not working the men, stood in lean on the wall ether inside the tavern or out; or, took stock to sit at table or bar, eyeing prospective clients. To take stock of the [censored] population that blanketed the Tavern justly certified it to be a brothel in mainstay and a place of rest a distant second; but, to Cain, taverns and inns were places of information and he of need to that in bucket full, always took a point to visit one when entering a new area.

Cain took seat at the bar, his lean pressed on his forearms, his right, his gun hand, always laid to his side, hidden in jacket. He still didn't trust much, and wouldn't until shown to do so, but even then he didn't in complete. Long ago, back when he was young and foolish, a virgin of the Wasteland, he learned the price of trust and the lesson of which it taught.

"We don't sell to your kind Wastelander," stated the bar keep in a feminine tone that brushed assertiveness. She was an attractive red head, curled locks cushioned on slender shoulders, tight fitting leather strapped close to her figure, her ample bosom peeking outward, briast separated by the tightness of her bra sending her cleavage to press like water bladders on the verge of rupture. She looked down at Cain with a sight of rauaging green eyes that would pierce even the more emotionless of men.

"My money is as good as any else."

"Doesn't matter love," she beckoned as she placed down the rag of which had been busy drying a glass. She pointed, a long slender finger marking the direction of Cain's right shoulder armor that was emblazoned with the emblem of the Brotherhood of Steel. Faded, but still remaining clear was a circle, representing the collective of the Brotherhood, within three gears, the bigger of the two similar in size to the right of which represents the technology the Brotherhood holds, and the overlapping sword and wings below which represents their endeavors to defend it. "If you've not noticed many folk round here don't take kindly to you Steel....,"

"No need to worry," Cain finally spoke turning back from looking at the faded emblem, "I'm not one of them."

"Well," she stated, a sarcasm undertone riding her voice, "that makes everything better now does it," she finished as she took up another glass to shine with her already dirty rag.

"How much does a room go for here...,"

"We don't sell to you Steel...,"

"Just how much," Cain asked again, this time his voice more audible.

"Hundred will get you in, three if you want company."

To this Cain took out a brahmin sack, the thick yellow hide and stitch faded with time out in the sun. Of this he threw upon the counter, taking a mind to allow the bag to spill out several handfuls of caps. It was apparent that it was more caps than the barkeep had ever seen. "Thats five hundred," exclaimed Cain, "and all I ask for is a room for a single night and water to fill my bladders."

"You sure I can't get you some company," the barkeep stated tenderly, taking a point to show her womanly assets vigorously while setting down the glass and placing her warm hands upon his. "My name is Kim," she breathed now closer to Cain, "and I'm the best Silver has to offer."

It was a constant in the Wasteland that all, if not everything, ran on caps. Money was what made the wastes continue, what others thrived for, and what comfort was bought with. One could buy everything and anything with the right amount of caps. Generally when flashing enough any woman with a brain and a body like Kim's would resort to what naturally they could provide, and often, at quite an expense.

Love, as it were, was an abstract idea and not really a factor in enjoyment or necessity.

"I bet you are Kim," Cain stated, "but I'm just wanting the room."

"Sure I can't persuade you," she beckoned running a finger down her front, tauntingly drawing open her vest. "I can be really good."

"Just what I asked."

To this Kim reverted back to the bartender she had been, this time much more open but still hinting at being miffed on being turned down in offer of the advlt favor. "Leave your water bladders here and I'll fill them when I can." She turned towards the collective drunks over near a worn down card table. "Stewart we got an occupant for number 3, get over here and take this gentlemen up."

Out from the masses a lone boy walked, his clothing tatters of leather and rawhide stitched to cling to his body loosely. His skin was dark, burned by the unforgiving sun. On his back he carried a Magnum .55 Caliber pistol that was breach loaded; to the boy before him the weapon would probably be used as a rifle given the boy's size. His hair was long, to the length much like Cain's, though bleached and pulled back into a tight bun above his head.

He walked over to the Wastelander, his boot falls echoing on the barren metal of the flooring. "Hope you don't have anything heavy," he stated as he began to climb the stairs in the back of the bar. Cain followed, dropping his empty water sacks of stitched leather and rotting plastic before taking hold of his satchel to which slung nice and tight on his shoulder and back. He handled the rifle on carry while taking stride up stairs.

Steward opened the door that wasn't much of a door, the damaged rot of the wood frame made the obviously newly made wedge look out of place among the panels of aluminum siding and metal railings. The room itself was nothing more than a bed, freshen with the scent of jasmine and lilac that burned into Cain's nostrils overwhelmingly. It was blatantly obvious that this room was not only used but used well.

"Don't worry," Stewart beckoned as he entered the room and flipped a lever mounted in the wall outlet that suddenly sent a low rumble and spark that drenched the room into sudden illumination; the same system allocated from outside only on a smaller scale. "Mom cleans these rooms daily and that includes flipping the mattresses and spray downs. You won't get wet spots...,"

"Is the barkeep your Mom," Cain stated letting his satchel fall to the bed before moving towards the rack hanger, to where he began to shuffle off his coat?

The boy, taking note of the large satchel and curiosity filling his wonder moved over and began to unlatch it with the skill of a seasoned thief. "Thats right Mister," he stated shuffling through the collection, making a point to throw his voice over to the open door to where last he stood. "Best [censored] in Silver. Well paid and all that by the municipal. Sure she thinks hooking is bad and that it shouldn't be done, but what the hell else could she do to pay for fuel and stock here....,"

He trailed off as his hands fell upon a heavy metal object that was too burdening not to investigate further. It was Stewart's experiences in theft that pointed out that anything of this heavy and sheen of smoothness would be worth a bounty of caps. Slowly he pulled it up, grasping it with both hands before the light caught to what it was, illumination of its degree of wonder fulfilling the boy's eyes as they laid upon the object.

Dark riddled metal clasped together by a selective hinge that seemed to hold the piece of technology in to halves, seemingly to be worn about the wrist. Upon the front most heaviest part was a screen, dead of light until Stewart began to touch the three lighted buttons below. A readout gauge signaled through in a series of greens before the words, "Vault-Tec," played out, disappearing before showing a pin-lined character wearing an odd set of clothing in an outstretched pose selective persecuting outright with all appendages spread. Below stated the name, "Cain," and the words, "Status Unknown. Last Status: High Rad Detected." The whole device was well worn, the valve toggle seemed rusted, but above on the left of the screen, Steward could barely make out the words, "PipBoy 3000," etched in beveled lettering.

"..., teach her son to pickpocket her guest probably fetches a good cap now and then," Cain stated now turned to face Stewart who looked up at him in fear now caught in the act. Still, the Wanderer held no degree of involvement in punishing the young boy, he just stood there.

"You can't blame me...,"

"No I can't," Cain spoke suddenly in shifting to grasp his PipBoy from the young thief, shuffling it back into the darkness of his satchel.

"You're one of those Vault Dwellers," Steward suddenly sparked, a smile brightened upon his face. "You have a PipBoy and everything...,"

"I was," Cain spoke. He shuffled through his bag before pulling out a metal flask that was empty, had been for many many years, still, the metal and fabrication of it was true and showed little to no age. "Here," he stated, giving it to the boy who took it gingerly, "take this and get out."

"Why are you giving me this?"

"So you didn't fail in taking something of value to you. Sell it for caps or keep it, I don't care....,"

With that, the boy left, taking what the Vault Dweller gave, looking at it more closely when out in the small hallway.

It was of a shiny blue hue. A water flask made of very tough metal that seemed to not tarnish or fade even when Stewart endeavored to do so with his finger nail and teeth, it did not dent and it did not scratch. Flipping it over revealed a collective series of numbers that formulated into a designation in bright yellow letters...,

It read: "101."

Were you planning any more of this? It might be a little out there, some unnecessary things. But overall pretty down-to-earth and "normal". I think it's pretty good and if there's any more, keep on going.

Ch. 2 "I Shall Be Slain By All Who Find Me"
By Gabriel Logan

Morning came like a thief in the night, a sighting call of sunlight edged over the horizon to cast a blinding beam into the room where Cain slept. The lightness of his sleep and the alertness that came from years of slumber with one eye open concluded that the wanderer wake to the early day of the Wasteland. He rose from the bed in wake of a dream of klaxons and sirens, blasting shouts of cursing and death that he could still hear even after coming fully awake. It was enough to make Cain shiver despite the heat that caused beads of sweat to riddle his face; or even, perhaps that too was from the dream.

Fully dressed and ready to head out, Cain closed the door to his rented room, satchel and rifle slung to his back, before descending the stairs to the main floor of the Blackwater Tavern that, contrasting to when he came in, was now bare of all the ruffians and the life of the night. Many of the women that had, at one time, been less of dress, were now clothed naturally, sitting at a table, minding themselves with laughter and talk. They looked at the Wanderer in quandary as he came to a stop at the bottom step before turning towards the barkeep which, again contrasting, was clothed in traditional garb fitting to a wasteland survivor. She instinctively, without hesitation, brought up the two water bladders and set them on the counter in front of Cain.

"Its pretty pure," she stated beaming with a smile, "ground water's been a tad bit less radiated since the Capital Wasteland suddenly prospered."

Cain stated nothing before taking stock of the two thick plastic leather concoctions, taking stride in putting them around his waist where they had once been. "You got a Gun Smith in town," he stated, his voice gruff from a tired sleep?

"Wilson," Kim stated with a smirk before taking a glass from the rack and pouring a drink of some foul smelling liquid from a dying bottle that had been recycled over and over again, the combination of alchol and liquid smelting the brew into something more refined to tasting. "He's the guy you want to meet. Main building out in the front gallery, where all the pipes are coming out. Can't miss it."

Cain said nothing as he walked out, feeling the eyes of the ladies on him as he passed through the saloon doors taking a boot step upon the first wooden landing leading to the outside, the virgin town not quite awake to the dawn of the new day, the streets bare of citizens.

Kirk suddenly sparked alive as he smelled his master, passing from behind the banister that had been his shelter from the wind at night, to take stand next to Cain who did nothing but give an assertive pet to the top of the wolf dog's head. In guard, the dog followed his master as both took stride up the main gallery towards the looming building of the derelict coal processing plant.

Cain opened the rusted metal door, the hinge sighing in repose to the action, his right arm giving an aggressive push, meanwhile Kirk, instead of staying followed his master into the twilight of the poorly lit expanse of the room and corridor interior.

"Can I help you," stated a voice haggard in the whisper of old age? Cain turned, and as his eyes adjusted he made out the man that stood in the forefront of a collective sparse arsenal of weapons that littered the room's back behind a metal door that catered to be well set in and heavy.

Wilson had the wrinkles of age that seemed to traverse his face in deep canyons that only amplified the shadow of the man's skin that was well burnt by the degrees of heat in both the combination of coal fire and sunlight. Dressed in a collective covering of leather and brahmn skin, the old man walked up behind a table that was laid out ornamentally with a series of rifles and small arms.

"I need ammunition," Cain began setting down his sniper rifle and pulling out his combat shotgun and .32 caliber revolver scoped, "these three need repairs done to them."

"I can see that," Wilson stated in a whistle of astonishment, his quandary amazement hinting towards the degree in which the wanderer could use these weapons with any type of accuracy. "Might take a tad while and its not going to be cheap ether."

Cain laid out a sack full of caps, the glint in the dwindled light sparking the old man to action. "As long as I do not spend another night here old man I don't care how long you take."

"Sure sonny," Wilson exclaimed taking the sack like a greedy child whose fix for sweets had just been accomplished. "I'll try to get these here done before nightfall."

To this, Cain left, taking note to keep his more exotic firearms closer, hoping that he would not need to use their expensive ammunition.
__________________________________

Stewart held high on a rock canyon several miles from Silver, where he liked to go to hit on some Jet away from the prying eyes of his mother and others who thought him to be a well to do boy. The solid puff and squeeze of air that flooded his lungs with fire immediately going into his brain, the whole endeavor producing a case of euphoria that made the world and sunlight coming from the cresting orb of heat that much more..., significant. He giggled a little as the aspiration of his breath sent a tickle in his tummy, the whole experience signifying that he needed to take another hit.

The capacitor felt dry on the salmeteoi, he shook it before trying to inhale more of the sweet drug to the lasting lapse of only being greeted with a mild buzz. "[censored]," Stewart bellowed before tossing the empty container into the canyon below, finding that the effect of the Jet was still making things a lot more brighter and clearer to the point that he could hear every pat fall of the salmeteoi as it hit rock side after pebble before finding its home in the depths of darkness.

"Another one bites the dust," the boy exclaimed before a smile crossed his face and he turned back to go to Silver. In sudden variance to his situational circumstance, as if suddenly a switch of light snapped Stewart out of his drug induced stupor, the boy slammed into a heavy set piece of metal that sent him falling to the floor.

He looked up, striving to find a solid mass to what he hit but only seeing a wash of colors and a concoction of sounds, but, when the mass moved to pick up what he had dropped from his satchel, the boy began to grow in fear, skittering backward before being caught by another series of hands that held him upright like a statue.

The person before the boy was dressed in the familiarity of the Brotherhood of Steel power armor, the degree of recognition passing Stewart into the realm of extreme fear for the Brotherhood was not one to trifle with and had shown what happened to those who did. His worst fear had come true. The Power Armor looked at him through dead blackness of the visor helmet, the solidly built pneumatic armor sighting the person to tower well over 7 feet tall.

What the Paladin held in his hand was the water flask the Wanderer had given him. It held so brilliantly in the light of the coming sun and was so new and cool that the boy hadn't thought of selling it for caps, but instead, strived to keep it.

"Where did you get this boy," the Power Armor stated, the electronic buzz and rasp of the voice coming outward seemed to hold an artificial tone like a machine, but it was a man behind the thick layers of steel?

"I stole it fair and square," yelled the boy who squirmed but to no avail in the tight grasp of the two other Brotherhood Paladins that held him effortlessly.

"From who?"

"A guy coming through town that spent the night at my ma's brothel....,"

Again, the Paladin looked down at the flask then, after seconds of nothing but the sound of the windswept wasteland, the helmet looked back up. "Recoom. Dial. Get a fire team together, get them equipped with slave collars and Mesmetrons on their secondary. I want them ready within the hour."

"What of the young boy," stated the one on Stewart's left pulling on his arm to signify his question?

"Take him back to camp. He might still be useful."

"Understood."
_______________________________________________________

Cain felt hunger approaching, the growling in his stomach only matched by that of Kirk who whimpered a little as the two passed close to a collection of brahmn.

Once again, Cain entered the Blackwater Tavern, finding that the crowd of young women were gone and only a breath of people had occupied a few tables, again, looking at him when he crossed through the doorway. Kim still stood behind the large counter. This time, Kirk followed Cain into the tavern, finding his seat next to his master's feet, near the stool he sat upon.

"What kind of food do you have here," Cain mentioned, his arms overlapping one another as he leaned forward on the counter.

"What did you have in mind?"

"I want a patch of raw meat for my dog and I will take another cooked."

To this, Kim produced something after going back into the kitchen, coming out with two plates, both hit healthy with slabs of brahmn meat. Cain took the one that was still bloody and slapped it down on the floor, sending Kirk to immediately begin gnawing on it, taking every last ounce of it as he could. Cain then poked at his with his finger, finding that it wasn't completely cooked through, but he took it and bit a huge hunk out before chewing it; the taste of salt ripping through like a biting cold wind. Preservatives littered his taste buds and that added twang of radiation bit solidly, making the whole experience a very bland one. He wiped a bit of blood from his lip before taking another.

Just then a rippled explosion of sound came from outside the tavern, a melding formulation of cries and gunfire mixed in with the rasping sound of energy weapons scourging air. Kim's look of concern crossed her face before she stumbled backward into the shelving behind her causing several glasses to fall to the floor in a crashing of glass. The patrons of the tavern also took concern of what was transpiring, moving backward away from the door and windows. Kirk growled momentarily but Cain eased him with a single pat on his head sending the wolf dog to go back to eating his raw steak.

A guardsmen, bloody and broken, flew through the door that opened with an explosion of movement and sound, and fell to the floor, crawling backward with what strength he had. He looked back at the doorway much as the others in the Blackwater Tavern did seeing a collection of Power Armored Brotherhoods walk in, their metallic footfalls resounding heavily in cascading shock-waves that made ever loose glass and plate shake and the windows creak. The one in the forefront carried nothing in his hands, his plasma rifle stationed on his back. The other two were much more carried in weaponry. A laser cannon on one and a flamer on the other.

"We're looking for someone that came in last night and stayed here," stated the Steel with the Plasma Rifle. "Give him up and I won't burn down this town." He looked around the Tavern, seeing how ever patron moved away save for one who still sat at the counter. The Paladin recognized Cain in an instant.

Cain sensed as the Paladin walked closer and closer, taking stride gently as he motioned for the other two to surround. Gently Cain moved a lever in the confines of his duster, pushing it past a point before a silent chirp of power plunged through hidden. All this he did with his right hand, letting his left continue feeding him his food.

The moment Cain sighted the glint of the Mesmetron coming out from the satchel of the Paladin's side holster, he moved, his right hand suddenly enveloped in a mechanical apparatus that sent shock sparks of electricity through his fist and arm. He slammed his left arm up at the stance of the Paladin mid shooting, knocking the Mesmetron to fire upward at the ceiling before sending The Shocker model Power Fist deep into the belly of the Steel's armor momentarily shorting out the Power Armor's systems. To this Cain pushed, the Paladin reeling backward as the Steel Armor was no longer functioning in its pneumatic systems.

Immediately to this conflicting action, the other Brotherhood Paladin with the gatling laser opened up sending streams of light and heat to fly loosely from the weapon's motorary recoil, the momentary waver sending laser heat to pierce and splash on the walls and counter, shattering glass and smoke to shove off. This is where Cain pushed the first Paladin, causing those streams of light to slice into him, filling him with holes and piercing through the chinks in his armor. Cain ducked down below the laser stream, in mid air pulling out shorten stock Plasma Rifle to which he let loose two shots upon his landing on the floor, striking the Gatling Laser Paladin in the knee joint of his left leg, the second green ball of light sheering clean through, cutting the leg off in a waterfall of blood that splattered to the ground and wall in a sicken squish.

A spray of fire licked outward from the Flame Thrower, catching on Cain, causing him to reel backward, shuffling off the duster he wore, rolling out of it and back to his feet just moments before seeing Kirk run up and bite the Flamer wielder's right hand, mashing through the leather glove of the T-45d suit and into flesh. This brought the Steel clad combatant to his knees and Kirk finished him off with a solid clasp and tear at the exposed throat, pulling a large chunk of flesh and sinew outward in a rose bloom of gore.

Kim and the rest of the patrons of the Blackwater Tavern that had survived suddenly came out from hiding, having witnesses the entire fight that had only lasted seconds. They all stared at the Wanderer who stood, his back to them, reloading his modified Plasma Rifle, setting it back onto the gear of the plate armor of his right leg. The duster had hidden, of what now was exposed, a fabrication of Power Armor and Metal that clung tight to the Wanderer's bulky frame. Series of weapons, both for close quarters combat and ranged attacks snapped on different parts of the armor, the Power fist itself retracted into a hidden compartment in the right forearm plate. None that stood before Cain had ever seen such armor.

The coughing of blood sent Cain to the Paladin that had started the fight. The Wanderer set the actuator off on the helmet before lifting it to only toss aside, revealing a man who had seen much hardship in his time. He was clean cut and shaved, his head as well, a single spit of facial hair growing underneath his lower lip that now caked in blood.

"Who sent you," Cain stated pulling on the collar of the T-45d shoving the dying Paladin closer face to face. All the answer that the Wanderer held was a cough of blood and a gurgle. "WHO SENT YOU!"

To this, a laugh. "You'll find out soon enough...," was the final breath the man made before finally crossing over into death.

Cain sighed before scavenging, taking a few microcells and a couple of plasma grenades before finding a holotape that probably held more information. Then, he found what had lead them to the town of Silver. He stood up and faced the crowd that had slowly crowded around.

"They have your boy," he stated holding out the Vault 101 Water Flask to the bartender suddenly taking on tears as she gripped the flask. Kim had seen it before and had seen the wonder it placed in the eyes of her son. "I need to know where the Brotherhood are. Do you have any ideas?"

"They come from the east," stated a man to Kim's right, "I've see them from time to time over in that direction."

Cain picked up his duster, the flames in final extinguish bellowing smoke to smolder from where the fire had caught. He walked to the door.

"You'll bring Stewart back to me...," whispered Kim as she held the flask close to her heart, streams of tears pouring down her cheeks.

Cain stopped at the saloon door opening, shuffling his coat back onto his shoulders, the noon light casting a glow upon him. "If he's alive," is all he said before he left, his wolf following close behind.