Disclaimer: Fallout 3 belongs to Interplay Entertainment, Black Isle Studios, Micro Forte, Bethesda Game Studios, Obsidian Entertainment, etc - all of whom I am not!

The Lone Wanderer Ruth travels the wastelands researching for everyone's (not)favorite Crater-side Supply owner! Oh, and trying to find clues about her father along the way.

Willow leaned against the half-wall of the metro, a cigarette hanging out the side of her mouth, her rifle at her side. The day was turning out to be quite a good one - the Muties were hidden in their trenches, though she could hear the occasional grunt or shout - and those Brotherhood assholes were tucked away inside the fence of the Washington monument, probably taking advantage of the non-violence to play a round of cards or get drunk.

"Bastards..." The ghoulette muttered, mulling over whether or not to bring out a bottle as well if the day was going to be this slow.

She exhaled and gave the area a once over, nothing had changed... but it seemed her break would have to wait as in the distance, a form appeared. "Huh...?" She hummed absently, watching the silhouette grow closer. And closer.

The person seemed to be running. And waving to her.

"What...?" She squinted, and made out the white symbol of a claw on the breastplate of the persons armor. "...the hell?"

Why the fuck was a Talon Merc trying to flag her down?

The person seemed to be the only one, but as far as she was concerned, one was already too many. The Merc slowed to a fast walk as they closed the distance. and the ghoulette noted the way they were holding one arm against their side with the other.

Typical, she thought, They get injured and suddenly it's like we're best friends.

She flicked the end of her cigarette and watched, surprised and amused when the mercenary walked straight past her towards the entrance of her city. Those assholes would rather suck on a shotgun than interact with a ghoul - or so she had heard.

"What do you think you're doing there, smoothskin?" She questioned.

The mercenary's face and hair was obstructed by a hat, so when a very annoyed, very female voice replied, "I'll be happy to fill you in after I get myself fixed up, if you don't mind." Willow was again, surprised. Usually Talon Company only recruited men.

The sentry raised her rifle at the woman - who stopped short and raised her good arm. "Whoa, don't shoot, I'm just in a hurry-"

"We don't welcome your kind in here, so just go back to wherever you assholes come from or I'll be forced to blow your head off, which I wouldn't mind doing right about now - slow day and all." She gestured to the outlying streets.

"What the fuck? Willow, it's me!" She exclaimed, ripping the hat off. "Shit, are you guys really still mad about that hole I accidentally blew in the ceiling?"

The ghoulette blinked. Unruly magenta-colored hair tumbled to the girls shoulders, and a pair of black rimmed glasses sat on her nose. It was the vault kid. "Tourist?" She lowered her weapon. "Why the hell are you wearing that - do you have a death wish?"

The kid looked down at her armor and shook her head. "Oh, I forgot I was wearing this." Willow raised an eyebrow and she gave a one-arm shrug. "All my other armor is in pretty poor condition, so I just stole this."

"I take it that's how you got that." The ghoulette gestured to her injured arm, but the kid just grinned sheepishly.

"Something like that."

Willow brought the cigarette back to her lips and waved the kid off. "Whatever, go get fixed up, then you can tell me what crazy-ass mission you're on this time."

The girl laughed and nodded, disappearing into the doors of the museum entrance.

The sentry sighed and resumed watch, making sure whatever the kid had gotten into wasn't on her heels.

Inside the Museum of History, on the steps of the double doors leading into the aptly named city of ghouls, Greta sat, taking a greatly needed smoke break.

Smoking was a vice that many ghouls partook in, it was cheap, it steadied the nerves, and hell - it wasn't like they could die from it

Inhaling slowly, the ghoulette heard the creak of the old museum doors and guessed it to be Willow. "Hey..." She started to greet, but stopped when a Talon Merc rounded the corner. What the fuck? Her cigarette fell to the floor in surprise.

Greta reached for her gun but the merc waved her off - walking straight towards the door to the Museum's upper halls. "It's just me Greta - it's a long story and I'll tell you all about it later."

"Vaultie - eh, Ruth?" She realized that indeed, it was the kid. "Dr. Burrows is a competent doctor you know - hell, he'd probably be ecstatic to help you." The ghoulette motioned behind her to the entrance into Underworld when she observed that the kid was injured. Carol would be devastated if anything happened to the smoothskin, after all.

"I know, don't worry, I'll be right as rain in a little bit!" Ruth happily replied, leaving Greta alone in the main room. She disappeared behind the mammoth figure, but Greta could still hear her muttering to herself until the sound of the door opening and slamming shut brought the silence back.

Weird girl. She thought, picking up her cigarette and inspecting it, before pressing it back between her lips.

A few minutes ticked by silently.

She strained her ears but heard no gunfire, or screams of pain. Probably got rushed the second she stepped inside, the ghoulette mused, finding the thought morbidly entertaining.

The kid had entered the museum's lone exhibit area on only one other occasion, and minutes later, had ran back out, jabbering on about how she was so sorry for shooting someone who had once belonged to the Underworld population. Nobody had cared - ferals were nothing but mindless killers anyway - but many had gotten a kick out of seeing the vaultie so worked up.

Nobody really hated her around Underworld, even though Winthrop had swore to Megaton and back that he'd toss her out if she even looked at the ceiling wrong. "Shriveled ass sure can hold a grudge," She mumbled.

Greta was brought out of her thoughts as the doors behind her opened and a figure stepped out. They leaned against the wall, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and placing one between rough lips.

Digging into her pocket, she pulled out a lighter and tossed it to the figure. "Left that earlier." The ghoul caught it without trouble, giving her a nod of thanks.

They stood in companionable silence, but Greta's cig was spent and her break running longer than she had intended. She knew Carol would not berate her for it, but as her eyes returned to the empty hallway Ruth had disappeared into, she imagined the sweet ghoulette heartbroken over the loss of the vault kid she had come to care for.

"Damn it, I'm going after her." She convinced herself, tossing the filter to the floor.

Her companion turned to look at her, at the sudden declaration. "Who? " He questioned, eyebrow raised.

"The idiot kid!"

He stared blankly at her for a moment. "The girl from the vault?" The ghoul had never really met Ruth, off on various errands for Azrukhal many of the times she visited. She hadn't set foot in the 9th Circle yet, much to his boss's chargin. "Didn't know she was back."

"A few minutes ago, she ran in there with a crippled arm and a stupid look on her face. Took off into there for god knows what, and I'll never hear the end of it if I don't go in there after her."

The ghoul 'hmm'ed' quietly and pushed off the wall. "I'll go." It would be the most interesting thing to happen all day, other than watching miserable ghouls unsuccessfully try to drown themselves in liquor - which was how his days always seemed to progress.

Greta looked at him in surprise but he was gone before she managed a reply.

Charon pushed the aging door open with his forearm, surveying the area before stepping through.

Crumbling displays and dim, flickering lights greeted him. He didn't immediately see any signs of death or a struggle, which was a good sign that the kid was still alive.

Or incapacitated and dragged off for lunch. That thought was banished - he'd never seen a feral with that kind of control.

He silently walked forward, a bit curious if this "Ranger of the Wastes" - as that idiot on the radio had nicknamed her - was everything her reputation suggested.

The cafeteria lay in front of him, filled with a handful of ferals prowling the floor, hissing and grunting to each other. One near the door caught sight of him and stood from it's crouched position. Charon merely stared at it when it took two steps forward, surveying him.

A feral was a lot like a mutant to a ghoul - if you didn't bother them, they wouldn't bother you. Growling, the feral turned from him, but Charon had already moved toward the stairs.

It was then that he heard the tell-tale signs of a struggle. Slowly sliding his shotgun from the holster on his back, he crept up, passing the crumbling displays of old.

"Nghh… just... hold still…" A breathless voice hissed in pain. Charon was lowered his weapon and stood, cautiously peering around the wall.

It took him a moment to actually process what he was seeing.

Ruth's features were lit up in a ghastly green light, and he could see the glazed look in her eyes from her slouched position on a bench. What he couldn't seem to process, was the rope-bound, flailing form of a glowing one at her feet. She seemed to be… basking in the glow?

"What the hell are you doing kid?" Charon all but yelled, pulling the girl up by her shoulders. She struggled to focus on him as he moved - dragged, really - her away from the aura radiating off of the feral.

"Ohhh, Sharen, Chary… Charnnn!" She muttered as he hoisted her up in one hand, brandishing his shotgun in the other.

He grunted and readied himself for the group of ferals at the bottom of the stairs wondering if it was worth saving someone who clearly had a death wish.