We have so much distance to cover to get to New Vegas. Y/N needs answers, and quite honestly, I just want revenge. Everyone alive today should feel this vengeance, but not many people know this story.
I knew that there were pre-war survivors; those assholes planned for this, they planned it all out perfectly. What they didn't plan for is motherfuckers like me being here, and I'm here to ruin whatever else they have planned.
Her daddy wasn't taken because he was innocent in all of this. He was taken because it was part of the plan, and I... WE need to stop it. He knows who dropped those bombs. Hell, I'd be willing to bet he pressed one of fucking buttons.
They planned to strip the world of everything and everyone, and then carve it up into their own empires after hoarding everything they would need.
This is now humanity's reality; miles of barren desert wasteland spread in front of us, wreckage and ruins from centuries of blisteringly hot sun intensified with limited protection from the suns rays, nuclear fallout, and driving winds eating away at anything in its path.
Those fuckers never felt the firestorms, the scorched heat, the burning, the smell...
And the sand.
The fucking sand.
I tip out my boot onto the ground, and a whole desert pours out.
In front of us, a huge billboard has been erected in the middle of this nothingness. Big letters spell out the words "GOVERNMENT LANDS."
"What the fuck is this outfit all about then?" I wonder, and I don't have to wonder too long. From where we are resting, I can see down into a ghost town where two men are running at full beat over the sand.
I take off my other boot and pour the contents onto the ground below.
The first man without a shirt trips and skids across the sand, a rucksack exploding items onto the wasteland floor. The second man with no pants on is on top of him, raining fists on him. It's hard to make out what he is saying, but it sure ain't sweet talk.
"Copper, we need to help," Y/N pulls at my jacket.
The shirtless man on the ground has managed to get the upper hand, and he is currently dragging the pantless man by the leg away from the spilled contents.
"Now hold your horses, darlin', this is prime-time entertainment."
No pants guy has managed to retrieve a gun. Over before it starts.
"Cooper, please!"
I put my hat back on and walk down the bank towards the scuffle with Y/N behind me.
I hear the pistol clicking. Looks like no pants is out of luck and the gun is jammed or more likely empty. No shirt throws himself forward in a tackle. I arrive standing over the fighting men, which largely now consists of a whole lot of grunting, biting, and grabbing.
No shirt looks up.
"Cooper!" he says with a smile.
No pants stops biting no shirt's leg.
"Hey, Cooper!"
"Howdy, Gary," I tip my hat. "What's this commotion then?"
"He stole my pants/shirt!" they shout in unison.
"Wait, they are both called Gary?" Y/N is looking at them intently.
"Gary 28!" No pants shouts.
"Gary 17!" No shirt shouts.
Y/N looks open-mouthed at me. I sigh.
"Gary, you don't need two shirts. Gary, you don't need two pants."
YOU ARE READING
Radioactive Romance
Romansa* Cooper and Y/N * Cooper Howard has wondered the Mojave wasteland for over 200 years becoming as wild and hardened as the land itself... He never expected regain his humanity when he meets Y/N or to feel the softness and warmth of skin under his f...
