Jake sat there as the Minuteman 'Officer' who was in charge of the day-to-day operations of Tenpines walked out of the building and down the stairs. He finished his bottle of Nuka Cherry, slipped the bottle cap into his pocket, and headed out the same way. As he got to the platform just outside the door, he took in the farm area just below him and the surrounding scenery.

"Ah, nothing like a beautiful morning to start the day off with," he sighed to himself as he walked down the stairs. Heading down, he realized that Lucas Miller had his brahmin under the scaffolding connecting the upper floors of two houses. He walked over and, after hearing Lucas give his self-advertising, "Got armor at good rates if you're interested," Jake only bought his few 10mm rounds, passing him a handful of caps.

"Thanks Lucas," he said as he turned and walked back to the farm area. Jake didn't know why really, but for some reason he really liked the farm. It showed that life could grow, even in the Commonwealth. He plopped a seat in the dirt, leaning back against some of the fencing, wishing he had another Nuka.

Nighthorse was patrolling the Tenpines area for trouble. This job was boring but it paid. She thought back to the day she destroyed his home. She killed more that day than every other day in her life previously. It was a fun day. She liberated quite a bit of loot, used most of it to increase her own fortune and upgrade her equipment. Some of the loot was spread out among the rest of the fellow Vault Dwellers, though the best she kept for herself, the Overseer's Armguards. Most of the Vault Dwellers would not have survived out here, they were to soft, they were pathetic little snowflakes living in a bubble.

She saw Miller as he approached and bought the ammo for her assault rifle and checked out what armor he had the only upgrade she saw was out of her price range.

Cassie walked out of the small Tenpines bar, staggering a bit as she stepped down from the door; her worn leather boots kicking up some dust as she looked around a bottle of whiskey still gripped in her left hand. Her short coal black hair swept to the right with some kind of grease applied to hold it in place, across the left side of her face bearing three vertical claw shaped scars barely ending before her eyeball. Her combat armor securely strapped onto her body, painted black to assist in sneaking and for simple style points; beneath the armor she wore worn dark green army fatigues stitched together in various places her pants tucked into the long reaching combat boots she wore.

Her eyes landed on Jake a self righteous minute man type, annoying dribble they were Cassie had run into more than once during her travels in the Common Wealth; sometimes non-violently and others happened to fall on her knife while they were asleep. But she had no quarrel with the minute men here yet no one had paid her enough to, as she approached Jake her hand brought the glass bottle into her lips finishing the harsh liquor and tossing the trash aside to shatter on a fence. Her raider built assault rifle hanging over her left shoulder by a cloth strap, several dozen tally marks etched into the wooden buttstock; the silenced 10mm holstered under her right armpit. The pre-war design making it a valuable weapon indeed and a trademark of Cassie's best work, she stopped walking about three feet from Jake looking him up and down taking in his form and sizing him up to an extent; standing at five foot ten herself.

"So, got any decent shit to do for work? You minute men always have fuckin problems that need fixing."

Elamshin slipped into the town, relieved that any of the guards that saw her didn't recognize her. She wasn't really surprised, the only times she saw anyone past her old group was through a scope, and they usually didn't see anything after that. She did hear Miller talking with someone, likely selling them whatever he could, but she didn't bother heading over to see what he had. While she did have a decent stash of caps that her group had built up, she wasn't one to carry much in the way of armor, preferring the light and flexible leather. She stretched out a bit as her tired muscles protested against the hours of traveling she had just finished, leaning against a steel wall with a sigh blinking rapidly to get the sleepiness out of her eyes. There was someone with a rather foul mouth nearby, but that wasn't exactly out of the ordinary.

Hardware Town...Otherwise known as a shit-stain in the ass-end of the Commonwealth. What was it with this bullshit? Other Raider gangs managed to land military bases; Pre-War ships; hell, even a whole goddamn factory. But here we were, luring dumbass Settlers and would-be-Samaritans into our little hideout with a "come-rescue-me" game, hoping to filch fifteen, maybe twenty caps off the poor bastards. Haul wasn't bad, I guess - we were close enough to Diamond City to keep a steady stream of victims passing through, but have too much fun and next thing you know, Security'll come asking questions. And someone'll answer with a bullet; whether it's them, or us.

One good haul, that's all I needed. Merchant or a merc, or something. Couple of chems'd be enough. Some decent quality guns, maybe. Something to get me out of playing the same old routine. First couple times were fun, got a good laugh seeing the moron's expression change when the kidnapped broad he was trying to rescue came at him with a ripper to the chest. But now it's just a chore, cheap labor for shit pay. God, I gotta get out of here. At the very least land enough chems for a high to last me the rest of the week. Doesn't matter which at this point.

Heard commotion coming from outside. Footsteps. Victim Number Fuck-Knows is here. Saw Minx move toward the front door to play her part screaming and crying. She looked damn good in that Pre-War getup we shoved her in, hugs her ass tight. Might have to try and get a piece later, take my mind off the rest of this shit.

Letting out a breath of hot air, I stood to my feet, reaching for my pistol. 10mm. Nothing fancy, but it got the job done without making too big a mess. No matter how boring this job got, couldn't take away that tingle of pulling the trigger, vibrations running down your arm. Wait...What the hell am I saying? Jesus, I need a good fuck.

Longer and longer I waited for my cue to start shooting. Usually Minx and whatever fuckwad she roped into "saving" her were in the store by now. But there was nothing. I could tell Skid and Buck were thinking what I was. They were stoned off their asses with chems and could still feel the tension.

That's when the first shot rang out. Clear, a crack that we could detect through the thin walls of the store. Something went wrong.

"Shit!" I heard Skid swear as he scrambled for his machete. "Goddamn it, will you be quiet!?" I spat back at him. Last thing we needed was to lose nerve, especially when we were still figuring out what the hell was happening.

As if on cue, the commotion continued. A shot and a deafening crack. Door fell right off its hinges - were we fighting a fucking Super Mutant?

I fired a few shoots at the entrance, not worrying about aiming until I could find myself some decent cover. Couldn't catch a good glimpse of what we were firing at except it looked human...which could mean any number of things in this hellhole.

Buck decided to face whatever threat there was head-on: Psycho and a fully-auto pipe rifle'll make you stupid that way. He ran out of cover screaming like a damn animal, spraying bullets everywhere. Dumbass couldn't shoot straight even when he was sober.

Three more shots rang out from the other end of the store, then Buck fell back as though he'd been knocked out. Smoke was rising from his chest, looked like something burnt its way through his skin. Laser bolts.

Goddamn it.

There were the footsteps again. Slow, deliberate. Whatever was happening here was no accident. We were being hunted. Swallowing any initial fears I had, I sprang out, intending to hit whatever decided to fuck with us. One shot. Two shots. Three shots. Four shots. The hunter sidestepped behind a wall fast enough to make a Radstag jealous, waiting for that perfect moment in-between shots to step out, brandishing what looked to be some kind of jury-rigged laser rifle, a bright flash of red preceding what felt like a power fist to the gut.

My legs buckled beneath me, knocking out air as I collapsed onto the hard ground. The stench of my own burning flesh hit me, my head swimming as heat like hot coals radiated from my gut. Fucker hit me right beneath the armor. Leather I wore underneath worked too well, kept me conscious.

What all happened next was a blur. Screaming and gunshots flooded my ears, but it all sounded like it was coming underwater - worst fucking ringing I could ever fathom digging into my brain.

Then it all got quiet. Fight must've lasted thirty seconds at most...

I turned my head as far around as I could from my position and saw corpses. Guess our luck had run out. I heard those footsteps again, like the beats of a goddamn war drum. Shadow loomed over me. Using the last of my strength, I rolled myself around to look my killer in the eyes. If I'm gonna die, I'm not going out like a fucking coward.

But there were no eyes to look into. Just the red light. A tin can. A goddamn, motherfucking Assaultron dressed up like some kind-of cowboy. If there is a God, guess He's got a great fucking sense of humor.

The tin man outstretched his right arm and I saw myself looking down the south end of a laser rifle. Guess this is it. Sorry, Momma. Know you wanted better.

I grinned up at the tin can and decided to make my last words count. "You gotta be fucking kidd--"

---

Two-hundred-and-ten years of active function. Two-hundred years worth of lives ended; lives taken away. It was how the Wasteland worked. Factions rose and collapsed, whether under their own weight or genocide from another party. The Minutemen, however, didn't know when to give up. Near-total destruction - a massacre - at Quincy. Yet they clung to life, forced air into unwilling lungs. So long as the Old-World patriotic fervor flowed through the veins of the willing, the Minutemen wouldn't die. Not totally.

Jake Toweley was no exception to that fervor. The self-prescribed "leader" of their little band of misfits, the Minutemen ideology is what kept him anchored. They were the best hope for the Commonwealth, in his mind, no other way around it. But loyalty can't be bought, someone's always offering more caps than someone else. It's what made mercenary work so profitable. Ravaging the planet wasn't enough. Eradicating nearly all life didn't let the message sink in. Someone would always want someone else dead.

Silently following the others outside the surreally-lit bar of Tenpines, Maverick immediately strode toward the front gate of the Bluff, passing by Elamshin as she was sneaking into the settlement. He had no need for preparation or bartering for materials. He'd wandered hundreds, if not thousands of miles across the Wasteland with nothing but his gun. This journey would be no exception. But the pilgrimage from Tenpines to Fort Independence would not be simple or easy. Wandering the Wastes never was.

Ignoring the commotion around him coming from the rest of the settlers, Maverick fixed the brim of his hat, leaning back against the outer wall of the Settlement, still as a statue.

Jake flinched as the bottle smashed into pieces and fell around the farm. He stood up, relieved she hadn't smashed it closer to him.

"Christ, could you be careful? If you're looking for something to do, you could start by picking up the pieces of that bottle you just broke. These people have enough to worry about as it is. Or at least show some respect." Jake, like almost every other settler in Tenpines, had built the place from the ground up. Watching people make a mess of their hard work felt as insulting as calling someone a steaming pile of brahmin shit.

Soulless red lenses glowed softly in the darkness of the abandoned building, the occasional streak of light breaking though the boarded windows and illuminating narrow strips of the rooms within. Atlas stepped down the darkened hallways one step at a time, his modified .44 in his left hand, until he drew closer to the room ahead. The only light came from a roaring fire in the middle of the room, and four figures were standing around it, all wearing rusted scrap metal on their arms legs and torso with markings painted across their faces. Raiders. Three men, one woman, one dog resting at her feet. He raised the revolver and clicked the safety off, catching one of the men's attention. the Raider froze in shock for a moment before Atlas squeezed the trigger and a high-calibre pistol round exploded out of the barrel of the weapon, replacing his head with a shower of red mist and bloody gristle. The other three scrambled for their weapons, only to be met by a similar fate. One shot to the heart of the first man, one the head of the second, one tearing out the woman's neck and two into the charging dog, one to slow it down and another to finish the creature.

With a practised hand, he ejected the spent bullet casings, loading six fresh rounds as they clinked softly to the ground. Sliding the gun back onto the holster on his leg, he pushed open the door to the outside. He covered his eyes as the sun overwhelmed his night vision before he flicked it off, the glow of his lenses disappearing the morning sun. Without a word, he set off to Tenpines Bluff. Home, for now.

As he drew closer to the front gate, he stopped for a second, watching people come and go for a moment. His eyes settled on a redhead trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible and he gained an expression somewhere between a frown and curiosity, although leaning more towards the latter. It was strange to see her again, seeing as the Gunners had stopped trying to recruit him a while ago. The fact she was wearing what equated to civilian clothing and none of the other guards were attacking on sight, however, meant she wasn't a threat, so he just shook his head and continued walking. He nodded to the tin-can cowboy as he passed, having run into him a few times (thankful not from the other end of their guns), before stepping into the settlement proper, and leaning against a building a short distance from the redhead from before. He didn't say anything, instead pulling off his Elite Riot Helmet and taking one of the Nuka-colas out of his Pipboy, popping the cap with his armoured hand and tilting it to his lips. He rolled the cap in his fingers before pocketing it and taking another mouthful.

A radstag quietly rummaged through a charred forest, picking away at various pieces of assorted foliage, searching for a meal. Several yards away, perched atop a tree branch, sat Jacob. With his rifle propped in the fork of the branch, he peered through the scope, and leveled the sight on the radstag, placing it where the bullet was sure to do minimal damage to the meat, while still providing a clean kill. Placing his taking a deep breath, Jacob eased his finger onto the trigger, and...



The bullet raced off to the animal, striking it dead-on. A few birds fluttered away quickly, and Jacob climbed down from the tree, slinging his rifle over his shoulder, and rushing off to collect the reward for his last kill of the day. Kneeling down next to the radstag, Jacob slid his knife from its sheath, and began skinning and carving the animal, collecting the pelt and meat and storing them in a satchel. After finishing up, he took a swig from a bottle of rather stale water, and headed for Tenpines Bluff to trade what he could of his harvest for other supplies.

Stepping through the town gates, Jacob fumbled in his jacket pocket, pulling out a box of cigarettes, placing one in his mouth, and lighting it with a match. Taking a deep puff, he walked towards where Lucas Miller, a frequent visitor, had set up a trading post. Selling off some of the meat and pelts he'd collected earlier in the day, Jacob stocked up on rounds for his rifle, purchased a few bottles of water and a couple stimpaks, as Jacob's supply was running low and he wanted to be prepared.

From there, Jacob decided on a bit of rest. Making a quick stop to his shack outside the wall to drop off the remains of his hunting, Jacob took a breather and a smoke break, leaning up against a building in the center of town, and just taking everything in, making sure nothing went down while the Minutemen were in town.