It all began the same way I suppose. Wasteland had a set of rules that were enforced by its very nature. Don't fuck with your neighbors. Don't fuck with the scorpions. Don't fuck with the drinking water. And definitely don't fuck with a Deathclaw. The list of don't fucks goes on for pages and pages, but most get the idea. There are a lot of things you shouldn't fuck with. People that violate these sacred scriptures, well, let's just say there's a reason why 200 years after the nuclear war the scavengers are still in business .
So when a 600 pound lumbering monster of genetic engineering marvel with skin tougher then power armor and hands sheathed in bladelike claws that could tear through flesh and armor like wet tissue paper, most people would run. Smart people would run really really really fast. No one ever accused Samuel Jackson AKA the kid from vault 101 of being stupid. With an IQ capable of frying an egg and boiling water after, it wouldn't be too far off to call him a genius. And most normal people would tell you that geniuses think differently, in strange and sometime incomprehensible ways. Some might even say they're so smart they're stupid.
So when the Deathclaw popped out from behind the broken radio tower, instead of turning tail and making for the setting sun as fast as his legs could carry him, Sam snapped up his hunting shotgun und unloaded into the grotesque biological warmachine's face. It paused the Deathclaw's charge for all of half a second maybe. Probably a little less. Now most people who did have the knee jerk reaction of shoot first then ask questions later, would probably be regretting the decision to piss off an already irritated death claw by trying to tickle its face with buckshot. Sam wasn't most people.
Agility honed from weeks of fighting supermutants, pounding in the head of raiders and terrorizing talon company mercs magically moved the lone wanderer outside of the death machines reach, just marginally avoiding being trampled and decapitated all in one moment. The shotgun boomed out twice more, the scattered rounds finding home in the creatures head. Let it not be said that Deathclaws are pushovers. There's a reason why Deathclaws are given bold text in the wasteland survival guide list of shit to avoid. Just about anything else in the wasteland would be dead and most likely without a head after having taken a couple twelve gauge rounds to the face. This unfortunate Deathclaw was currently staggering like a drunk nursing a weeklong hangover, but nonetheless it was still standing. These things were tough, worst than mold in a steamy shower stall.
Sam back-pedaled quickly away from the stumbling monstrosity and punched through the item selection menu of his pip-boy. The shotgun deatomized into nothingness, and a rocket launcher appeared in its place. Shouldering the missile launcher, he sighted the disoriented creature and let fly the explosive round. The resulting noise from the missile making contact with the Deathclaw was loud to say the least. When the dust cloud finally settled, Sam made out the fallen shape of the Deathclaw lying on the ground with one of its arms missing. Recalling the weapon to his pipboy, the lone wanderer retrieved the hunting shotgun once more before setting off at the same steady pace he had been walking at before the Deathclaw had decided it wanted an early dinner.
This deathclaw obviously hadn't read the wasteland survival guide list of Don't FUCK With, because at the top of the list in bold was the number one wasteland rule. Don't fuck with the lone wanderer.
AN: Just for shits and giggles =)