FADED MIGHT ||| FALLOUT

Alone

Utter, deathly silence fell across the vast empty wastes. The only respite being from the echoing caws and squawks from moulding crows soaring above the burning dirt that stretched on for what seemed like a lifetime, with shrubs and scattered remnants of old world housing half buried with their walls and roofs barely standing after two centuries, though still fighting against the harsh elements of the new world.

Amongst what remained of the once mighty New California Republic, within one of the dozens of dust covered hovels, sat on a rickety old wooden chair placed in front of an ancient table made from the very same chipped material, was a lone man.

A single window allowed the searing desert sun to beam through the shattered window standing over the small workstation dotted with many a piece of scrap metal and electronics alike, all sitting beside an old Vault-Tec lunch box ready to be turned into a small parcel of death.

Hanging from a small hook etched into the thin peeling plastered wall was a small rucksack adorned with a simple sleeping mat attached to its top while a battered, red lensed Ranger's helmet hung from one of it's many loops, swaying gently as the sweltering breeze breached the tiny abode.

The equipment's owner sat not a foot away, his blackened chest plate and brown body length duster secured firmly to his torso while one leg bounced stressfully from within the denim prison holding his limbs. The man's weary gaze glanced through the window into the outside world every few moments as he set a scrapped clock stripped of it's springs to the side next to a miniscule pile of ever valuable bottle caps, finishing the inner workings of the fist sized device he held.

Tiny beads of sweat poured down his dusty, exposed forehead from beneath his straggled through short hair, traversing it's way down his sharpened features toward the edge of the thin beard that decorated his defined jaw. Each passing moment became all the more stressful as the makeshift detonator finally took shape, the fear of death easing as he took the shrapnel packed lunch box, snatching a minuscule roll of duct tape and with a loud, shrieking rip wrapped the home made bomb to the box's side in a hasty layer of strong tape.

Satisfied, the former soldier set the explosive to the side taking the heavy Sequoia revolver from it's holster fastened to his hip, quietly clicking open the six-shot cylinder and methodically loading a measly three rounds into the empty circular slots, spinning the mechanism and flicking it closed as he slotted the symbolic weapon back into it's home.

With his preparations finished the middle aged man leaned back in his chair, eyes wandering to the rolling emptyness outside as the sun seared his normally covered retina. Even after many years travelling the hell he once called home, his sight never quite adjusted to the Californian wastelands reflective dirt. Sighing deeply, the man dropped his eyes to the floor, rubbing the sleet nestled within free with his glove covered fingers.

Not another moment passed until he heard one of the many shards scattered across the huts floor shatter beneath the weight of something, or someone. "Damn, was just starting to like this place..." he uttered tiredly, though with a tiny hint of relief, knowing full well the drug fuelled Raiders had followed, and inexplicably fallen for his trap.

Sure to not to make a single noise, The man slid his legs from beneath the table and stood to his feet, careful not to shift the floorboards beneath his boots as he shuffled to the corner next to his hanging equipment, adjacent the door he knew the Fiends would pass through.

Passing a glance toward his Trail Carbine propped against the wall, he decided the Scavengers weren't worth the ammo, instead reaching for a small blade concealed beneath his metal gauntlet, it's miniature handle jutting just enough so he could reach for it at a moments notice. Drawing the makeshift blade, he waited as the heavy footsteps echoing from the other side of the wall grew louder and louder with every passing moment. 

That was, until one of the maniacal assailants passed through, his body draped with a mix of scrapped metal and cloth, acting as set of shoddy, ineffective armour seeing as most of the Raiders wrinkled skin was still exposed. Gripping the metal pipe in both hands tightly, the Fiend scanned the room until his greedy eyes fell upon the small pile of bottle caps, his drug addled mind unable to comprehend the homemade device set not a foot away.   

Lowering the lead pipe ever so slightly, the Raider showed his rotted yellow teeth with a sickening grin as he threw caution to the wind, trudging further into the death trap. Instantly, the taller and better built survivor raised his rusted blade and emerged from the slight darkness, descending upon the malnourished male locking a single firm hand on the males mouth, yanking him backward close to his chest and with a single strike dug the blade square into the Raider's heart with a meaty squelch.

Watching with narrowed eyes, he saw as the light faded from the scavengers beady eyes awaiting the moment his body fell lip only to catch the pipe that dropped from the assailants grip, avoiding anymore noise as he slid his hand from the wasters maw and softly laid him to the floor, setting the weapon down as well with a quiet clank.

Quietly the stranger grabbed his gear from the peg and the Carbine as well, crouching low he slipped though the door, skirting around the pooling blood and moved on down the dividing hall, peaking around the corner to spot another coming straight toward him, this time armed with a poorly maintained 9MM pistol loosely gripped in his pruned hand. Snapping his head left to right, the Raider trudged down the corridor, passed the rotting walls ever closer to their target now with his back pressed to the wall, Rifle gripped in both hands, raised ever so slightly.

Not another moment was wasted as the final Fiend crossed the threshold of the plastered wall into the concealed survivors line of sight. Before the Raider even had a chance to react, the trooper bolted forth standing to his feet and striking the Scavenger across the jaw with a loud thunk, knocking them off balance just long enough to slap the pistol to the floor and shove him mightily against the wall, that shook thunderously from the impact, locking the Raider in place by the throat. 

Stuck between the patched wall and the Rifles metal receiver the Raider struggled but to no avail as their so called victim jabbed the gun as close to the wall as he could, choking the life from the Fiend who tried in vain to struggle as his sunburned skin steadily turned a sickly pale, while his eyes rolled to the back of his head. The choking sobs falling silent as The man withdrew his weapon and allowed the body to drop to the floor with a loud thud. "You hear something?" a miniscule, through none the less biting voice chortled from outside as more footsteps drew closer still.

Twisting on his heel, the soldier retreated back toward the small safe-room, gliding through the door and clambering out the small window to freedom. However, just as his boots smashed against the dry ground outside and began his trek way wards, a pair of bandits scurried inside, past their fallen comrades, and just like before, their eyes fell upon the pile of caps.

The only difference this time, was the fact that they spotted the explosive but, it was too late to react as a loud bang pounded across the room and shrapnel peppered the walls and celling, instantly shredding the remaining Raiders and engulfing them in a pool of thickened grey smoke and dust that bellowed from the window.

Outside, The Ranger trudged his way through the sand, sparring not one glance as he tossed the rucksack onto his back and donned his lensed helm once more, descending ever further a field, toward a small scrap heap of a settlement the survivors of the Boneyard had carved for themselves after what many thought to be the second apocalypse. A relatively peaceful, though guarded place that the traveller had inadvertently become guardian off upon his return from the Mojave all those years ago.

This little town, was called Filly... A place were, unbeknownst to him, life as he knew it would forever change, all thanks to a certain wandering Vault Dweller desperate to rescue her Father...

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'THE RANGER'

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A/N: And that's a wrap! Sorry if it was short, but I want to get into the meat of this story as quickly as possible. As always, feel free to vote, and let me know what you think.