Psychopaths can't love, that's for sure. But what could be so wrong about liking one anyway?
This is the rather long (Like, I'm warning you, it's over 400 pages in type 11 writing...So be prepared)fanfiction with a lot of edge, angst and smut. Lot'...
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Debris: The first image you could remember when you regained your consciousness. A picture forever ingrained in your mind, branded into your remembrance like a ugly birthmark that was fated to be your personal bane until the day you dropped.
And that shrill, continuous ringing sound that reverberated in your ears like an unforgivingly boneratteling shriek of the land itself, as the ground still pulsated violently in the aftermath of the faraway blast that had essentially turned the continent into one big freakshow.
That was the day you had lost everything. Everything dear to you. Your home, your family - Your whole damn continent. You had lost everything except for your life. You had just been five or six years old, but that one accident, that one mistake you weren't even yet capable of fathoming in your young mind, was to doom your green life irreparably.
The only fortunate aspect of your total lack of memories before the Omnium exploded into a million irradiated bits and pieces, was that at least you didn't remember what had been so suddenly taken from you. You didn't remember your quiet suburban neighborhood, you didn't remember the smiling faces of your parents when you played in the garden with your cat (Which you had creatively named Kitty).
Sure, you had heard stories from the old folk who did remember the times before it all went to shit. They spoke of progress, of prosperity and international esteem. But you could only imagine what all that could have been. And you did, plentifully so. There were days on end you would spend in the shade of the corrugated iron roof's, trying to picture the Australia that you had missed by a few years.
In the end though, all you knew, and had ever known for that matter of fact; was the wasteland. The desolated lands of the irradiated Australian Outback, to be exact. The 'Mad Max' for the people who used 'mate' as a synonym for 'bro'. A place where the snakes have two heads and humans seemingly none at times. That was the place you had learned to call home. Or a makeshift place to survive, in any case.
You had grown up there, in a land where all was broken in some shape or form. The cars, the dwellings, the people that navigated it; each one with a weapon or five on their person to assure no one would get the idea they were to be trifled with so easily.
Not a scrawny piece of grass that wasn't irradiated or wanted you dead, no living thing that wasn't sick, no mind gentle or even mild. No, the Outback was as harsh and unforgiving a place to live as the people were, rough and broken, the little society there was earned through spilled blood and stolen goods... As well as a violent monarchy that no one had seen coming except for the woman who had initiated her throne among the corpses of her challengers.
But enough of the madhouse that had the audacity to call itself a functioning society, in all that chaos of the daily madness that was Junkertown, there was you: A twenty something year old woman (You weren't exactly sure what your age may have been exactly due to that pesky thing that was your charred memories, but you had a few good guesses in comparing yourself to those who did remember.), meek in frame and with a startlingly tall stature that made you appear like a gangly puppet, a circumstance you frequently related to the high exposure to radiation from a young age.
