» Sun Nov 08, 2009 9:53 am It had been so long, but finally, the goal which I had pursued for months was about to be my latest triumph. Save for the small congregation of makeshift hovels ahead, I could see not a single living animal. "All the better," I thought, "fewer witnesses". Back in that little trading village, Oberman's Rest, an old man named Joe Bannister had contracted me to find two of his dearest possessions: his daughter, and a small gold-plated lock box, which contained the ashes of his long-deceased wife. For a long time, the town suffered all too frequent raider attacks, during which a group of vicious wasteland reprobates continually plundered homes, stole women, and broke whatever pleased them to break. Before the town sheriff could react, they had already retreated with their spoils. I wandered into the town after the most recent raid, and decided that those raiders needed a bit of justice... my way.
Sundown. After a long day of hiding from the harsh Wasteland sun, I dragged myself out from under a grouping of rocks. Pulling an old cowboy's hat down over my face, I looked into the pool of murky water near my temporary hiding place, and saw my haggard form in front of me. My attire reflected my life: piecemeal and haphazard. I dressed myself in old pre-war trousers, with a shirt, vest, gloves, and trench coat, all of which prevented sunburn, which of course led to cancer. While I kept a point to cut my hair short, so that nobody could grab me from behind, I let a large, thick beard grow down off my face. I opened the old messenger's bag I kept for supplies, and looked inside: my trusty .500 handgun, a few stimpacks, bottled water and three days rations of Brahmin steaks inhabited its dusty interior. I removed the handgun and checked its clip. All twelve bullets were in their places, just where I needed them. In addition to my regular supplies, I kept numerous parts to an old pre-war assault rifle, for which I saw a schematic several years ago. Over what seemed like an eternity, I had accumulated all but one of the weapon's parts.
Slowly, under the cover of the Wasteland's pitch-black night, I crept upon the hovels. In their center, three men stood about a fire, their arms crossed over their chest for warmth. Each man wore the ramshackle armor and torn leggings customary of raiders, and they each had a bull's eye branded into their stomach. Without doubt, they were the men who pillaged Oberman's Rest. Leaning against the wall of one of their makeshift homes, I brought my pistol to eye level. With three loud, resounding cracks from my firearm's muzzle, the raiders collapsed in a heap on the ground. Horrified, six more raiders kicked open the doors of their huts. The group included three men in full armor, armed with a crowbar, knife, and .32 pistol respectively. The other three were all half-undressed: two women and a man in an absurd looking headdress. Judging by his proximity to the female raiders (they too bore the bull's eye brand) and the double-barreled shotgun in his hands, he was most probably their leader. I took aim again, firing three shots in succession. The raiders clad in full armor fell to the ground.
Then, one of the women pointed out my location. Without taking the time to aim properly, I dove into the center of the group, firing thrice more. My shots missed the two women, but the third split the chieftain's shotgun in half. The raider chieftain pointed at me, indicating to his remaining raiders that he wanted me dead. The first of the two women, who stood tall and strong, armed with a spear, charged me, and knocked the pistol out of my hand.
She proceeded to deliver a strong kick to my left leg, knocking me to the dusty ground. Screaming angrily, she attempted to skewer me with her spear, but I anticipated her attack, and rolled onto my side. Again she stabbed at me, and again I dodged her attack. She drew her throwing arm back, knowing I had no chance of avoiding the spear as a projectile, and just then I saw something glint in the corner of my eye: a .32 pistol. Grabbing the weapon, I took quick aim at my aggressor and fired hastily, delivering a single bullet to the raider's right thigh. She fell to the ground in agony, giving me time to jump to my feet, and retrieve my .500 pistol. Aiming the fearsome weapon at my remaining foes, I barked at the woman, "Perhaps you should rethink your career choice. Immediately." She understood me perfectly, and dropped her own weapon, another makeshift spear, to the ground, proceeding to run out into the wasteland. I turned to the raider chief and said, "Now you. I know you lead the raids on Oberman's Rest. I don't think I like that, not one bit. Tell me, where's the lock box, and where's the girl?"
The raider chieftain glared at me with through bloodshot eyes set in a scarred, grimy countenance. He spat at me, "What, you think you can just kill my boys, and that's it? I'll just answer all your questions? No way, jerk off. I ain't afraid of you."
Looking down at the man, somewhat disappointed, I replied, "My job isn't to make you fear me. All I intend to do is kill you, and since you can't be helpful, there's no point in keeping you alive now, is there? With that said, goodbye." Unceremoniously, I fired one last shot, killing the raider chieftain. No longer would he terrorize the people of Oberman's rest.
Before departing from the small raider camp, I entered the chieftain's hut, to see what laid inside. Sure enough, on a table in the center of the room sat a gold-plated box with the words "Rest In Peace, Serena Bannister". I placed the box in my old messenger's bag, but decided to search the rest of the hut before leaving. Numerous trophies and bits of armor were strewn across the room, but none of them interested me. In the corner squatted a lone, rusted footlocker. I opened the ancient container, and found the real spoils of the raider group. From the footlocker, I claimed a bag of thirty-six bottle caps, along with two clips of 5.56mm ammunition, a stimpack and a dusty book with the faded words, "Dean's Electronics" printed across its navy blue cover. As I was about to step back into the wasteland, I saw one last contained, a burlap sack, beaten, torn, and scorched. While I doubted anything of value would actually be in the bag, I opened it anyway, and to my astonishment there sat the firing mechanism for which I had been searching! Cradling the mechanism gently, I placed it in my bag, and strode out into the Wastes. After returning to Oberman's Rest with the good news and the lock box, I would continue my travels south. It sounded as if a place called the "Capital Wasteland" had been suffering an infestation of Super Mutants, not entirely dissimilar to the ones with which I had dealt in what was once South Carolina.
