Ren's Note:
I don't know why this leapt into my brain all of a sudden (and I wrote it during my weekend roadtrip to Houston), as I've only played Fallout 3 once and several years ago at that. I admit I have a great deal of trouble growing attached to characters in Bethesda games because of their sheer enormity and scale, but I was actually very fond of the people in Vault 101. Except Butch. He's a dork.

So when I received that emergency radio transmission to return to 101, I was pleased as punch. …Until the end when Amata tells you to leave and never return. I was devastated. My Wanderer (a male) always had a thing for her, and was looking forward to helping her and 101 re-enter the outside world. Instead, he got shut out from all his old friends and told never to return.

Apparently my bitterness ran deeper than I realized if this suddenly came back to bother me years later. And the Lone Wanderer certainly never forgets.

Amata Almodovar wanted nothing more than to tear the note in her hand to pieces. And feed each piece to a radroach. But the asshole had scrawled it on a piece of metal, an old WARNING sign from someone's fence from the old days. It was something a normal person would overlook as just a piece of scrap.

Except it had been sent back alongside a torn vault patch with "S. Mack" embroidered on it and (presumably) Susie Mack's blood. A poorly written message was scratched into the back of the metal, shavings still loose with hurry.

"V.101—
tEll thE wAndErEr thAt if hE wAnts thE bitch bAck,
hE shOuld sEnd 2000 cAps w/ thE ovErsEEr.
I wiLL bE wAiting outsidE mEgatOn at 1700 tOday."

A ransom note.

The Overseer of Vault 101 didn't know who the Wanderer was, or why this kidnapper thinks he would pay so many caps for a total stranger. But Amata knew she had to find out, and find out soon. It was already late morning and would take her an hour just to hike to Megaton. Who knows how long it'll take to track down some other asshole with that many caps.

Vault 101 had suffered enough. Maybe… maybe God would cut them a break.

…Right.

Most begged her not to go. Even Amata's father, downcast and broken from what he tried to do to them, quietly asked his daughter to stay. Nothing was worth compromising the Vault's safety, he said. Amata disagreed. She answered every tearful or angry plea with a headshake and hope. She had a gun, she had a destination, and she had to try.

Family can't survive when one of its members is expendable. That's not family.

The tunnel outside the vault entrance was crumbling and dirty. The thin, rusty fence was almost laughable as a barrier of protection, as it creaked open easily. Its weak padlock could be knocked off with the slightest of effort. Thankfully the vault door was far more secure and had proven a solid protector from the craziness of the Wastes.

Mostly.

Megaton was silhouetted in the distance, almost dome-like with its high walls. The optical illusion was devious, for it looked like a comfortable jog when it truth it was several miles through dangerous terrain. Bloatflies ambled lazily over a few hills, searching for prey. A couple Brahmin munched on spindly grasses, oblivious to the entire dead world.

The noon sun rested on a clear sky with few clouds, allowing the heat to concentrate and build. Springvale shimmered ahead, abandoned but for a few Enclave eyebots still making their automated rounds despite their masters being dead. Raider corpses dotted around houses. Someone had been here recently for clean-up.

Even at a steady pace it was a sweaty, intense trek. Amata only had to unholster her scoped .44 magnum once to warn off a few curious Bloatflies, but otherwise she padded across the dusty floor in a beeline to the gated entrance of Megaton. She'd only been here once before when it was her turn to pick up supplies for Vault 101, so the layout was still unfamiliar.

A little girl in a red headband bounced eagerly up to Amata in greeting. "Hi! I 'member you. You're from the Vault. You come here for more water and ammo? Moira's havin' a big sale at the Supply store, she told me to tell ever'one."

Surprised at the kid's memory (and overwhelming enthusiasm), Amata was taken aback for a second. She recovered quickly, shifting the metal note in the cargo pant pocket on her thigh.

"Not today, miss—?"

"Maggie!"

"Not today, miss Maggie. I'm tryin' to find someone. Maybe he lives here?"

"Lotsa people live here now, since the Lone Wanderer done fixed our nuclear bomb. Billy says that thing was a ticking time bomb before the Wanderer defused it. Which I don't understand, because it's always been a bomb but I never heard it tick…" Maggie prattled on for a few more seconds before Amata jumped in to interrupt.

"You know this Lone Wanderer? I need to find him. Do you know where his house is?" She could scarcely believe her luck.

"Oh sure I do. He gives me chocolate sometimes, though Billy says I'm not supposed to take things from strangers. But the Wanderer isn't a stranger if he lives here, right? Sheriff Simms set him up in the empty house after he fixed the bomb." Maggie pointed at the rundown shack near the entrance, which Amata had walked right by as she had picked her way down the rickety path. Amata started to turn around, but Maggie touched her wrist.

"He's not in there. He's up at Moriarty's Saloon. Billy says I'm not supposed'ta go in there. But Gob is still real nice and he'll tell you if you ask nice." Amata thanked Maggie and followed the child's finger up another rickety staircase to a hanging bar sign.

Even with a bright noonday sun overhead, the saloon was shuttered and dark. It took Amata a moment to notice that the bright-eyed bartender was a grinning skeleton of a man. She knew she was staring but she couldn't stop herself. Gob's gaunt cheeks were bony and green. Loose skin hung off in lazy chunks, but none fell off as he leaned over to wipe down the counter with a rag.

"What d'you want, ya gawkin' Normal? Or did you come to stare at the ghoul?" Gob rasped at Amata, making her jump in surprise and heat spread across her cheeks. She told him she was looking for someone called the Lone Wanderer. He coughed in amusement and muttered something like "Most folks are." He slapped a hand on the wooden counter, shouting up the stairs.

"Hey! You gonna sleep all day?!"

Silence for several moments, then shuffled rustling in an unseen doorway. Sleepy laughter wafted lazily down the balcony, followed by awkward footfalls. A woman tucked an errant strand of auburn hair behind her ear and adjusted a fallen shirt strap. "Another customer, Gob?" The woman met Amata's eyes halfway down the stairwell, appraising the young Overseer with amusement.

Amata's blush deepened when she realized what the woman meant, but Gob spared her the indignity of replying. "Not you, Nova. Someone here to see the Wanderer. You've got 'regular' customers in the corner." He cheerfully passed Nova a tray full of glistening glasses full of foamy beer, which the woman scooped up and escorted to a dark table in the corner with a dark-skinned man wearing a proud hat.

Heavy footsteps stumbled from the same doorway upstairs. A young man had his head down as he tucked his shirttail into his pants. Heavy armor draped over a broad shoulder while a duffle with rifle butts sticking out of it was slung over the other.

He stopped mid-yawn when his eyes met Amata's, while she said something intelligent like "You?!" He smacked his lips sleepily before simply saying "Me."

Amata didn't know why she never expected to see him again, nor why she never expected to believe he was some mysterious Lone Wanderer. He was just ...him. That boy. Her best friend. And, once, something more. Who left Vault 101 and changed things. First his dad, then him. Then he came back only to leave again.

Well, that last part wasn't true. He left when she told him to, because it would be hard if he stayed. Hard for the Vault, she'd said, when really she meant hard on her.

He flopped down at the foot of the stairs to step into heavy boots and drop a chest plate over his shoulders. He'd gotten new armor since the last time Amata had seen him. He'd gotten a lot of new things, she realized when her eyes flicked back to Nova's creamy shoulders. Instead of blushing this time, Amata set her jaw. This was business.

"I need your help. Someone left this at the Vault." She slid the metal warning sign from her pocket on her thigh. It wasn't until the metal was gone did Amata realize it had been digging into her flesh, leaving an itchy indentation on the skin. The boy (man, really) accepted the note and read it over. He then raised his wrist to fire up his Pip-Boy, a dull, worn thing warped by radiation and charred from gunfire.

She'd been at his birthday when he'd received that old scratched Pip-Boy. They'd been much more innocent in those days, when the biggest problem of the day was how strict their parents were or what G.O.A.T.s held their future. Innocent. …Right.

"It's 15:36," Amata said, assuming correctly he wanted to know the time. He nodded and brushed past her out the door, yanking the large pack off his back to inspect its contents. His lack of communication irritated her, as did his scent. Sweat and some sort of honeyed perfume.

"Does this—does this mean you're going to help?" He didn't answer, which forced her to follow along behind stupidly. His posture was unreadable, which prodded Amata into a rehearsed apology. "Look, I wouldn't ask you for help, but the ransom said—"

"I'll help," he acknowledged, seemingly bored with her conversation. Amata also thought she heard a faint, resenting whisper of "I'll always help" but she couldn't be certain. One thing she could be certain of was him not having thousands of caps lying around. "Do you... I mean, can you pay the ransom for Susie Mack?"

He stopped in front of his house and finally turned to look at her. She couldn't read the slight glimmer in his bright brown eyes. "I could, but I'm not going to." Amata reached out to grab his arm, her voice shrill with panic. Time was wasting. "I thought you said you were going to help!"

She hated that he didn't give a damn. She hated that she gave a damn. "Do you hate Susie Mack so much you'd leave her to die?" Amata hated questioning his honor. She never did before—Well. Before everything changed.

That damn twinkle was still there, but he again said nothing. When she followed him up the steps, he slammed the aluminum sided door in her face. "You're not allowed in here," he called back too late, his voice muffled from distance.

She was stunned, but hated more that she knew she deserved it. He was only gone seconds before reappearing. A jingling canvas bag was dropped into Amata's hands. It was filled to the brim with bottle caps.

"Where—where did you get all this?" For a moment, Amata was actually afraid. How many people did he kill or rob or ...no, this was Him. He wasn't a Tunnel Snake or a bandit or a mercenary. He didn't do things like that ...did he?

"Around," was his frustratingly simple reply. He checked the time on his Pip-Boy and gestured hurriedly toward the Megaton gates. Even though he was bearing dozens of pounds of armor plus weapons, Amata still struggled to keep up.

They stopped at a hillside where he finally paused to judge the terrain. His silence was cutting her more than any argument ever had, and she lashed out just to get some sort of reaction. Even if it was negative.

"So did you earn all this to pay for your whores?" Stupid thing, insulting someone trying to help. Petty and stupid and stupid. She hated herself for saying it, but she wasn't sorry. She still smelled sweat and honey, after all.

His eyes flicked to Amata's before returning to the Wastes. He kept her waiting several long minutes. Long enough for her to doubt and fear and wonder and panic. "If you don't pay for it, it's harder to throw away when it's over." He hadn't answered the question, yet he had. It left her doubting, fearing, wondering and panicking.

Checked the time again. Only 15 minutes to go. Amata asked what the plan was. He said the exchange would likely happen at the bottom of that hill. He said to just walk up, ask for Susie to be returned, then give them the caps. Susie first, then money. She asked where he would be, he simply said "Around." Amata went down to wait, but when she looked back he was gone.

12 minutes later, seven figures appeared over the hillside. 2 carried a third between them while 3 others fanned out over the hillside. The seventh, a brawny man wearing ornamented hubcaps as armor, strutted proudly ahead. A gas mask bearing feathers and odd twists of hair covered his face.

Amata trembled slightly. Maybe her father was right. The Wastes were a terrible, dangerous, evil place. Maybe they should have just stayed in the Vault, ignorant and trapped but safe. She gripped the canvas pouch tighter, forgetting her .44 magnum even existed.

"You the 101 Overseer?" The raider leader had an almost childishly high voice for someone his size. Amata was never the sort who was cruel enough to laugh about something like that. All she could do was nod. The man snapped his fingers then made a gun-motion point towards the ground. "Got something that belongs to you, Vaultie."

A black bag was pulled off Susie Mack's head as she was shoved violently to the ground. Her cheek was swollen and her lip was bloodied. Two female raiders trained their now free rifle hands on Amata.

Remembering what the Wanderer had said, Amata demanded Susie be allowed to get up and join her. The leader laughed, clearly underwhelmed by his adversary. The blonde-haired woman spat on the leader's boots as she stumbled forward, still off balance from her injuries. Never tactful or kind as a child, Susie growled at Amata. "Don't tell me you were stupid enough to bring a ransom. This is all his fault." Amata asked what she meant.

The raider leader answered with a guffaw. "Tell the Lone Wanderer he should spread his wealth around to the right people next time. Or at least people who don't get drunk in bars bragging about the cap kickbacks they get for being nice to Vaulties. Makes the rest of us ….curious." Speaking of which, the man growled as he lazily drew his pistol on Amata and Susie.

Before he could reach for the bag in Amata's hand, there was a sickening thwack! noise. One of the eyepieces of his gas mask had a dark circle where blood began to spill. Just as he crumpled to the ground, two more dull thuds dropped the female bodyguards behind him. The 3 remaining raiders began to charge down the hill. Bullets peppered the ground at Amata and Susie's feet as they turned to run.

The Lone Wanderer was sprinting toward them, tucking a sniper rifle into his shoulder bag in favor of a larger gun with jutting wires. Amata lunged to yank Susie to the ground as a burst of green light fired over them. The closest raider vaporized on contact. Another charged burst blew an arm and leg off a female raider wielding two SMGs. The woman screamed, but the Wanderer had charged up and struck her in the face with the wide butt of his odd gun.

The final raider, slowed by the carnage, seemed to stop on his heel and ponder the choice between fleeing and dying. The Lone Wanderer issued a tie-breaker in the form of a quick-drawn pistol to the man's leg. He cried in pain and fell forward, but the Wanderer was on the young raider within a second. Amata's friend ground his booted heel into the raider's bullet wound, drawing forth growling pleas from the man.

"Please!" was all the women heard shrieked over and over and over again. Amata and Susie had finally pushed to their feet and swallowed the bile that had risen in their throats over the speedy (but not unwarranted) massacre. The Wanderer pulled out a machete, spun it on his finger, then swung sharply down at the dead raider leader's exposed neck. A sick crunch of tendon and bone separated the head.

He scooped up the bag of bottle caps from where Amata had dropped them, upended them all over the ground, and stuffed the dripping head into the bag. The remaining raider still cowered on the ground, clutching his leg in pain, though his whimpering ceased when the Wanderer dropped the bloody sack in his lap. "Hold this," the Wanderer said calmly.

Crouching next to the raider, the Lone Wanderer whispered closely into the man's ear. The struggling stilled the longer the Wanderer spoke, but Amata and Susie could only exchange confused looks. Susie gestured at the small fortune that lay on the ground around them, before greedily tucking handfuls of caps into her vault uniform pockets. Amata did not join her.

After a few moments, the Wanderer yanked a stimpak from a pouch on his chest armor and stuck it into the raider's wounded leg. The man hobbled upright, clutched the head's bag and turned around to run away. The Wanderer then retrieved the rifles from the dead raider women and offered them to Susie and Amata.

"I—what—I thought you weren't going to pay them off," was the only thing Amata could think to say as she accepted the new weapon. Her old friend just regarded her a moment, before he replied. "I could, but I wasn't going to." He turned to leave. Amata couldn't just let him leave like that.

Except she had the first time. And the second. Third time was charmed.

"Wait! What about your caps? These are yours." Amata nudged Susie, who had finished picking up every last cap. She hissed at Amata for reminding him. He shrugged dismissively. "Take it all. You need it more than I do." He turned away again.

"Please," Amata begged about nothing in particular. The Wanderer got a few more feet away this time before stopping. He didn't turn around, but he did look back at them over his shoulder. He wasn't going to let Amata get away with having everything and giving nothing. The Wastes didn't work that way.

"If you don't pay for it, it's harder to throw away when it's over." He looked like he wanted to say more, but he didn't. Instead of angling east toward Megaton, he strode off to the north. A group of super mutants were camped on a distant hill. He didn't look like he was going to avoid them.

Susie Mack pulled on Amata's arm. The sun was nearly set and they had another hourlong hike to get back to Vault 101. Home. Where family can't survive when one of its members is expendable. Because that's not a family.

Amata wished she smelled like sweat and honey.

It's empty in the valley of your heart
The sun, it rises slowly as you walk
Away from all the fears
And all the faults you've left behind

The harvest left no food for you to eat
You cannibal, you meat-eater, you see
But I have seen the same
I know the shame in your defeat

But I will hold on hope
And I won't let you choke
On the noose around your neck
And I'll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I'll know my name as it's called again

Cause I have other things to fill my time
You take what is yours and I'll take mine
Now let me at the truth
Which will refresh my broken mind

So tie me to a post and block my ears
I can see widows and orphans through my tears
I know my call despite my faults
And despite my growing fears

But I will hold on hope
And I won't let you choke
On the noose around your neck
And I'll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I'll know my name as it's called again

So come out of your cave walking on your hands
And see the world hanging upside down
You can understand dependence
When you know the maker's land

So make your siren's call
And sing all you want
I will not hear what you have to say
Cause I need freedom now
And I need to know how
To live my life as it's meant to be

And I will hold on hope
And I won't let you choke
On the noose around your neck
And I'll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I'll know my name as it's called again

"The Cave" by Mumford & Sons