Disclaimer: I don't own Fallout 3. It is property of Bethesda Softworks.
Boys and girls of the Capital Wasteland, a hearty good morning to all ya'll survivors and survivorettes. This is Three Dog and you're just waking up to Galaxy News Radio, the ONLY radio station that doesn't give you feelings of ominous doom.
Just looking on the counter on the far side of the studio wall here…it looks like it's been thirty days, twelve hours, thirty-four minutes and 25 seconds since the last of President Eden's neo-fascist footsoldiers decided to make our lives slightly more unbearable.
Has the devil-heads taken the hint and decided to just take their crap elsewhere? Has our friends of the Brotherhood of Steel finally put a high-velocity round through their power-armour heads? Or had our Buddha-with-a-Boomstick Lone Wanderer finally wiped out the last of them back at that Air Force base out of town? Your guess is as good as mine kids…but whatever happens, I just hope I don't have to reset counter on my wall.
But if it does, rest assure kids…I'm sure the Messiah-with-a-Missile Launcher will once again put the fascists six feet under where they belong. Speaking of which, wonder what One-Oh-One doin' nowadays? Last I heard he had just returned from out of state and was last seen outside Megaton?
A little R' n R', eh One-Oh-One. Heh, hope you enjoy it kid, wherever you went I hope you managed to make the world outside our own slice of hell a much better place…
"Hate to disappoint you Three Dog, but I don't think I did anything right this time!"
Marcus switched off his bedside radio before turning on his side, lying on his filthy mattress in his Megaton 'home' and trying to get back to sleep. Dogmeat was sound asleep beside the bed and downstairs Watson was busy cleaning the blood and muck off the pieces of T-51B Power Armour scattered all over the ground following his latest venture in the Capital Wasteland.
The Lone Wanderer looked like death when he had finally returned from The Pitt just a week ago, having helped overthrow Ismael Ashur and completely destroying the raiders infesting that hell on earth at the behest of the slaves. Only one thing though: all this left baby Marie, the healthiest infant on the planet, an orphan.
Though Wernher gave his word that Marie would be taken cared off courtesy of Midea who would continue Ashur's wife Sandra Kundanika's research into developing a cure for the plague that infected most, if not all, of the Pitt's denizens, Marcus had left the Pitt feeling guilty as hell. How was he supposed to know that the 'cure' was a living, breathing soul? That her parents, despite being raiders and slavers, had been quite possibly the most loving people on the planet? Saints despite being sinners, perhaps?
But as he had stood in the nursery/laboratory in Ashur's Fortress with Ashur's scientist wife's trusting back to him, he had made up his mind almost right away: The slaves must be freed, whatever the cost. Hell, he had single-handedly destroyed Paradise Falls, the Capital Wasteland's central for slavers and the source of human flesh for the Pitt, so he might as well have finished the job right there and then.
Wernher and Midea's attitude once he had handed Marie over to them were hardly comforting. Marcus had immediately begun to worry about the infant girl's future, especially with Wernher mentioning cutting corners when it comes to the research, and the enhancement he was given as a result of Midea's suspiciously near-instantaneous breakthrough in research.
The canine's eyes fluttered open and he looked up at his wild red-haired, green-eyed, hispanic master. He smiled slightly down at his closest companion.
"I did do the right thing, right boy?" Marcus asked him. "Everything worked out in the end? Marie will be taken cared off and will finally free the slaves when they find the cure?"
Though Dogmeat was the smartest dog in all the wasteland, the whole world even, he had no answer to that. He just looked back at his master questioningly.
"Heh, I forgot…you didn't tag along for that adventure." Marcus looked back up a the ceiling. "Sorry boy."
Dogmeat sounded bitter when he barked at him.
"Yeah, sorry. Tell you what…"
He sighed as he sat up on his bed, putting his feet firmly on the ground.
"You can come along with me this time. I'm heading back there today."
He stretched his arms upwards, hearing the bones creak as he worked out he kink.
"I got a locker full of teddy bears and I think Marie will enjoy making new friends."
He stepped out of his bedroom and walked down the stairs, Dogmeat in tow.
"Ah…good morning, sir!" Watson the Mr. Handy robo-butler greeted him in the usual enthusiastic manner. "You'll be happy to know your T-51B Power Armour has been washed and polished…all spick and speck."
Marcus shook his head. "Not this time, Watson. Just the Combat Armour, the point forty-four and the Suppressor for today."
"Travelling a little lighter then usual if I must say so, sir?"
He shrugged as he put Reilly's Combat Armour on, holstered the .44 Magnum and slinging the scoped assault rifle 'Suppressor' over his shoulder. "Just paying some friends a visit."
"And which friends would that be?" Watson said, tracing Marcus's movements as he walked over to fridge and quickly ate a whole box of Salisbury Steak. "If I know someone of your stature you must have friends all over this great state of ours."
"Some friends out of town."
"Oh, well…" Watson saw him walk over to the locker closest to the door and pull out a brown-coloured teddy bear with a red bow around his neck, "I'm sure they'll enjoy your company, seeing as how you've possibly made their lives a lot more bearable in this unbearable world. Your reputation always precedes you, good sir."
Marcus paused as he reached for the doorhandle leading out of his house. Dogmeat looked up at him worriedly, and when he didn't move for half-a-minute he pawed at the Lone Wanderer's left leg.
"Sir?" Watson expressed his concern. "Are you alright, sir?"
Marcus snapped out his daze and exhaled, "Yeah, fine. See you later, Watson."
"Hope you have a nice day sir."
"I'll try to."
You know boys and girls; I wonder what goes through One-Oh-One's head when he does the things he does. You know: Helping people, killing Super Mutants and Radscorpions, giving hobos free bottles of water. Know what I think? A big sense of satisfaction for contributing to the Good Fight, and acting the Messiah we know he is.
Sheriff Lucas Simms yawned and adjusted the hat on his head as he stepped out of his home, his assault rifle slung over his shoulder and ready to be in his hands the moment someone in eyeshot stepped out of line. He noticed a familiar mop of wild red hair and smirked.
"Good morning, Marcus," Lucas waved at him. "Goin' out to make sure the radio keeps talking about you?"
Marcus gave a weak smile as he walked past him. "Hopefully not. Just visiting some friends."
"Out of town. Don't wait up, Sheriff."
Lucas watched him disappear past the large doors leading into Megaton with a slight grimace. Ever since his father died a couple of months ago and he fell in with the Brotherhood of Steel he had become withdrawn. He had always being around to lend a handle; providing scrap for the water plant for instance, but this time since last week he had become more apathetic and uncaring of anyone around him. Lucas guessed that it had to do with him leaving the Capital Wasteland for a bit.
He watched the doors closed behind the Wanderer, hand on his head to keep his hat from flying off his head as a gust of wind blew right past him.
'After everything that boy's gone through I wouldn't be surprised if he started to not care.' Lucas thought. 'Goddamn radio station, making him out to be some sort of hero. No one ever needs that kind of pressure.'
If you don't mind me sayin': I just happen to be One-Oh-One's closest buddy, some one he can depend on and trust to spread word of good deeds far and wide to poor, needy shmucks like you. If you've met him, consider yourself blessed by God, Buddha or whatever deity exists in his hell we trudge through every day. Because you've me the most upstanding guy and you can be goddamn guaranteed you'd never meet another cat like him.
"FUCK! FUCK! OH FUCK ME! MY ARM…YOU BLEW OFF MY GODDAMN ARM!"
"Shut up, asshole." Marcus yelled over at him as he tinkered away at the Caucasian man's neckcollar, "Yeah, there you go!"
The collar fell to the ground some feet away from the slaver lying on the ground, the blood pooling around where his left arm used to be, the limb some more feet away from him. The metal armoured slaver of Asian descent screamed out obscenities at the Lone Wanderer as he removed the collars off his latest haul – all six of them, including two children, one a boy and one a girl.
Why he had been rounding up wastelanders to be sold off as human cattle was lost to Marcus. Paradise Falls was fall of holes and there were no other slaver dens anywhere in the Capital Wasteland that he knew of. And if there was he would find it out and destroy it.
After removing the last of the collars the would-be slaves ran off after giving their thanks to the fabled Lone Wanderer, immediately sharing a bottle of clean, clear aqua pura between them. The slaver stared up at Marcus, hatred and pain in his eyes simultaneous.
"Those…meat…" the slaver blurted out, "…were gonna feed my family tonight."
Marcus smirked and gave a sideward glance at his latest kill and discarded his rifle's empty clip, "Sucks to be you then. Been to Paradise Falls lately? All those bodies lying around the place, eh? Thought that would make you dickheads consider your choice of career!"
The slaver's eyes widened with realisation.
"That…that was YOU?"
"Yeah," Marcus continued to smile as he walked over to him, "Emancipation-Declaration-Ain't-So-Complication, heh heh."
The slaver gritted his teeth. "Why you dirty bread-stealing…"
It wouldn't have been possible for him to feel anything just before he died, seeing as how Marcus splattered his head into a dozen pieces like a melon courtesy of a precise magnum shot to the forehead. The Wanderer's smile from his face, him standing there alone with the slaver's corpse along just half-a-mile away from the train tunnel that would take him to the Pitt.
He checked his PIP BOY 3000 built in clock: 18:00. Just a few more hours of sunlight left.
'Time to keep moving.'
Everyday I wonder where One-Oh-One went off to, those few hours his PIP BOY wasn't tuned in to you yours truly and his wonderful, godlike voice? I bet wherever the kid went he made sure that when he left, life there would be a little bit more bearable.
How do I know that kid, children? Because this is the Lone Wanderer I'm being talking about, and will keep talkin' about so long he continue to walk the Capital Wasteland, dedicated to bringing hope to all you children braving this world one day at a tim. Not to mention bringing hell to you assholes who try to fuck with the progression of humanity.
And now, some music…
Marcus stepped out of the tunnel, which would lead him beneath the brownish sky that hovered above the industrial nightmare place known as the Pitt. He exchanged the mostly fresh air of the Capital Wasteland for the diseased smog that the denizens unfortunately breathe hair. He had a feeling that no one here was rushing to improve the air quality here and he could understand.
However he would never understand if anyone would want to hurt Marie, but he would like to understand if anyone did. That would give him a good reason to blow his head off.
The Lone Wanderer quietly traversed through the railyard leading up to the bridge, his scoped assault rifle in his hands and his finger tracing the trigger. His eyes darted left and right as he kept alert and didn't drop for a second, even after he reached the main bridge and noticing the slave sentries with sniper rifles at the top, covering the entire area. He was glad to see that the bridge was mostly cleared; with most of the junk, mines and toxic barrels cleared, leaving a mostly clear pathway into the Pitt.
He noticed one of the sentries waving at him so he waved back and smiled, not caring if he saw it or not. He didn't plan on staying for long, only to see if Marie was ok and that Wernher made good on his promise. Maybe then he would start to believe what the radio made him out to be.
To his surprise he found the cycloptic Wernher already waiting for him, leaning outside the main gate with his arms crossed and a cigarette dangling in his mouth. The rebel leader smirked when Marcus appeared closer to the gates.
"Well, look whose back." Wernher waved at him, leaning off the gate and walking to him, hands on his hips, "Didn't think you'd ever return. You looked that guilty when you left after offing Ashur, his bitch of a wife and every one of those pricks Uptown."
Wernher remaining good eye widened slightly when Dogmeat growled at him, the canine not liking his attitude one bit. Marcus looked down at his companion and patted his head, calming him down. He then looked back at him appearing apologetic.
"Your mutt ain't gonna be a problem around the workers, right Sam?"
Marcus shook his head. "Nope. Now where's Marie?"
The Wanderer looked at him, his eyes narrowed, "Marie. The baby. Ashur's daughter."
"Oh!" Wernhur looked at if he had just remembered something important. "The one thing that will free the slaves."
"Yeah." Marcus smiled out a teddy bear from his pac., "I got a pressie for her. Midea mentioned she likes teddies and she's lucky I live close to a teddy factory."
Wernhur downcast his left eye and uttered a curse.
Marcus narrowed his eyes, "What?"
"Uhhhhh…yeah…" Wernhur took a puff out of his cigarette then flicked it away. "I don't think she'll be need those stuffed pieces of crap any more."
The Wanderer was taken back and Dogmeat whined and drooped his ears, as if he knew what Wernher was about to say and started to feel depressed.
"Wha…what the fuck are you saying?"
"Marie's dead. That's what the fuck I'm saying, kid."
So what do you think?
Regarding Three Dog, I tried to emulate his style of broadcasting as best I could, so if you comment you might want to tell me how I did. I appreciate that.