The sun rose over the commonwealth, the ever present watcher of its tall, steel skeletons and ruined streets. The creak and whine of the titanium behemoths would make anyone shiver, the ghost of what was once a great nation ever lurking over the denizens of the commonwealth. But outside of the city, near the eerie and deserted Fort Hagen, a man sees the commonwealth for the first time after many days of traveling. He was dark skinned, a more browned caramel than anything. His eyes were hazel and alert, his hair long and curly, hanging just a few inches above his shoulders. His face was square and rounded, hidden by a slightly wild black beard, the same color of his hair. His nose straight and narrow. Under the dirt, a scar going horizontally on his left cheek just before it goes across the bridge of his nose and ends on his right cheek can be seen.

He was of an athletic build, well muscled. He was dressed in what would be averaging clothing, if it were not fully armored. A leather coat with armor pieces on both shoulders and elbows and padding inside the coat itself that would stop a handgun no problem. His jeans had knee-pads and a thigh-knife holster and his work boots were steel-toed. The man wore a pack that was adorned with weaponry, tools, and supplies and a pair of aviator sunglasses hid his eyes. On his hip was a .44 magnum revolver and in his hand was a modified assault rifle.

It was clear that this man was a veteran of the wastes. His name is Albert Coleson.

Albert hitched his pack into a more comfortable position and started down the hill into the ruined town. He could see Boston in the distance, its towers like great skeletal fingers reaching for the clouds, desperate to leave this hellish earth. The crunch of his boots echoed into the dawn. The man had been walking since midnight, after not being able to sleep and it wasn't like he was carrying just a teddy bear and his innocent dreams. An all too familiar harsh beep screeched out and it was all Albert could do to dive for a burned out car before an avalanche of 5.56 mm bullets began raining down on his position. The ping of bullets on metal woke Albert up immensely and he craned his neck to see where the turret was without getting his face blown off. It was on the roof of what looked like the Military HQ for Fort Hagen, as his pip-boy described the town.

Albert slowly re-positioned himself as the turret relentlessly kept assaulting him with bullets, hoping to cut his life short. He was now crouching and he set the barrel of his rifle on the ledge of the crooked window, taking aim at the turret. Burst fire erupted from his barrel, slamming in the turret with deadly accuracy. The turret ignited and exploded after a few well placed bursts, showering parts and hot ammo all over the street. Albert sighed as he stood up, his eyes scanning for any more turrets.

Just another day in the life.