must.withstand.temptation.to.write.about.the.pitt....arrgle...cant.........pfffffrrrrrrrt.

There, I'm fine now. Damn good write. Really well done. Love reading it




ps
sorry bout the first bit. I get that way when I read good stories

Thanks fellas! And now for the next chapter...
---

The pair bounded breathlessly through uphill ruins, to the wilderness of the old Highland Park. The sight of the nightmare beasts gnawed at Marie's guts, an unstoppable behemoth so close to home. The Park itself was nothing more than clumps of brown grass and skeletons of tree trunks, a lightly trodden path through the mud guiding their way.

"This is where you and I part, kid," uttered Finch, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Keep heading to the southeast, you'll hit Monroeville. Full of Trogs, from what I hear. But I'm sure you'll do fine."
The trader beckoned his brahmin, turning his back unceremoniously to Marie, who cried after him with a thousand questions. What other beasts lay in wait? Who could she expect to meet? Where could she rest? Finch answered the questions with a single response - he did not know. Turning back for a second, he left her with a few wryly spoken words. "Welcome to the wasteland, kid."

She watched the trade caravan disappear into the distance. She also watched the sun dying the west, to her alarm. Marie knew that travelling at night was practically suicide. She needed to find shelter, and soon. Pulling a compass from her pocket, she gauged the approximate location of Monroeville, her first port of call. She danced in silence across the scrub, through rotting planks and shattered brickwork, all the while through dying light. Marie felt panic grip her heart, as the open wasteland provided no cover, nor shelter.

Pressing onwards, she spied in the corner of her eye something that could be used as shelter, a wardrobe lying in the overgrown rubble. Knowing that all manner of dangers could hide in the darkness, be it a hungry Molerat or common Radroach, she pulled her pistol from its holster, carefully prying the doors open. Nothing greeted her except a tattered pre-war dress, no doubt belonging to some grand socialite long before the bombs dropped. Shrugging her shoulders, she clambered into the darkness, closing the door behind her. Attempting to make herself comfortable, she drifted off, exhausted.

She woke, still half-dreaming, still thinking she was back in The Pitt. But instead of Haven's spectacular views, all that met her was darkness and damp. She emerged blinking into the light, confused, before she remembered her purpose. After a quick breakfast of pork and beans, she continued across the quiet morning wastes, through the fog. Rusting signs displayed the pre-war names of the ruined settlements she passed through. First Wilkinsburg, then Churchill.

She was beginning to think that the old tales were complete nonsense. She had wandered for hours, and not seen any indications of life. Eerie, but safe. The fog finally cleared once she reached Wilkins. On the eastern hills, through crumbling office blocks, she spied the first intact building she had seen since The Pitt. The Monroeville Mall.

she found a mall....SHOP TILL THE TROGS KILL YOU XD!!!
sorry i had to ^^ anyway your getting better and better

I'm feeling prolific today, so here's the next chapter. If you enjoy my work, try also Forty-One Years in Akavir: Nerevar in the Fourth Era, my current TES ff. Any and all feedback is much appreciated!
---

Chapter 5: The Siege of Monroeville

The words of Finch and the rumours heard around The Pitt echoed in Marie's mind. Monroeville was a deathtrap, infested with cannibalistic Trogs who delight in rending flesh. Before he died, Everett had bragged that an old Auto-Axe of his had 'mauled Trogs from here to Monroeville'. From Wilkins, she couldn't confirm or deny the rumours, but she knew that she had to traverse the purported deathtrap if she was ever going to find Faydra and discover the truth. So far the the journey had been one fright after another, and she was ready for any flesh-eating abominations she would find at the mall.

Marie brought her rifle up to her face, pressing her eye to the scope. In the sights she could view figures surrounding the mall. They appeared to be upright, which was not the nature of the Trogs, who always scurried about on all fours. What were they? She clasped her rifle close, like a lover, trusting her life in its lethal function. She crept ever closer to the mall, checking through the scope at intervals. Swallowing her fear, she crossed a bridge across a muddy gorge, leading directly to the building. Crossing it, she brought the scope to her eye once again. In the ruined parking lot, between the corpses of nuclear-powered cars, the figures paced. Clad in tattered clothes, angry faces. But not Trogs. The mall itself had been fortified, boarded up windows and barricaded entrances.

Lowering the scope in confusion, Marie approached, her rifle at her hip. She slithered her frame through the tightly-packed cars, hiding herself from the figures. Although she was careful to conceal her footsteps, her rucksack caught on the wing-mirror of a derelict Corvega, snapping it and smashing the glass on the the asphalt. She froze, unable to manoeuvre her rifle, trapped as she was between the rusting vehicles. One of the figures approached to investigate. As she awkwardly attempted to reach her pistol, the jaundiced figure spoke, a bitter, accusatory tone.

"Who are you? Are you with them?"

Marie hesitated for a moment, surprised that the figures were not try to devour her. "With who?"

"The enemy, inside the mall. Who are you?"

"My name is Marie," she answered, voice wavering. "I come from The Pitt. I'm just passing through, to a place called Set. I'm no threat to you, whoever you are."

"We are The Forgotten. My brothers come from all over. From smaller settlements. We would go to The Pitt if we were able, but it's too dangerous. Climb out of there, I shall take you to Stros. He is our leader."

Clambering over the cars, she followed the bedraggled figure, through the crowd. A hunched, hooded figure sat atop the roof of a ruined Chryslus Highwayman, discussing something with another. He spied Marie and her escort. With a gravelly voice, he repeated the welcoming inquisition. Marie protested her innocence and ignorance. The man threw back his hood, revealing a face thick with weeping sores, clumps of hair atop his head.

"I am Stroschein," he rasped. "Although most just call me Stros. I am the leader of The Forgotten. You are among my people, but you do not bear our marks. Our hunger and our wounds, we wear as an identifier. I welcome all who wear this badge. You do not."

"No. As I said, I am from The Pitt. I am on a journey. You have to trust me, I am no danger to you."

"You come to my people, armed and well-fed, and you speak of trust? We have been betrayed too often to grant trust to strangers, no matter how innocent their outward appearance. For all I know you could be working for Typhon and this is some sort of trick."

"I even know who that is. Why would I be working for him?"

"He is wily, for a damned zombie. Aren't you going to ask what we are doing here, in this siege?"

"It is not my business, I'm just a traveller. If you want to trade, I have a few provisions with me. Otherwise, I must be on my way."

"I don't think so, girl. You made it your business when you wandered through Monroeville. You'll help The Forgotten, or we will call you enemy. We have been here for weeks, waiting them out, trying to find a weakness. Every so often one of the zombies takes a potshot at us."

"Why are you here? What do you want from me?"

Stroschein jumped down from the car, holding Marie's gaze before speaking angrily.
"Isn't it obvious? We are The Forgotten! We have nothing. Nothing! Our families, killed. Our homes, destroyed. All we can hope for is to survive. Easy for you behind the bridges, rubble and guns of The Pitt, not so easy for us. That mall has provisions of food and water my people need, but the cursed ghouls refuse it to us. So we lay siege. We will find a way in, and when we do, we will rip those selfish rotting zombies limb from disgusting limb!"

"I won't help you kill ghouls," Marie said in scorn. "Even if I was able to."

"Oh, but you will. And you are. It's obvious even to a zombie that you aren't one of us. You will be our man...girl on the inside. Pretend you seek refuge from us and the fools will take down their barricades for you. Once you're in, unlock the doors and we'll take care of the rest. It will be a glorious slaughter!"

"And if I don't?"

"I'll order your death. I'm not a monster, but I have people to feed. If this is the only way I'll take it. That is what it is to be a leader, to take the hard decisions. What say you?"

"How...how would I go about this?"

"We'll shoot at you. You run from us. The will investigate the gunshots and see you. Bash on the doors, they'll take down the barricade and let you in. Once you're in, tell them the same thing you told us, about being a traveller. Request shelter for the night, then unlock the smaller doors on the side of the building."

"How will you know when the doors are unlocked?"

"Because you'll push them open, fool! They are determined, but small in number. Ten at the most. Do not let their resourcefulness fool you, they can't guard every entrance perpetually."

"And if, when I'm inside, I refuse?"

"Then you'll never continue your journey. You'll either be killed by the zombies once you get inside, or killed by us when we find a way inside. We surround the mall completely, so don't get any ideas about slipping out and running. So, do we have a deal?"

"I don't really have much choice. Not much of a deal for me, Stros."

"But the best I can offer, for you and my people. My lines are thinnest on the eastern perimeter. Start running from there towards a door, we'll fire at you. Don't worry, we'll miss. Bang on a door. They'll let you in. Now go."

this is getting AWESOME--ER!!!!!!!!!!!

Wow just wow this is an amazing story lorca! I can only hope that one day I will become half the writer you are!

Thanks! Now for the next chapter...

---

The Monroeville Mall was a fortress, but it was a fortress under siege. The group known only as The Forgotten would eventually find some way in, either through force, subterfuge or starving the defenders out. Marie always thought of herself as a righteous person, one of the few whose heart was untainted by the horror which surrounded her. If she was to betray the defenders, she assured herself that it would be for the greater good. People were sick, starving. If she could alleviate the suffering of the many by increasing the suffering of a lucky few, she had a moral duty to do so. At least, that's what she told herself. In any case, she could not continue her journey unless she helped Stroschein.

The first part of his plan was carried out without any problems, although Marie felt uneasy placing her life in the hands of the desperate rabble, but they stood to gain nothing by shooting her in the back now. She fled towards the Mall, in feigned fear, while gunshots cracked behind her. Reaching a small, featureless door, she pounded on the metal and screamed for help. She heard a faint click echoing from the interior, and pushed the sheet metal open.

The first thing that hit her was the smell. The ubiquitous musty odour of mould and dust thrown up by centuries of neglect combined with the sickly smell of rotten meat. Instinctively she held her hands to her face, glad that Nola had given her a black cloth to cover her face. Although intended for concealment, it provided a useful breathing mask. She found herself in a dark corridor, yellow faded newspapers strewn about the floor. Squinting, she saw a figure standing in stillness at the end of the corridor. She called out to silhouette, but received no answer. Approaching, she noticed the smell getting worse. A dead body, strung up?

The figure reached for a switch on the wall, triggering blinking, fluorescent lights on the ceiling. Stepping forward, Marie saw his face. He was a ghoul. A very old ghoul. The ragged skin on his face barely covered the white of his exposed skull. His right eye wept yellow pus down his cheeks, bandages covered most of his torso.

"Howdy there, kiddo," rasped the ghoul. "And welcome to the Monroeville Mall. Don't know who you are, but those ghoulie-haters outside wanted you dead. Reason enough to like you, even if you are a pure-strain."

"Who...what are you?" questioned Marie, choking back her disgust.

"I'm Typhon. Came from way out west, been wandering across the country for a long time. I'm a ghoul, been that way all my life. Born before the radiation, you see. Never been any other way for me."

"Born before the radiation? That was centuries ago - how old are you?"

"Reckon about two-hundred and twenty by now. Tellin' the truth I lost count wandering around Wyoming. Doesn't matter much anyway."

"You lived before the war?"

"Ha, yeah. We're all incredibly long-lived. Falling apart all the while, though. Don't mind, never known anything else."

"You said you wandered Wyoming?"

"Yeah, just had enough of California. My father was a real...anyway. Decided to head east and see the wonderful sights of the heartland. You're not missing much, kid. Enough small talk, though. Come closer," he beckoned with a bony finger. "Let me see your face."

Marie stepped closer into the light. "I need your help. I'm trying to reach a settlement called Set."
"Set? Ha, small world. My, though, aren't you a pretty little thing. Ever since I lost my copy of Cat's Paw I've been looking for something to get the old juices flowing."
Marie stepped back and slowly reached for her pistol. The ghoul chuckled.

"Relax kid, just a joke. The damn thing rotted off about thirty years ago. Still got my rotgut, though. Afraid I can't help you reach...Set. Can't even get out of this Mall. Plenty of food to go around though, so feel free to stay here. My boys won't bother you if you don't bother them."

"You have supplies of food?"

"We still gotta eat. Plenty of RadX and Radaway to go around too...heh, another joke."

"Why don't you share it with the people outside?"

"Another joke? All they want from us is our heads. Since they showed up all they do is camp outside and shoot at us when they get bored. We can hole up here until they starve, though. They aren't getting in."

"I think I have a proposal for you," spoke Marie. "A proposal which will satisfy both sides..."

this.story.is.AWESOME.

Thanks! And we haven't even got out of Pennsylvania yet. We're gonna pick up the pace a bit in the coming chapters. Please continue to leave feedback, a writer is nothing without a reader.

I think it's amazing but i've waiting a while for the story to continue and pick up pace as u said

Indeed. Marie's search for the Lone Wanderer continues...right now!

---

A natural inclination for diplomacy, essential in an environment such as the Pitt, where brute force could be met in kind, had paid off for the naive traveller. The two warring factions of Monroeville, Typhon's ghouls and the starving attackers, brought to the negotiating table by an outsider. Although relieved that a fight had been avoided, Marie was still more concerned with town of Set, the home of Faydra, the only one who could help her.

Typhon, whose intelligence still shone through his remaining eye, arranged to share the remaining stocks of food in exchange for the Forgotten's protection, hunting and scavenging abilities. The arrangement spelled the end of the siege and, perhaps, the beginning of a community. Marie was thankful for the lack of bloodshed, asking the old ghoul if she could offer further assistance.

"You've helped us enough. You're all right for a pure-strain, kid. Surprised you ain't asking about a reward. Bit wet behind the ears, aren't you?"

"I'd be grateful for any help you can give me. But the most valuable thing to me is information, about my past."

"Can't help you with that, I'm afraid. If I still had my cap stash I'd give you it. Can't believe you still use bottlecaps over here...should never have given my treasure to that Chosen One. I can give you a little information about the future, though, especially if you're heading east. My buddy Phil's well informed. Told me all about the Westmoreland Badlands. It's why we stopped here, in fact. The place is divided into east and west. The west is raider country, roaming bands of idiots. Nothing too special. But beyond that, there are tales. Of people from the surrounding towns who've been...changed."

"Changed? You mean into ghouls? Or trogs?"

"I'll thank you not to lump my kind in with those mindless animals, kid. They're not ghouls, I know that much, for they attack our kind. You can usually rely on ghoul solidarity, even from ferals. Or Super Mutants. One of the advantages of ghouldom. Phil tells me it's something to do with the fallout from Philly. When the bombs dropped much of the radioactive muck from the big cities was carried on the wind. It settled over Westmoreland, mutated the locals at an increased rate. You'd be better off talking to the other humans from round here. One last thank you - I'll send Phil along with you. Very knowledgeable about liquor, and guns. Good luck, kid."

A ghoul behind Typhon took a swig from a hipflask, before nodded towards Marie and stepped forward.
"I'll escort you about halfway, to where these new beasties appear. Don't mistake this for cowardice, though. It's quite a walk to Set, and I can't stray too far from base camp. You don't seem to mind ghouls, and have helped us, so we should be good to go."

Mutations, raiders, chaos. All familiar to a denizen of The Pitt. Marie felt nothing but curiosity, although suspected these creatures were trogs, nothing she hadn't seen - or killed - before. Still, more information couldn't hurt. And now she had a companion. Before she left Monroeville she would consult Stros.

Stros was enjoying a can of pork and beans, slurping from the tin with abandon.
"You'll have to excuse me," he muttered, embarrassed by Marie's presence. "But it's been a while since I've had a good meal. I owe you my thanks. Didn't think these zom- no, ghouls, could be reasoned with. We don't have much to share, but ask and I'll see what I can do."

"I still have supplies from The Pitt, and a now companion too. So I don't need food nor protection. What I am interested in is information. I need to know what lies in the Westmoreland Badlands."

"Well, it isn't called the badlands for nothing. We've lost many in those barren wastes, mostly to raiders. They kill, then scavenge the corpse."

"There's nothing unusual in that," replied Marie. "I'm familiar with how raiders work. But it's what lies beyond that I'm more concerned with."

"How far into Westmoreland are you going, exactly?"

"I'm travelling across it, to Set."

Stros put down the tin and though for a moment, in silence.
"It's suicide. You've done much for us, so I owe you this. Don't go. You will not make it."

"I am prepared for whatever waits for me. I've always known that death is a risk."

"It's not death you should be concerned with, but...something worse. A change...into a demon. Like the old stories. You perhaps wonder why I'm the leader of the Forgotten? My strength, my determination. Both of which saved my life when I encountered these creatures."

"What happened?"

"About ten years ago I was part of a scavenger team, poking through the ruins of the old towns out there for salvage to trade, dodging raider bands all the way. We wandered too far east, into what a friend of mine called 'mushroom country'. I laughed at first, but the look on his face quickly shut me up. There were only a few at first. Got thicker as we moved further from the raiders. My friend threw a bolt at one of them. It hissed, threw up a cloud of white gas, spores that hung in the air. To breath it meant a change, he said. Something worse than death. In the corner of my eye I spotted something moving, and alerted my team. The strangest damned thing I'd ever seen. A human, or what had been a human. Legs fused together. Pale white, mouldy fungus covering its body, head turned skyward. On its back a bulbous growth. It was a jiang."

"A jiang?"

"That's what my team called them. Mindless, horrific monsters. Worse even than trogs. I doubt anyone from The Pitt will believe there are things out there worse than trogs, but believe me, trogs are a picnic compared to these damned things. Soon more appeared, hopping towards us on their fused legs. We fired, but it was like shooting at water, the bullets passed straight through. Then we ran, back to raider country. They followed. They couldn't see us with their heads thrown back, but sensed us somehow. Smell, perhaps, or hearing. Some of my team were still laden down with scrap metal and were caught. The damn thing exploded, its back spewing the white gas over them. It looked dead, ripped apart by the blast. Unfortunately the men who had been caught by the cloud collapsed, swatting at the air and spluttering. I tried to go back for them, but my friend held me back. Said they'd become jiang now, that their life force was svcked dry. We were almost back into to raider country when Watts, my friend, stepped on one of those damned mushrooms. He didn't see it, hidden behind a rock. The thing spat gas straight in his face. A moment later, I saw him lift his laser pistol to his head and fire. It reduced him to ash. He would rather die than become one of them. I lost my entire team that day."

"They attack ghouls too, I know that much," added Phil. "Any idea whether animals can be turned?"

"No idea. I didn't stick around long enough to find out. Law of the wasteland will do you well out there."

"Shoot first, ask questions later," nodded Phil.

"I'm sorry about your team, Stros," spoke Marie softly, placing a hand on his defeated shoulders. "What can I do to protect myself?"

"There is no time to mourn, Marie. I don't know if there is any protection against them. Other than not going there."

"I must. Thank you for what you have told me. I will be careful."

Stros watched as Marie and Phil headed east. He shook his head, knowing that somewhere out there his scav team had been lost. He handed his meal of pork and beans to another, for he had lost his appetite.

Exellent writing btw. I wasn't checking for spelling or punctuation but ur languague, detail and literally how you write are very engaging and intresting to read. Keep it up!

i cant stop reading!!!!ITS TOO AWESOME!!!

Very excellent! I intend to read this more than once!

Thanks all - now into the dark heart of Westmoreland...

---

Chapter 6: We Are The Hollow Men.

Before the war, Westmoreland was a pleasant, autumnal county, rural Pennsylvania in all its glory. Rolling hills, gentle trees, covered bridges - America's beauty on display for all. Since the bombs dropped, this pastoral tranquillity had been slowly destroyed, poisoned by the pervasive radiation. In the months after the nuclear holocaust, radioactive ash gradually settled over the countryside, as the wind blew the contamination westwards. The trees became withered husks, the grass became brown kindling, the grazing cows mutated into the now familiar brahmin. In the east of the county, the radiation mutated the local fungus, causing the horrors of the jiang. Eventually, raiders settled in the western half, leading to this once pleasant county being dubbed the 'badlands'.

Marie and Phil left the ruins of Monroeville, heading east. After stopping for the night in an abandoned warehouse, they continued along the broken asphalt of the old interstate, interstate 76. Most roads had been reclaimed by the wasteland, although some of the major highways were still distinguishable. Phil trudged wearily between the cracks, while Marie jumped across them, deer-like in spirit and temperament. Heading towards the rising sun, the two eventually struck up a conversation.

"So, Phil, you know where I'm from - where do you come from?" Marie questioned.

"You're from The Pitt, right? What was Pittsburgh. Me and Typhon come from way out west. You've heard of Nevada? The state doesn't exist anymore, but that's where we were from."

"I've never left The Pitt, before now," replied Marie, her voice tinged with regret. "What can you tell me about...the outside?"

"I called Broken Hills home for a while. Seemed a nice enough place, at least you could make a living there. Either down the mine or in the residential district. Me, I just sold the drinks. But the people there...humans, ghouls, mutants...couldn't get along. Always conflict brewing under the surface, wherever you go. Eventually Typhon decided to leave, so I tagged along. I knew the place like the back of my hand, so I figured I'd get to know other places too."

"You must have seen some interesting things along the way."

"Interesting? You could say that. The business in Vegas with Caesar's Legions, slaver scum. Then the wandering. We didn't fancy a visit to scenic Dog City, so we headed north. Wyoming is probably the safest place we passed through, didn't see a soul for months. Nothing out there but brahmin and elk packs, and the odd coyote. Safe, but boring. The rest, tribals, raiders, slavers. The NCR seems to be the only bastion of civilisation left."

"The NCR?"

"New California Republic. Government, currency, trade. A welcome respite from the chaos and anarchy, even if they could be a bit overbearing at times. Always with their posters and - hold up."

Phil grabbed his Chinese Assault Rifle, holding it to his hip.
"Hear that? Gunshots to the north. Raiders. We're a little exposed out here, raiders watch the old roads for caravans they can loot. We should proceed along the ditch. Hope you're not too attached to those boots."
The pair proceeded along the muddy ditch to the side of the broken highway. Continuing through the featureless wilderness, they occasionally stopped to listen for raiders. After a few hours Phil broke the silence.

"Should be clear of that group, for now. Most raiders are quite territorial, proud of their squalid base camps. We probably heard a expedition party for one of the main groups. Still, be on your guard. For all we know a scout has an eye on us right now, so we must be ready for a fight. That rifle of yours looks like it could put down a few raiders, but I'd rather stay out of trouble. I'm barely holding together as it is."

"If you don't mind me asking -"

"What's it like to be a ghoul? Don't look so surprised. I tended bar for a long time. Every smoothskin asked me that question. When they weren't just bigots, anyway."

"I didn't mean to offend you, your help is much appreciated."

"None taken. Typhon was right about you. He's been around long enough to be right about a lot of things. You're green as a Super, but no bigot. Surprising, since those with complexions like yours are usually...entitled. Look down their noses as us poor rotting bastards."

"I'm used to it, I suppose. The Pitt changed everyone. I was the exception in that place."

"Couldn't have been easy. Anyway, in response to your question, there's pros and cons. We live a long time, for instance. Ferals and Super Mutants -"

"Sorry to interrupt. I heard Typhon mention them, but what is a Super Mutant?"

"A hulking mass of stupidity, mostly. You get some good ones. One was even a sheriff in Broken Hills. Some lunatic tried to make an army of 'em, but was stopped by a Vault Dweller. Anyway, the aggressive ones and feral ghouls usually ignore us. Our tolerance for pain is through the roof. Radiation doesn't bother us. Of course, the downsides are looking like a corpse and bigots. The older ghouls start having serious problems as they...degrade. First lose fingers, then hands, even arms. Most of us have no sense of smell, since our noses fell off. A portion of us are deaf or blind. You wouldn't know it, but Typon's deaf in his right ear. You've probably noticed our voices, too. Oh, and we're sterile. So no ghoul families, in the traditional sense."

"Has anyone researched a cure? In The Pitt we managed to reverse the trog condition."

"Not that I've heard of. I don't think it would go down well. Most ghouls take a kind of pride, a solidarity in 'ghouldom'. We're like a community, we share the experience. Me, I don't care either way. I'm used to it."

Marie was lost in thought, wondering if she could assist, when she heard a gunshot. Much louder than before. Phil let off a burst of fire and turned to his ward.
"[censored]! They've found us! Open fire, Marie!"

Marie reluctantly lifted the scope of her infiltrator to her face, spotting figures popping up behind rocks and firing.
"Fire, damn it!" rasped Phil.

She found the silhouette of a raider in the crosshairs. Closing her eyes, she squeezed the trigger. The rifle let forth a burst of silence fire, throwing Marie backward. She opened her eyes and scrambled to her feet, as Phil gunned down more of their attackers.
"They're retreating," he sighed, seeing the look of shock on Marie's face. "No mercy for those animals, Marie. They will kill you if you don't kill them first."

"I know...I just...are you OK?"

"Fine. We're nearly into jiang territory. Soon you'll be on your own, so you'll need to be a bit quicker on the trigger in future."

"I've killed trogs before...an act of mercy, putting them out of their misery. But never another human."

"Your first kill? Congratulations! These idiots probably have the intelligence of a trog. Don't let even an ounce of guilt into your mind, or you'll never make it in the wastes."

Phil's words were of scant comfort. She knew this day was inevitable, but was still repulsed by what she had done. Kill or be killed was a disgusting way to live. She was still pondering the moral quandry when Phil collapsed in front of her. She rushed to his side.
"What happened? Have you been hit?"

"I don't know," replied Phil, his rasping voice becoming fainter with each word. "So...tired."

"I've got some medical training and supplies. Let me take a look at you."
Phil nodded as Marie rolled him over. His sack-cloth trousers were caked in blood. Bright red arterial blood.

"No...not there," Marie whispered, tearing away the cloth from his leg. "Anywhere but there."
A bullet had ripped into his inner thigh. Although the wound itself was fairly clean, blood gushed from beneath his necrotic flesh.

"What is it?" asked Phil, his voice barely audible.

"You were hit in the last fight, in your leg."

"Bleeding out, huh. Never figured it would end like this. Always thought a deathclaw..."

"Don't speak," hushed Marie. "Save your strength."

Phil grunted as Marie pressed a bandage down on the wound.
"Useless," he moaned. "You know...no stemming..."

"I know," replied Marie, struggling to hold back her tears. She reached in her supplies and pulled out a syrette of MedX.

"Thank you," whispered Phil, as Marie injected it into his arm. "You're not bad for a smoothsk.."
Phil's words trailed off as he slipped into unconsciousness. Marie untied her black bandana, using it to wipe tears from her face and blood from her hands. Powerless. All she had been able to do was ease the end. The miracle, the cure incarnate, helpless against a simple gunshot wound. She took off Phil's jacket, closed his eyes and laid it over his face. He deserved some dignity from his pointless death.

No time to mourn...Stros's words echoed in her mind. He too lost people in the Badlands. But he pushed forward. She must follow his example. It wasn't far to Set now, but she had to face the spectre of the jiangs alone.

"Thank you," she said to Phil. Holding her infiltrator close, she left him to cross the land of demons that lay beyond.

aaaawweessoommeee!!!

Woah. Dude this story is more then immense. I'd like to know why the Lone Wanderer is out here, Specificly not just he's wandering.

I KNOW WHAT HES DOING!!!!
he..uhh...lost his favorite assault rifle? :vaultboy: right?

Hahhaha he'd have to have been there to lose it there. Knowing this guy it'll be something really epic and ridiculously bad ass.

I'll have a new update soon...that pesky real life thing keeps interrupting. The search for the now middle-aged Lone Wanderer, if he's even still alive, will continue shortly.

YYYAAAYYYYY :celebration:

Marie was alone now, trudging through the barren, windswept deadlands that once comprised the pastoral Pennsylvanian heartland. Leaving raider country behind, she felt a profound sense of isolation. The sound of wind howling through the black tree stumps was her only companion, yet in this eerie setting she could not shake off the feeling that something was watching her, or aware of her presence on some level. She felt that her presence was distinctly unwelcome.

She had to fight to remain alert, constantly battling her fatigue and the tedium of the journey. As the miles passed, her guard began to drop. A rustling in the dead undergrowth snapped her out of her malaise. She instinctively brought her pistol up and pivoted on the heel of her foot to investigate. A baby Mole Rat. Unusual to see them out of their nests. She examined it more closely. It was pale white, with a growth on its back. Eyes glazes over, one of its forearms was missing. Marie put the creature out of its misery with a suppressed shot to the head. A jiang had obviously infected it.

She pondered the nature of the disease a second too long. One of the humanoid beasts leaped behind her, landing silently. It clumsily swiped at Marie, striking her head and knocking her off her feet. Dazed from the blow, she brought her hands to her head to try and stop the ringing in her ears, while the jiang shambled towards her. She struggled back to her feet, fumbling for a weapon. The jiang lurched forward, again striking her. Blood poured from her nose as she rolled in the dirt, crying out in pain. She felt the beast pounce on top of her, its mouth hanging open she smelt its rotting breath. It gave out a moan and collapsed. Marie shielded her face with one hang and struggled for a knife with another.

But the jiang had ceased its attack. She smelt a mouldy smell clouding her bloodied nostrils. Opening her eyes, she found herself engulfed in a white cloud. The jiang had exploded, its growth ripped apart and expelling millions of toxic spores into the air. She pushed the beast off and ran spluttering through the cloud, swatting at the air.

Clear of the cloud, she fell to her knees. Stros's tem had been wiped out by these things, and turned, after a burst of spores. They they were turned quickly, rendered unconscious while the foul mutations took place. Apart from a headache and a bloodied nose, she felt fine. Marie examined her pistol, contemplating whether it was better to put a bullet in her head than risk turning into one of those things.

Shaking her head clear of the notion, she endeavoured to continue. If she noticed changes, she would act. In The Pitt, despite being surrounded by mutagens, she remained a pure-bread human. The Cure incarnate. Immune to all mutation. She realised now, the jiang - a nuisance, not a menace. A wry smile spread across her face as she continued on.

In the distance, the silhouettes of buildings. Set, the home of Faydra. The denizens of Set were unlikely to be friendly. As she approached, she brought the Infiltrator to her shoulder and peered through the scope. Sentries were patrolling. She decided to approach, rather than fight her way through.

One of the sentries spotted her.
"Halt! You approach the Set," he challenged. "Who are you?"

Marie flung her hands in the air "I have come to see Faydra."

"Faydra?" the sentry laughed, lowering his weapon. "That old diseased hag. Why do you want to see her?"

"I have some questions for her."

"Very well. Follow me. But mind your manners or we'll put you down."

Set itself was a small, ramshackle town of half-repaired crumbling pre-war houses, huts of sheet metal and wooden pallets. Home of downtrodden men clad in rags, with nowhere else to go. The sentry lead Marie into one of the hovels.
"In here. Try not to kill her," the sentry chuckled, slamming the makeshift door, "She was good fun back in the day."

Before Marie, laying on a bedroll covered in rags, was a grey and aged Faydra. She looked closer to a ghoul than a raider.
"Who are you?" she wheezed.

"My name is Marie and I need some answers. You're from The Pitt, right?"

"No," replied the old woman. "But I spent some time there, years ago. Organising scab fights in the Arena. Always a laugh watching them shoot each other. Until that rebellion."

"Rebellion?"

"Suppose I should be glad. I'd be dead if I had stayed there, it gets everyone in the end. I've been out of The Pitt for twenty years, but look at me."

"I'm here to talk about your time back there. You're the only one still alive from those days who can tell me what I want to know."

"What did you say your name was?"

"Marie."

"Marie...Ashur? The Boss's daughter?"

"The Boss?"

"Ashur...ha! I can guess what your questions are, then. They're both dead, forget it."

"Tell me about my parents."

"Ashur was the Boss. Lord of The Pitt. We listened to him and the slaves...workers...whatever, they listened to him if they wanted to live."

"He was a slaver?"

"No. Well, yes, but more. He was the Boss. Wanted to rebuild The Pitt, thought slaves were the only way to do it. Me, I was happy tagging along for the ride and matching them up to kill each other."

"What else can you tell me about my father?"

"Not much, really. I was small time back then, didn't get a lot of face-time with the real badasses in Uptown. Wore some strange armour, I can tell you that."

"...and my mother?"

"Some egghead type, spent all her time in Haven researching her brat...you. She didn't really fit in with the rest of us, but Ashur would break anyone who badmouthed her in half."

"I want to know about the Lone Wanderer."

"Wait. Information comes at a price. I want you to do something for me."

Marie braced herself. Out here the job could be anything, but probably involved death. She had no desire to be anyone's assassin.
"What do you want?"

"I'm dying. There were rumours before the rebellion, that you were going to cure uptown, keep the slaves in check. Did it work?"

"Not like that. But it did work."

"I've been falling to pieces since I left the Arena. I took a hefty stash of RadX and RadAway, but they do no good apart from giving my the [censored]s. I think you get what I am driving at."

"You want me to cure you."

"Yep. Then I'll tell you anything you want about your Wanderer, if that's what you call him. So, how does it work? The men can get you what you need, they owe me a few favours."

Marie pulled out a vial from her backpack.
"The cure is in here. Requires an injection of one millilitre into the vain, daily, until the vial runs out."
She reached into her medical kit and handed Faydra a clean syringe.

"That's it? The way they talked back then I thought I needed to switch my blood or something."

"You're lucky. If you were a man I could do anything for you."

"Well, spare me the science lecture. Thanks for this. If it don't work I'll send some of my boys after you."

"It works. Now for your part of the deal. Who was this Wanderer?"

"Came from way down south, the Capital Wasteland. There was a rumour going around that he wiped out Paradise Falls, where we got most of our slaves down there. We thought he was a slave at first. Until he went into my Arena. We all knew then he was something special. Tore through the other slaves, the Bear brothers, even Gruber didn't stand a chance. That's when he caught Lord Ashur's eye and was summoned uptown."

"Then The Rising..."

"We called it the rebellion. We knew about it before he even arrived. Informants, torture. We knew they were up to something. Especially when Wernher, Ashur's one-time second in command, came back. Anyway, next thing I heard, gunshots, uprising, everywhere. I stayed under the radar and sneaked out. I saw him going back through the Mill. Sleeping baby in one arm, Magnum in the other. One of my friends, Bone - like all of us she talked tough, but when it hit the fan she ran. He gunned her down. She screamed for mercy, but he blew a chunk of hamburger out of her. Some of the raiders of Westmoreland were Pitt raiders, who couldn't go back. They told me that this one man wiped out Uptown, killed every raider there. He's every raider's nightmare. Unstoppable, merciless."

"Did he kill my parents?"

"Like I said, he killed every damn raider in Uptown and was carrying you back downtown. Lord Ashur and his wife wouldn't have let you out of their hands without a fight."

"He killed my mother...and father..."

"Looks that way."

"I need to find this man. Where is he?"

"Came from the Capital Wasteland. Although word has it that he travelled north to The Commonwealth and is there still. We get merchants through here, things travel by word of mouth. Apparently he's still the same nightmare. If you're planning on killing him you're gonna have a tough time."

"I want to talk to him first."

"Look kid, I don't normally do favours for people, so don't go spreading this around. But you've probably saved my life. There's an airfield just north of here. Drop my name and you might be able to catch a lift on one of the old planes there. Now, go away."

WWWWEEEEEEEE marie gets to fly a plane!

Chapter 7: Et In Arcadia Ego.

Somerset Airfield was more of a dusty scrapyard than a functioning transport hub. Skeletons of pre-war planes littered the ground, the control tower a rickety shed. Sat outside it, smoking a pipe and listening to a static radio, was to be her pilot. An old Cessna, held together with duct tape and clumsy welding, was to be her ride.

"The Cessna 170. Called the Skyhawk. As am I," said the pilot. "Converted from a 6-pistol engine to a nuclear fusion reactor after the Resource Wars. Maintained by yours truly. The only reason the wings are still fixed."

"You can take me to The Commonwealth?"

"Yes. Well...not exactly. The Commonwealth has one of the only other functioning airstrips worth talking about, but they're somewhat particular about guests. The heart of The Commonwealth is a good walk north-west of where we'll set down. Once they spot our approach they'll no doubt send someone to greet us. Don't take offence if they are a bit snobbish, they see themselves as quite above Wastelanders like us."

"Better than nothing," shrugged Marie. "What do you want in return?"

"Normally a few thousand caps. This time it's free. Faydra sent word, and I owe her a few favours. Back when she set up the Arena here I ran up quite the tab watching fights there."

Marie nervously climbed into the aircraft's cockpit, afraid to touch anything lest the machine completely fall apart. Skyhawk flipped some switches on the instrument panel, and the aircraft lurched forward as the nuclear reactor fired up.
"This is your captain speaking," he laughed. "We'll be cruising at a steady speed of one hundred and forty miles per hour. If you look to your left...and right, you will see blasted wasteland. In the event of an emergency we'll give everyone a nice mushroom cloud send-off."

The Cessna cleared the shed and climbed above Set, as Skyhawk banked it to the left. Marie all the while gritted her teeth and held on to her harness like her life depended on it.
"No reason to be nervous," Skyhawk coughed. "If something goes wrong with the old nuclear reactor we won't even know. But we'll get a free cremation. Every cloud, right?"
Eventually Marie relaxed her grip, her heart back from her throat. She felt herself falling asleep, having earned herself some rest.

She was shaken out of her sleep by the aircraft.
"What's happening," she mumbled, half-awake.

"Look down," replied Skyhawk, banking the Cessna so Marie could see. Below she could spot the outline of streets, as well as steam and fire pouring from the ground.

"I don't understand," said Marie, "Are we under attack?"

"Ha, no, they aren't rocket launchers. That's Centralia."

"Centralia?"

"Home of the 'fire gods'," explained Skyhawk. "Apparently people still live down there, and sacrifice outsiders to keep the fires going. Bunch of nonsense of course, but the air around here is harder to fly through. Stay well away."

Marie breathed another sigh in relief and once again fell back asleep, although she regretted Skyhawk's tale about the 'fire gods' of Centralia, a vivid nightmare entering her head, about being sacrificed in dark fiery caverns by Trogs. When she awoke, the plane was landing.

"You alright? You kept mumbling something about Trogs."

"Just a nightmare," dismissed Marie. "Have we arrived?"

"Sure have. Welcome to Logan International Airport! Although these days it's Logan Interstate Airstrip. Unfortunately there's not much left of Boston, you'll have to negotiate with the locals for passage to The Institute, if that's where you're going."

"I'm only looking for someone. If I find out he's in The Institute, then that's where I'll head."

LIA was a great deal larger that the airstrip of Set, in area and in the relics of pre-war flight, decrepit stripped skeletons of jumbo-jets lined the runway. The Cessna came in for a bumpy landing, and taxied to the far more impressive-looking control tower, where guards were waiting. Marie thanked Skyhawk and wished him well, before jumping out of the plane.

Four individuals approached her, uniformed in blue coveralls. One spoke.
"Welcome to Massachusetts," a clean-cut man spoke, cordially yet formally. "You stand in The Commonwealth, the most advanced nation on Earth. If you expect Boston to be akin to the lawless anarchy of other ruined cities you will find yourself gravely mistaken. We are a society of laws, and we expect those laws to be obeyed."

"I understand," replied Marie, taken back by the formality of her hosts. "I mean no trouble. I am simply looking for somebody."

"I see. Continue."

"I come from The Pitt..."

"Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania," the man interrupted. "Colloquially referred to by its denizens as 'The Pitt'. Major industry in ordinance, basic barter economy. Class two recovery shown. Yes, continue."

"Yes, well, twenty years ago it was visited by the individual I now seek. I have reason to believe he is now present in The Commonwealth."

"Is he a citizen?"

"Excuse me?"

"Citizens of The Commonwealth enjoy all the benefits of our laws. Visitors, like yourself, are considered guests, subject to expulsion at any time. Helots are considered somewhere in between."

"I don't know," Marie replied, confused at the question. "Only that he is here."

"He. Who is this individual?"

"I don't know his name, or even if he has a name. He...may be colloquially referred to as the Lone Wanderer."

Without warning the man's assistants drew weapons, startling Marie and causing her to instinctively draw her own rifle. The man raised his hand.
"So, neither Citizen, Helot or Visitor. Guardian. He has tended to draw people to The Commonwealth. It is the intent. What is your intent?"

"I just want to speak to him."

The men holstered their weapons.
"Unusual. But welcome. Keep this intent and you will not fall foul of our laws."

"Is he in The Institute?"

"The Institute is none of your concern. It is closed to Helots and Visitors. To answer your question, no. He is currently exterminating nonpersons at a hostile strongpoint in Quincy, a settlement south of here."

"Nonpersons?"

"They do not fall into any class. They would never be allowed Citizenship. They refuse the conditions of a Helot. And as Visitors, they are not welcome. They embrace destruction, selfishness and chaos to the detriment of your...our species. We do not deign to give them any rights or recognition, for they are of no use to us. You may know them as raiders, bandits, marauders, gangmembers. Some endorse human slavery. The Guardian exterminates these criminals."

"He's a defender of your people?"

"Of The Commonwealth. He rids our society of undesirables who would destroy all we have accomplished in the name of anarchy and death. Occasionally one of these nonpersons seeks petty revenge on this individual, hatching pathetic and violent schemes against him and The Commonwealth - as was anticipated. They always fail, as was also anticipated."

"Can you take me to meet him?"

"No. We cannot. But we can direct you to water-borne transportation which will take to you him. Be aware that The Commonwealth has issued advice that Quincy is to be avoided due to the risk of death or enslavement."

"I understand. Thank you for the information. Can you direct me to this...water-borne transportation?"

"Of course. Follow me."

The Commonwealth's boast of being the most advanced nation in the world was not an idle one. Their intricate transport system, based around the pre-war complex of the Boston Harbour and the Mystic and Charles Rivers. A small, newly-constructed airboat transported Marie to the borders of Quincy, the stronghold of 'nonpersons', and where she hoped to find the Lone Wanderer. If she killed him, she would make an enemy of The Commonwealth. That was a risk she was willing to take, the least her parents deserved.

The silent ferryman left her on the shores of the Atlantic, nodding that Quincy lay to the south. The crumbling, haunted ruins of the city of Presidents was dominated by the grey stone faculties of the Adams University, constructed in those prosperous days before the war with China. It was an obvious base for any raiders in the area. She clambered up from the coast, her boots sinking in the wet sand. Clambering up the dunes to gain an overview of the town, she spotted a figure crouched in the reeds.

Black hair slicked back, a suit of white, he held a rifle's scope to his face, surveying the university.
"Don't move," he spoke, gruffly, in an accent Marie didn't recognise. She was confused at first, as the figure didn't even turn around to address her. "Make one false move and I put one between your eyes."
He slowly lowered his rifle and turned around. A ghoul, a rather dapper, moustachioed ghoul at that.
"A bird? Can't be with them, then. Better run along."

Marie could not hide her confusion. "What...who are you?"

"Lockheart. Desmond Lockheart. And you?"

"Marie Ashur."

"...and what are you doing here? You don't look the looting sort. But if I'm mistaken, and I very rarely am, you'll find nothing here for you. Piss off."

"That's where you're wrong, Mr. Lockheart. I'm looking for someone, not something."

"One of those mouth-breathers send a slip of a girl to try and off me? I'm insulted. And amused. Take your best shot."

"Not you...at least I don't think so," Marie thought for a second. This Lone Wanderer could well have been subject to the ghoul condition by now, and her new acquaintance certainly didn't lack for confidence.

"Actually, you might be. You say your name is Desmond...but have you ever been called 'The Lone Wanderer'?"

"I've been called a lot of bloody things in my time love, that ain't one of 'em. Although the uneducated could call me a 'lone' wanderer now that my pups are [censored] gone. I do know a chap who does go by that particular moniker, though. A nom-de-guerre, quite smart these days."

"Do you know where to find him?"

"Of course I [censored] do! But nothing is free, Miss Ashur. Information included. Right now you may be wandering what I'm doing in this charming little seaside town. The answer lies in that university. I've been tracking down something in that place for about twenty years, a book."

"What's in it?"

"None of your [censored] business, that's what's in it. All you need to know is that I want it. It's called The Black Book, the reprobates who currently inhabit the university campus are guarding it, quite closely. The reason why is none of your [censored] business either."

"Why don't you go and get it?"

"Ha! I haven't lived over two centuries by putting myself in harm's way, not when there are eager beavers like you to do the dirty work for me. Avoids unsightly holes in my birthday suit. But, you seem a bit fragile, so I'll give you a bit of information for free. The Commonwealth's Guardian, he's here. He's clearing out a tribal lookout post to the south. Your feminine wiles probably won't work on him, but if you can persuade him you might avoid leaking claret too. Bring me that [censored] book, and our little exchange will be complete."