Catch Me Dead

Wake-Up Call

   Explosions. Explosions everywhere. Men and women screaming in agony, a fusillade of bullets streaming through the smoke-stained sky, blaze engulfing anyone unlucky enough to back themselves into the fire.
   The small, small boy was barely twelve. He was tossed a gun and a helmet, and told he was a soldier. He was told that he needed to kill anyone that had neon yellow eyes. Anyone with the gear and sword emblem on their clothing. Anyone with a lantern. Anyone suspicious. Any wild animal, any robot, any strange human. He was told he needed to kill to survive.
   And so kill he did. He ran through the battlefield, tears running down his dirt-smeared cheeks, blood running down his neck where his hair stood on end. A searing pain exploded through his right leg, causing him to fall into the mud, his jaw wide but no scream emitted.
   The small, untrained boy huddled into a shivering ball in the dirt, shutting his teary eyes, coddling his shot thigh, his own crimson blood running through his fingers.
   People had run over his small frame to attack. He didn't know what they were attacking anymore. Robots? Raiders? Synths?... everything was a blur, as he blacked out to the sound of gunshots in the background.
——————
The scrawny young man's eyelids burst open as he jolted up in his sleeping bag, drenched in sweat. He had awoken to the sound of distant gunshots. He could tell it wasn't anywhere near him - it just carried over a long distance. Grumbling, he uncovered his legs, exposing them.
His right leg had a nasty scar running down his outer thigh, like a river of burn marks that ended in a bullet hole. It had certainly been there for a long while.
"Moxie?" He called our shakily, testily, as if he only half-expected a response. But a response he got, nevertheless.
An old white Irish wolfhound trotted around the corner of the wooden shack, pausing briefly to yawn and stretch. She had multiple burns and scars, but had the most wonderful ice-blue eyes that made up for her blemishes.
Chuckling, the young man ran his shaky hand down the massive canine's side, her curly pelt smooth through his worn fingers. "Alexander's here. He isn't leaving. I'm glad you haven't left me yet," he mumbled, giggling like a fool as the dog licked his jowls.
"Alright, stop, stop," he mumbled, pulling himself up using the stool next to the maize sleeping bag. Upon the stool was an old, rusty lantern, and a radio that read:
Tuned to: DIAMOND CITY RADIO STATION
Tune to: CLASSICAL RADIO
RECRUITMENT NEEDED
45-097 RADIO
Sighing, Alexander flipped off the radio, in which had been playing static all night. It seemed to only work at noon, which was odd. He'd probably have to take a trip to Diamond City to get it looked at.
   He hadn't been to the 'Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth' in as long as he could recall. Maybe two or three years. His memory wasn't exactly what you'd consider amazing.
   Alexander, leaning against the chipped, squeaky wooden board behind him, ran a finger through his warm brown hair. He had been letting it grow out, it was now set up in a small, messy bun that had a nail stabbed through to keep it in place. He had no hair ties, which caused him to get creative. He had to do this a lot.
   "Hunt anything for me today?" He joked to his canine companion, that stared up with her unreadable eyes, silent.
"Of course not. I didn't expect to eat today. Perhaps tomorrow we can go scavenging together, Moxie. You can bite me if I don't take you."
Alexander had such a lithe frame, you would think he was a skeleton with a stretch suit. But his face seemed to be the only body part getting the nutrients, as he could wear nearly any leather armor set and seem rather normal. "I'm not one to be avaricious. Even with a dog."
Bringing himself up, running a rough hand along the splintering wall, he limped towards the sink on the far wall, Moxie plopping down and making herself comfortable on the quite uncomfortable sleeping bag. Alexander leaned against the rusted-over white sink, staring into the fogged mirror. It wasn't fogged due to steam; it was just really, really old, and the blur was age. A very prominent crack ran vertically up the glass, leading to the upper left corner, where the glass was shattered. It looked as if it had been punched by a smaller fist.
Staring at his own, dull reflection, the young man, barely a whelp, cranked the single handle on the sink, water trickling slowly from the faucet, then gaining pressure slowly. He cupped his hands in the sink bowl, the dirty, unfiltered water like a smooth, cool welcome to the day.
Splashing his groggy face with cold water woke him up enough to cause him to remember about the snake somewhere in the wooden shack he had found oh so long ago. He paid no mind as he caught the silver, jutting scales of the small, fangless python on his journal. It had a black tongue and black blood, and eyes like a burning glacier.
Normally, anyone not accustomed to the wasteland would consider Alexander's life style nothing short of a living hell of poverty.
Alexander was actually fairly rich with a hidden allowance of caps in a strongbox hidden inside his cabinet; it contained two hundred and seven bottle caps in a bag, a toy spaceship, a silver locket and a small camera, still functioning, from 2069. It was incredibly rare to find antiques like this. Something that seemed so prosaic upon first glance, in which was in turn uncovered to be an amazing relic of pre-War life.
A camera didn't tell him much as he couldn't actually recover any of the photos from before, but he just thought it was... neat.
"To go to town, to stay here, to hunt, or to do something about that snake." He wondered aloud. Not like anyone was there for him to bother by talking to himself.
"If I go to town, I can buy food and fix my radio. If I hunt, there's a chance I'll break my four-day record of not eating. If I stay here, anything can happen."
Alexander glanced back at Moxie, whom was curled into a tight, large ball of curly fur. "What do you think, girl?" He asked. Moxie stared up at Alexander, then back at her paws, uninterested.
"Good answer."
Alexander arched his back, feeling a satisfactory pop as he limped to the closest corner, where his large wardrobe was set up. A tattered American flag was nailed into the side, as it now dangled over the peeling, moldy wood.
Slowly pulling the budged door open, he grabbed the first thing he saw, in which was one of the only things in there - a metal shoulder armor piece, that strapped around his upper arm and across his chest. He had an identical of it for his right shoulder.
Nonchalantly strapping them on over his white, bloodstained and dirty shirt, he picked up a heavy leather thigh brace and firmly latched it to his right leg, after pulling down his dull, green cargo pants and equipping them. 
   "Alright, a flashlight, a duffel bag... Alright." He walked over to the cabinet where his safebox was located, casually took it out and unlocked it, and stuffed the bag of caps into his deep side pocket. "It'll be costly to get a radio fixed," he reminded himself. Locking and sealing it once again.
   He slid the giant duffel bag from the back of the wardrobe, setting it on the ground and unzipping it to view the inside contents. Inside were several boxes of .10mm ammunition, two 10mm pistols, a rusted hunting rifle he dug up, and two rounds for that rifle. Just in case. He didn't think he'd need it, but better safe then sorry.
   Now, Alexander was very, very thin. But he was still strong. He could carry his own body weight and more on his shoulders, so it was no problem thrown over his back. Not that he exactly weighed a ton by himself.
   Pulling out a flashlight, he clipped it to his left front pocket, and stuffed a grenade into his back right. Zipping the bag up after stuffing the glitched radio into it, he clipped the thick strap to it and swung it over his back. "We've still got plenty of daylight ahead of us, but if we wait any longer, it'd be night time before we know it."
   He paused, staring at the puzzled Moxie.
   "What, did you think i'm leaving you behind? You're coming with me, girl."
   Moxie let out a loud whine, pulling herself up to her long legs, trotting to her owner. The snake on the journal let out a mellow hiss as the man approached it for his book. "..Keep it, then. I don't exactly use it often."
   Shoving open the rusted metal door, he stepped a booted foot into the wasteland in his backyard, breathing in the stench of death and radiation. "Another trip to Diamond City. Last time, it was with dad to get me a pistol. Maybe i'll rent a hotel room this time instead of setting back home at nine, like last time. Not looking forward to getting mauled by a Yao Guai again. I hate bears."
   Moxie impatiently pressed past Alexander's leg, barking as she trotted past him.
   "I'm coming, I'm coming, you mutt."