EDIT: Title of the story will most likely be "Always Loose Ends".

This is a rough draft of the first chapter of a fanfic I've been working on. The idea has been swimming around in my head so I decided to explore it a little. However, I'm not promising that this particular piece will be finished, as it depends on how it evolves and my enthusiasm for the idea. Though hopefully it will amount to something.

Feedback would be greatly appreciated, good or bad.

Note: I use the name "Wanderer" for the protagonist as I can't currently think of a name. Later on I expect I will replace many instances of that with a normal name.



The echoes of fighting rang across the craggy landscape below the stars, just as it did every night in the Wastes. Every so often a distant popping would signal a firefight between raiders or the giant mutated perversions of nature that hunted mindlessly for their next kill. A lone, chilling wail might puncture the silence for an instant before being swallowed up by the returning wind as quickly as it had broken through. But the stars remained, hanging stoic and grand in the sky, while at the same time subtle and emotional. The night sky gave comfort to many in the wasteland. It was often the only constant in their lives besides death; the only thing tranquil in the struggle for life that was highlighted by all-encompassing violence. Every day and every night, people stole and killed to survive in the harsh reality that was the Capital Wasteland.

The man known as the Lone Wanderer sat in silent camaraderie with the tireless sentry of Megaton, gazing down at the moonlit Wastes from the corrugated walls of the settlement. Stockholm took the time he spent on town watch very seriously, preferring not to engage in anything that might handicap his ability to spot approaching danger. This included idle conversation, so much of the time was spent watching for movement, only talking to make something he had seen known to Stockholm.

Megaton was as close to a home as the Lone Wanderer had. He was granted a small shack for disarming the tired nuclear bomb that lay in a puddle of fetid, radioactive water in the middle of the town. Compared to the other places some people called home, his shack was a palace. Indeed, most people in Megaton did not own a home, but slept together in common houses. Though expansion of the town was sorely needed, it was not practical because it rested in a deep impact crater formed during the Great War when a large air plane fell from the sky. Materials were also a problem, as the town was mostly constructed of the wrecked air planes from an old airport nearby, which was now nearly nonexistent. So people had to put up with cramped living quarters. They could at least be thankful that they were not mutant fodder.

The Lone Wanderer scratched his nose, lost in thought. It was close to six months ago that Project Purity was finally completed in the midst of a huge battle between Enclave and Brotherhood of Steel forces. Project Purity was the life's work of his parents and several other scientists, and was essentially a giant water purifier built in the ruins of the Thomas Jefferson Memorial. When activated, it would filter and purify the river running through the D.C. area. And so far it was working wonderfully. The river water was noticeably cleaner, lacking much of the radioactive fallout that was a constant hindrance to life just half a year before. People could actually drink from the river without falling ill, though cases continued to crop up. Still, many agreed that those illnesses traced to the river water were largely due to something else that had weakened the person prior to their ingestion of it.

During the battle, Project Purity was in danger of being destroyed due to a malfunction causing enormous pressure to build up within the Jefferson Memorial. There had been a serious dilemma, as someone had to go in to the control room and initialize the pumps for the pressure to be released. The problem lay with the control room being flooded with radiation that would mean certain death for anyone who dared expose themselves to it. Fortunately, the Lone Wanderer had with him a dear comrade highly resistant to radiation whom he gave the code to for activation, and the crisis was averted. After so much work, he was glad something had been solved simply. The fact that it was the last step in completing his parents', and especially his father's, work only made it more of a victory. Afterwards, Fawkes had to be pumped full of anti-rad in order for the supermutant's body to fully shake off the effects, as the dose had been much higher than anticipated.

Supermutants were usually characterized by mindless bloodshed and brutish qualities, but Fawkes had somehow retained the humanity inside her. She was as intelligent as any normal human, and probably the most-read creature in miles, owing to her time spent reading through an entire archival database while imprisoned in old, irradiated Vault 87. However, her gender had fled the changes made to her body because of the Forced Evolutionary Virus experimentation inflicted upon it. She admitted that she still had to fight the instincts that accompanied her now bestial form. The Lone Wanderer travelled with Fawkes for a time after Project Purity, but they eventually went their separate ways. They ran into each other a few times during his forays into the D.C. ruins.

His thoughts strayed to Vault 101—his home before his father had left to continue work on Project Purity, thrusting it into chaos and forcing him to flee its safety. Jonas, his father's assistant and friend of both, had been killed by a security officer under the orders of the Overseer. It had taken every moral fibre of his being not to beat the Overseer to a pulp in the ensuing chaos of his escape. Amata, the Overseer's daughter and his best friend, was the only thing that gave him reason not to. At least she had helped him make it out of the Vault alive.

About a month before Project Purity's activation and the battle that broke the Enclave's back, he had received an emergency broadcast signal on his Pipboy that originated from Vault 101. Amata was pleading with him to return to mediate a conflict between a group of people—including herself—that wanted to open the Vault to the outside world, and the Overseer. He had returned to find the Vault split, and in a crisis situation. The Overseer would not listen to his daughter and the rest of the so-called rebels, and it was evident that soon things would escalate into major violence.

While talking with the Overseer, the Lone Wanderer reached his limit and killed him, destroying the man who had caused so much pain. Whether or not it was the right thing to do, it had awarded him a small measure of satisfaction that Jonas' and his own hardships were avenged. Then Amata, ever the Overseer's daughter, and at the same time not, cast him out of the Vault. She thanked him for resolving the conflict but lamented his methods and the trouble he would inadvertently cause were he to remain a presence in 101's community. While it was obviously a hard decision for her to make, and quite probably the right one for the Vault, she did it in a cool manner that baffled him. The moment made his time spent in the Wastes seem surreal, and her words slapped him into consciousness.

He left.

He did not plead his case, did not say goodbye, and did not speak a word to anyone on his way out. The people he used to know so well looked on in apprehension at his grim departure, no doubt eyeing the strange plasma weapon in his hands and the complex recon armour that he wore. These people were lost more to him now than they ever were. He felt betrayed and lost, feelings he had grown accustomed to in the Wastes, but he didn't expect to receive them from Amata. Outside in the sun, Dogmeat whimpered his sympathies as the ear-splitting squeal of the gigantic cog door emanated from the cave behind them, as it once again sealed the Vault with him on the wrong side.

When Project Purity was activated, he decided that he was on the right side after all. Amata's memory still pained him when it visited, but he saw it as a necessary sacrifice. Good Overseers did not make personal concessions that could damage their people's unity. For him, the birth of a new era was not something to be missed hiding safely under a rock. At least he could die knowing that he helped accomplish what few could even attempt. Three Dog would never let him—or anyone else tuned in to Galaxy News Radio—forget it.

The Lone Wanderer felt his eyelids grow heavy as nostalgia worked its magic, making him tired. Feeling his insomnia cured for the night, he bid Stockholm a peaceful watch and climbed down from the platform on the walls. Dogmeat greeted him affectionately as he entered his shack and climbed into bed, a flicker of hope battling the contempt he held for the damaged world.

***

Insistent rapping at the door and a young voice spouting nonsense roused him from his slumber. The Wastes had conditioned him not to tarry at clearing the fog from his mind. Sleepy people proved to be very poor shots, and often ended up in a neat pile next to their bedding. Or gone.

The kid, who turned out to be the late Lucas Simms' son, was rambling on about how he was urgently needed at the main gate. Groaning indignantly, he opened the door.

“Why, is it raiders?”

The boy shook his head. “There are people wearing blue suits at the gate. Stockholm yelled for me to get you. That's all he said.”

The Lone Wanderer felt a tremor of anticipation. “From Vault 101, you suppose?”

“I don't know. You shouldn't keep them waiting, though. Hurry up!” Harden said.

“Alright, I'm coming. Give me a moment to get my gear on.”

He quickly put on some combat armour and grabbed an SMG, then followed Harden down the ramps connecting the many levels of Megaton. One did not leave their home unprepared in the Wastes, no matter where you were. Most everyone in Megaton carried a weapon, even when dealing in day to day affairs that were not particularly dangerous. And they were smart to, for they never knew when they would have to defend themselves. However most were not to be relied upon in a battle, as they had very little experience and usually poor firepower. While the Wanderer was in town, he was one of the few who could be expected to put up an adequate defence. Especially considering his shack was a veritable armoury full of spoils from the Wastes. He could not let a perfectly usable weapon stay in the dead hands of a raider, and if he could possibly strap it to his body, he most likely would. The art of quickly patting down a corpse to find valuables was one of the first things he had mastered upon his exodus from Vault 101. It was the only way to survive.

Jericho, a man who had once been a raider and therefore seen his fair share of combat, was leaning against the gate, waiting. His face hard-set and intimidating, it contrasted with the Wanderer's softer features, and he carried his assault rifle with practised ease. He grunted in acknowledgement to the Wanderer's greeting.

“Stockholm! What's the deal?” the Wanderer called up to the sentry.

“Vault dwellers by the looks of it. Around two, can't tell for sure. Lookin' to be outta Vault 101, to boot. You'll probably know them.”

“So they're finally coming out of their hole, eh? This is going to be interesting.”

“They might have done some scouting before. A couple of times I thought I saw something creeping around the entrance. Been a few days though.”

Jericho stirred. “Is there going to be a fight? These Vault folk don't usually come here guns blazing.”

“Never can be too sure with groups. Makes 'em feel all powerful,” Stockholm said. “They're almost here. Three of them.”

“Open the gates, let's try not to traumatize them,” the Wanderer said dryly.

The groan of the makeshift mechanical gate revealed the brown, dead land slowly. Three figures were approaching, blue jumpsuits standing out on the terrain. Over their jumpsuits they had black bullet proof security vests and riot helmets with no visors. All three were armed with 10mm pistols in their hands that hung loosely by their sides as they walked.

One was a woman.

i like.