Rise of the Mad King

Ch.2

     Doc Mitchell was an old surgeon who had seen it all. He had seen broken limbs, spines, craniums, you name it. He had even seen claptraps in an eye once. Although, he had never seen anything like what he was seeing now, a man had a bullet wound, in the head, and of course Victor couldn't just let him die a peaceful death. Victor waltzed up to the door and needs the Doc to fix him up. He, of course, couldn't refuse, so he dawned his surgeon's mask and utensils, and began to extract the bullet.

     Several hours later, his utensils were soaked in the blood of his patient, whose name he didn't even know. That fact was a little comforting to the old surgeon. 

     Where am I? Ryan wakes to a bed that he has never slept in before. This is not where I'm supposed to be. Where in the hell am I? Mulling it over in his head he decides to yell out. Sitting up, he yells out, "Hello? Anyone there?!" No response is heard, so he got up on his feet and took a good look around. He was surrounded by medical equipment, but the utensils closest to him had wet blood covering them. He reaches out to the utensils with his right hand, only to notice the stained bandage covering his palm. "What the he-" In a mad rush it all comes back to him.

      "RAY," he screams for his friend. Sweeping the bloody utensils from their table he releases a primal scream, agony filling the air. He lets tears fall for his fallen comrade, for his friend. "WHY?!" He releases his anger on the wall closest to him, his right hand cracks on the wood. "DAMMIT!" He releases another wail, this time for his now broken hand. Crumpling to his knees facing the wall, he becomes a mess of tears. "Why couldn't it be me," he asks softly, sobbing now. "You, you WILL PAY!" He breathes heavily, calming down after a few minutes of quiet.

Mitchell stands there, a simple 9mm at his side. "Hey."

Ryan grabs the medical tray and bolts to his feet ready for a fight. Mitchell, gives a gesture that says, 'calm down' as he speaks, "Woah there, friend."

Ryan grips the tray hard. "Where am I!?"

"You better calm down," he gestures to his pistol," you're in my clinic, you suffered a bullet wound, you are lucky to be alive."

Ryan drops the tray. Giving in, he takes a seat on the bed. Mitchell takes a seat next to Ryan, and sighs. Ryan is the first to speak, "I need to leave. I have a man to find, and a delivery to finish."

"Well, before you go, visit the bar, Trudy would hate me if I didn't have you go and visit her before you left."

Ryan stands stretching his back, and speaks smoothly, "I need my things, was my armor ripped apart?"

"No, its fine, but I would like to give you something, I think you could use it, its called a pip-boy."

"I really don't want your charity."

"Well, how about a trade, you go over to Trudy and talk to her, help this town out, and you take the pip-boy."

"Alright, deal. Is my repeater fine?"

"Yes, it certainly is, best condition I have ever seen a weapon in."

"Thanks, I work hard on it."

Mitchell leads him through the halls of the empty house to a room containing his things, and a pip-boy.

      He walks out of the room clad in leather armor. His cowboy repeater on his back and his 9mm pistol at his right hip, he walks to the front door. He tightens the leather grip on the device, and scrolls through, getting used to it. This is gonna be such a pain to lug around. He looks to the Doc standing to the left of the door, "Thanks Doc, I appreciate it. Maybe I will see you again."

"Its my job Ryan, now, go do yours."

With a sly smile, he walks out the door, ready to face the wild wasteland, which he calls home.