The Drifter

*THUD-THUD-THUD*
The sound of my boots hitting the concrete floor of the metro tunnel was almost deafening. Almost. The only sound that was louder was the sound laughter from up ahead at the station.

I looked down at my rifle; a custom black assault rifle with a carbon black stock, an ACOG scope, and a silencer. I opened the rifles chamber slightly and saw the faded, dull color of a 5.56mm round.

I dropped into a crouch as the lights from the station became brighter. The noise from its inhabitants was amplified by the tunnel making it harder to locate them by sound leaving me to use eyes only. I passed over a pile of rubble slouched against a train and came face to face with a raider, the retarded psycho-tic bag mask muffling his alarmed cries enough to not be noticeable.

“Who the fuck are y-” I quickly stuffed a black trench knife into his throat, his gags also muffled by the bag/mask. I wiped the blood from the blade, and my knuckles, onto his worn out leather pants, the cracked material barely managing to soak up the blood.

I continued into the station careful not to make the same mistake I made previously. I carefully moved onto the escalator, my rifle pointed up towards the top in case someone decided to search for the dead raider. Thankfully the escalator was completely ruined and with a couple of centuries of mistreatment it didn’t even wiggle.

“So did you hear? There’s some goodie two shoes from one of those vaults. From what I hear he attacked the mills. Unleashed the behemoth and then ran away. Cowardly prick.” Said a raider who was sitting at a campfire next to another raider. Both had their backs to me and I used this opportunity to sneak past them towards the exit. I crept past them and up onto the ramp that lead to the exit.

“Yeah, from what I hear he uses one of those flasma guns or whatever. Those things scare me. I heard they turn you into goo. My buddy Dart knew this guy who had a run in with those Enclave freaks….” Whatever story the other raider was going to tell became too distant to hear as I slowly opened to metro gate and walked up the stairs of Anacostia Crossing.

As I moved out of the shadows the moonlight illuminated me showing yet another unique feature. My armor is a variant of the elite riot armor that is in perfect condition. It is pure white with a black trench coat. The helmet was also white with purple eyes. Sadly the helmet took damage from a sniper round and was currently put away in my Pip-boy 3000A which was situated on my left forearm and had the lights removed from the buttons to maximize stealth.

I looked up towards the air craft carrier that dominated my vision. I could just barely see a rifle barrel sticking out from the command tower, its sights trained on the walkway extended from the starboard (right) side of the ship. I walked around to the ramp passing a caravan ran by a man in a yellow red racer jumpsuit.

“Best weapons in the capital wasteland! Why don’t you take a gander?” he called out.

“I’d rather not.” I returned, annoyance dripping from my words. I am definitely not in the mood, but I never am after a long walk through the creepiest place in the capital wasteland besides the Dunwich building.

I walked up the ramp and across the ramp, a vagrant asking me for water as I passed. Of course I ignored him as well because I’m in a dickish mood.

“What’s your purpose of coming to Rivet City?” questioned a muscular, obviously experienced man who stood right in the entryway to the city/ship.

“I am going to browse the markets for the supplies necessary to repair my helmet. If there is a proper repair man available I’ll just get him or her to do it though.”

He stared at me for a little bit, obviously sizing me up and thinking about the validity of my claim.

“You’re going to have to wait because the market is closed.” He said before turning towards the entrance to greet the merchant in the yellow jumpsuit who gave me a cautious look.

I opened the door to the left and went to the door across the stairwell that was labeled the Weatherly Hotel. I walked down the hall and came upon a well decorated room with a Mr. Handy sitting behind the counter.

“How may I help you sir?” it said in a stereotypical British butler accent.

“Could I get a room?” I walked up to the counter and set my elbows on it.

“Of course! That will cost you 120 caps though.” He returned, pointing towards a hole in the counter where I am supposed to deposit my caps.

I did that and he gave me a key that I took down the hall to the room number that was on the key.

I threw my trench coat off and took the rest of my body armor off, leaving me in a black BDU shirt and pants combo.
I looked at myself in a mirror situated in the corner and flexed.
‘I’m a sexy beast!’ I thought as I ran a hand through my short red hair and let my longer bangs fall down carelessly.
I jumped onto the bed like it was the best thing in the world, which it was. I relished in the ability to sleep in such a fine bed and for a good twenty minutes I just lay there and stared at the gunmetal grey ceiling. To most that kind of material would be anything but soothing but to me it was the greatest thing on the planet, that is to be expected of someone who grew up in a Brotherhood bunker.
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*Bleep! Bleep! Bleep!*
The sound of my pip boy alarm woke me up. I looked down at my wrist mounted computer and saw the time.

10:23 AM

“Let’s hope the market is open” I said to myself as I strapped on my shoulder pads. I felt along the left pad, reveling in the smooth and hard material. I love my stuff.

When I finished admiring my outfit I walked out and went back to the stairwell and out the door that lead to the outside. I took a right and opened the market door.

My senses where bombarded right when I opened the door. I could hear lots of people haggling or just simply chatting, I could smell food from across the hanger, and I could taste the chems in the air that was wafting from a shop across from the restaurant.

I walked through and turned into a stall labeled as Flak ‘n Shrapnel’s.

“Welcome to Flak and Shrapnel’s! What do you?” asked a bald man with a chopper mustache.

“Actually,” I said as the helmet materialized in my left hand. “I need to get this repaired. I will pay extra for perfection.”

He took the helmet and started to inspect the dent that came from the sniper rifle.

“This is gonna be spendy if you want perfection but I can do it. Let’s say 800 caps?” he said, his eyes not leaving the dent.

“Done, although I’ll add 200 if you can finish it before midnight.” I said as I set the caps on the counter where the man took them and stuffed them in a cash register.

*Grumble*

We both stared at each for a second before he laughed lightly and shook his head.

"I hope I didn't just rob your food money." he said, a crooked smile showing as he walked away from the cash register and over to a workbench that had numerous repair tools lying about.

I offered a light smile in return and left, the restaurant sounding suddenly being my objective.
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I woke up the next morning with a knock on my hotel door.

"Hey sir! If you want to stay another night you need to pay!" Said a female voice who I could only guess is an employee.

I opened the door and was greeted with the sight of a well-dressed woman with immaculate hair.

“No, I’ll leave after I get dressed.” With that I slammed the door in her face and turned to put my armor on. I put all the plates on and rolled my shoulders, the extra weight comforting and familiar.

After finishing my daily routine of an MRE, brushing my teeth, and an impromptu shave in a public bathroom, I quickly went back to the market where everyone was milling about or trading. Seeing how late in the morning it is and how slow things are going I could only guess how much luxury these merchants lived in. I went to the restaurant, Garry’s galley from what I learned last night. From there I grabbed a bowl of squirrel stew and a bottle of water.

I know I already ate but… Fuck you.

After I finished eating I left, leaving twenty caps in Garry’s hand. From there I went to Flak ‘n Shrapnel’s to retrieve my helmet. He put it into my hand without a word, which was okay because he had other customers and time is money couldn’t be truer.

After that I left Rivet city, the asshole guard giving me a wary glance as he cradled a Chinese assault rifle in his arms. This time I was moving out to the Jefferson Memorial to assist the Brotherhood with whatever they needed.

As I neared the super mutant camp that sat near the road where those Shrek cos-players could easily attack caravans. Of course David (the lone wanderer) and Sydney cleared that base out last month after they harassed a caravan that they both invested a lot of money in.

Now though, it’s just a rotten sty full of human remains stuffed into bags and, for some reason, ammo that seems to keep appearing in the boxes set on the overlook in the heart of the camp. I made my way up the hill and my riot helmet failed to filter out the smell of decay and gore. I walked up to the base of the ramp and stopped. There at the base of the ramp was a small manhole marked with an X. There was a hole blown in the side that was closest to the ramp and a chunk of a large intestine was draped into the hole like some weird bait.

Of course me, being the curious idiot, took a metal pole from the ground nearby and stuck into the hole and lifted up the lid without having to touch rotten intestines. I threw the pole aside without care and pointed my assault rifle down the hole cautiously. My helmet automatically turned on its low-light vision ability, which would’ve made life easier last night in the metro tunnels. Sadly the darkness was impenetrable and I moved in for a closer look.

Right as I began to move my foot got caught in my trench coat leading to a much undignified dance and ultimately me falling into the hole.