Holy [censored] nice twist dude. I was thinking there was something wrong about Carl lightly, but damn.

Chapter Three
Caleb
The Only Survivor
I was sitting down at a table, sipping at a bottle of whiskey when Gob came over. "Hey Caleb, you should slow down you might kill yourself," he remarked.

"It hasn't killed me yet Gob," I grumbled, finishing the bottle of booze. "Give me another bottle," I said, tossing a few caps on the table. Gob only took a few, "Just don't tell Moriarty okay?" he whispered, setting down another bottle.

I nodded my thanks, and eagerly unscrewed the bottle and downed half of it in a gulp. Six months, it had been six months since I woke up with nearly no memory, six months since my skin began to flake and peel away, revealing metal casing underneath. I sighed, trying to remember the past, the booze helped but I could make out nothing but blurs of people, places, and feelings.

The last thing I remember was a wave of searing heat and blinding light, accompanied by feelings of loss. I finished the whiskey bottle, belching as I set the glass down. I was alone in my corner of the saloon; I covered myself with a duster and hood to hide my features. Moriarty came over concerned about a person who had drunk over six bottles in a row.

"Hello there," he said, Irish accent easily detectible. "I have no problem about you spending your caps here, but I enforce a seven drink limit."

"I'll pay double," I begged.

He shoved me knocking me over and my hood and duster as well. Everyone in the saloon gasped as they saw my face of decaying flesh and the metal casing beneath.

"Get out of my saloon right now," said Moriarty, snapping up a double barreled shotgun.

"Okay" I said, drooping to the floor.

"Oh no you don't," he said reaching down to grab me.

But it was a feint and I slapped the shotgun from his grasp. He gasped as I stood up and raised my fists, poised cobras ready for combat. Everyone else drew a weapon from a little boy wielding a .32 pistol to an old lady shaking from the weight of a .44 magnum.

"So that's how this is gonna be, eh?" I questioned them.

Gunfire erupted; bullets whizzed through the air and a couple made contact with my armored 'skin'. Most of the bullets were reflected off, but the .44 rounds hurt like hell as they dented me. They stopped firing after they went through a clip of ammo. I continued to stand, showing how powerless they really were.

I decided to retaliate.

I jabbed Moriarty in the face, breaking his jaw in the process, then I spun around and grappled with some merc wearing a leather jacket. I threw him up against a nearby wall smashing his head, knocking him out cold.

The Saloon door opened and a gunshot made everyone freeze in place. It was the Sheriff, Lucas Simms.

"What in the hell is going on here?" He demanded.

Moriarty tried to explain "Weh eye 'as 'oin 'oo 'ick 'im out bu' 'e 'it me" he mumbled.

"What?" Simms asked confused.

Gob pushed Moriarty out of the way, "It went like this, Moriarty went to Caleb here and asked him to leave (in a very threatening tone if you ask me) and when he didn't he got out his shotgun. The poor fellow then got shot up by the whole bar!"

Simms looked over at me and studied my features. "Just what are you?" he asked a curious look about his face.

"Man, Machine, Ghoul, Hell if I know." I responded.

"Hmm," He stroked his rough beard. "It is Moriarty's place so his rules c'mon, I'll let you use the spare room in my house," he offered, tugging at my sleeves.

"Okay," I murmured following him towards the door. On my way out I took a bottle of vodka from the bar counter. "I'm taking this as an [censored] tax," I said to Moriarty as I pushed through the door.

I followed the Sheriff down the spiraling rusted walkways that were all over Megaton. As we walked Simms made small talk. "You here about the Enclave's raid on Canterbury Commons? Where's the damn BrotherHood of Steel when you need them? Instead of actually helping us they go traipsing out toward that accursed mushroom cloud we all seen in the distance."

I kept silent, fuming at how Moriarty kicked me out of his bar. I tilted back the Vodka chugging as the burning liquor poured down my throat. When no more came I inspected the bottle.



Empty.

I tossed it over the railing and it shattered on the dirt below. "He we are," called out Simms, reaching into his coat pocket. Taking a key out, he unlocked the door and ushered me in.

I stepped into his house, and groggily went into a room he led me too. The room was dark, the only light was coming through a small window which revealed a dirty mattress on a rusted bed frame.

I dove on the bed; it made a sound akin to fingernails on a chalkboard.

"Night," Simms called out.

The he shut the door and left me in darkness.



I couldn't sleep, I never really could rest, only pass out from alcohol and drugs and even then I had to take more than other junkies, amounts large enough people said I would surely die.

My head hurt, memories eager to burst through and present themselves to my consciousness, but the memories pass to quick, like water trickling through cupped hands.

Laser pistols shooting at Enclave soldiers, falling down, crashing in a Vertibird. Ghouls being blown apart, Brotherhood soldiers on the horizon, A friendly face in Enclave armor, bright lights and burning in my veins. Looking at a body that is extremely muscular, a nuclear explosion.

I sighed, it made no sense. Am I an Enclave soldier? Am I with the Brotherhood? Am I just a merc?

I reached deep into my pockets hoping to find something, anything to help me sleep. Luck smiled on me, I found a morphine syringe. I brought it up as far as I could reach and quickly moved it down ward in a stabbing motion.

"Ah"

I pressed down on the plunger bringing the bliss of immunity to pain.

No worries, no feeling.

No memory.