╭┅┅┫ -ˋˏ *. ❂ .* ˎˊ- ┣┅┅╮
❝ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ 'ʀᴏᴜɴᴅ
ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ
ʙᴇᴀᴛ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ғᴀsᴛᴇʀ
ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ 'ʀᴏᴜɴᴅ
ɪ ᴡᴀs ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴛᴏ
sʟᴏᴡ ɪᴛ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ❞
╰┅┅┫ -ˋˏ *. ❂ .* ˎˊ- ┣┅┅╯

When I attempted to sit up, an ache almost immediately bloomed in my left shoulder, but I forced myself to an upright position regardless. With my right hand, I inspected the gunshot wound and was surprised to find it properly sterilized and bandaged. Then, I ran my hand over my hair (which was situated in a messy top bun) and my face. My fingers froze beneath my right eye. The skin felt slightly raw and marred. I guess the debris from Park Street Station left a scar. I covered my left eye with a hand, and breathed a sigh of relief when I could still see out of both of them.

When I checked my wounds, I felt a surprisingly soft fabric brush against my skin. A quick glance revealed that I donned a clean, oversized flannel, along with black socks and boxer briefs.

Slowly, my sense of awareness returned. I was in a room I didn't recognize. The window blinds were closed, blocking most of the sunlight from entering the room. My movements caused a foreign presence to stir, and I heard book pages fluttering shut as the presence said, "Woah, slow down there."

The voice was deep and gravelly. A male ghoul—and based on the silky smooth way his voice carried across the room to me—a charismatic one.  A few seconds later, he lit a candle at the table, wrapping the room in a soft, warm glow. The gentle candlelight illuminated the deep grooves and ridges in his cracked skin. Where he lacked a nose, a small, upside-down heart-shaped hole filled its place. His eyes were nearly jet black, save the slightest variation in the color of his irises. They were the darkest of browns.

One of the most unexpected things I'd ever seen in the Commonwealth was this ghoul's outfit. Or. . .maybe "costume" would be a better word? Either way, he donned a red frock coat over a patriotic blue button-up shirt, an American flag tied around the waist of his trousers as a belt, and the icing on the cake: a tattered dark tricorn hat.

From head to toe he emitted the vibe of an old-timey Founding Father.

"Who. . ." My voice was barely above a whisper, so I cleared my throat and began again. "Who are you. . .?"

The ghoul smirked, tipped his hat slightly, and gave a little bow. Costume was definitely the correct word to use—he seemed to be very theatrical. "John Hancock, Mayor of Goodneighbor. Nice to meetcha." He paused for a moment, then said, "Thanks for not blowing up the front gates, by the way. Or else we would have met under a much different set of circumstances."

I narrowed my eyes, unsure if he was joking with me or threatening me. As I opened my mouth to defend my actions, a raspy chuckle bubbled from his chest.

With a wide grin, Hancock pointed at me. "No worries. I like it. Doing what needs to be done to protect someone you care about?" He nodded approvingly. "I dig that."

"That's a relief," I confessed with a smile. "Not many people do these days." After a moment, I added, "And sorry about that whole fiasco. Definitely wasn't the best way to make a first impression, but Nick needed a doctor. The guard was starting to get under my skin."

I was careful to avoid the fact that I already knew Amari. Even though I never stepped foot inside Goodneighbor, we contacted each other via dead drops on numerous occasions.

Most residents in Goodneighbor were wary and cold towards synths, and would be livid if they discovered her affiliation with the Railroad. It was a potentially dangerous and even life-threatening possibility, so it was kept quiet.

But looking at the ghoul sitting in front of me, I felt at ease. He didn't seem like the prejudice or cruel type. A sense of cool confidence rolled off of him. I felt comfortable in his presence, despite knowing very little about him.

Hancock's hairless brow furrowed, and he said, "You needed a doc, too, ya know. Right after the gates opened, you passed out 'cause you lost too much blood. The bullet shattered midway through your shoulder, so some fragments are still in there somewhere."

I shook my head, anxiety causing impatience creep into my voice. "Enough about me. What about Nick? Is he okay?" I searched his eyes for any sign of emotion that would foretell the answer to my question.

Hancock fixed me with an unreadable look and shook his head slightly with a grin. After a few moments, he said, "Yeah. Ole Nick's fine. No guarantees he'll be awake yet, though."

I exhaled a breath I didn't realize I was holding in. "And you just let us stay?" I asked. "No one does something without wanting something in return."

Hancock shifted in his seat, averted his eyes, and shrugged. "I don't want anything in return. Honest." Additional words seemed to sit on the tip of his tongue, but after a few moments of hesitation, he swallowed them down.

In a beat, I swung my legs around the side of the bed. As I stood, the floor swayed beneath me.

Hancock raised a hairless eyebrow. "Amari said to take it easy. Blood ain't something that can be replaced with Med-X or a Stim."

"I need to see him," I mumbled, gripping the edge of the bed in an effort to clear the sudden dizziness. As I made my way to the door he rose, his joints popping as he did so. "Heh. I can tell I'm gonna like you already."

At his full height, he was only a few inches taller than me. He tilted his head gently, considering me. "I know that you made one helluva introduction at the front gates, but I still don't know your name."

"Oh!" I slapped my forehead for being so stupid. "Sorry. I'm Ash Myers, the Vault Dweller." I stuck my hand for him to shake.

I became known as "the Vault Dweller" after Piper Wright published that article in Publick Occurrences about me. I always left out the details of the vault I "dwelled" inside for nearly 200 years. She and Nick where the only two people who knew of my origin, and I aspired to keep it that way.

Hancock grinned and shook my hand firmly. "Pleasure's all mine. Now let's get goin'. I'll take ya to Nick."

Hancock trailed behind me as I cautiously descended the spiral staircases, and my eyes swept around the building. Of course the walls and floors weren't without damage or stains, but they were kept in very good condition for the most part. It was remarkable that the structure of the building was practically unscathed by the bombs.

When we reached the bottom step, Hancock raised a hand in greeting to a woman with fiery red that was shaved on one side. She lifted her head from a game of chess with another armed guard.

As she began to rise from her seat, Hancock said, "Easy, Fahr. I'm just taking her to see Nick."

She side-eyed me suspiciously and crossed her arms, appearing very intimidating. Her eyes were so light they appeared void of color, and her face was hard and rough. A conversation passed between their eyes, and she reluctantly sat back down.

She acknowledged me with a curt nod, and returned to her game of chess without another word. With that, Hancock and I stepped into crisp night air.

"Charming," I commented as I checked the time on my Pip-Boy. 4:17 a.m.

Hancock smiled to himself. "She may seem cold, but I'd trust Fahrenheit with my life. She's one of the good ones."

Then I heard a familiar voice.

He cackled boisterously, causing my head to swivel in his direction. It was that guard who refused to let Nick and I inside. He wore jeans and a leather jacket that clung to his broad shoulders like wonderglue, along with a few pieces of leather armor. Very short black hair, with some slight stubble.

"That dipshit is Finn. He's the guard you were talking about," Hancock muttered. If looks could kill, Finn would be six feet under.

I mirrored Hancock's glare, feeling anger of my own burning inside me. "Why wouldn't he let us in? Was he just following protocol?"

He turned away and began walking further into the community. "Nope. He was being a dick. Forced him to open the gates myself 'cause that's not how things operate around here."

I nodded and followed him. So Hancock was the type of person who didn't tolerate his power being challenged. That explained why he seemed so cold towards Finn.

"So why did you open the gates for us?"

Hancock gestured around us. "This place was built by folks who didn't have anywhere else to run. It wouldn't be right if we didn't give everyone a chance."

I wasn't sure I agreed, but I had to admit that it was very noble. And nobility had become a very rare trait.

And when I thought of nobility, I thought of Nick. Ever since we put a bullet in Winter's head, we'd been tracking down my brother's whereabouts. Based on the description I gave, Nick believed a mercenary named "Kellogg" was the man who abducted Shawn. With Dogmeat's help, we managed to track him down to Fort Hagen. However, before we decided to ambush him, Nick and I thought it would be best to get supplies.

However, the sun would rise in a few hours, and we had to make a decision about our next move. Although, it all hinged on Nick's health and what was best for him.

As the thought of losing Nick crossed my mind, heat rose to my cheeks, a sure sign that tears were about to fall. I squeezed my eyes shut until it passed.

As we strolled, Hancock continued to talk. "Goodneighbor's home to the freaks and misfits who just wouldn't be accepted anywhere else. It's of the people, for the people."

I scoffed. "Sounds like anarchy."

"The best kind of anarchy," He winked then leaned towards my ear. He murmured, "With that being said, the folks here can be kind of. . .rugged."

He slid an arm around my waist and pulled me to his side as we emerged into the main clearing. Upon feeling me tense, he added, "Trust me," before assuming an authoritative air and stepping into the clearing.

The sun was vacant from the sky, but a
glance at the time on my Pip-Boy revealed it would return in about two hours. String lights were draped overhead, and watchmen and guards chatted and laughed with drifters with scavengers. Over to the left, there was a small campfire and cooking station. Ghouls and people of all colors, shapes, and sizes conversed among each other.

If I didn't feel so wary, I would have felt right at home.

Despite the faint blush brushing my cheeks, I confidently held my head high and held eye contact with every curious eye until they averted their gaze.

To my left, two drifters were talking when their conversation abruptly ceased. The first one let out a low whistle. "Now that's a hunk of meat I could sink my teeth into," he said in a broken Jersey accent to the other one.

The second spoke a little louder, cupping his mouth with his hands. "Hey, baby. If I could see you naked, I'd die happy." I turned to glare at them, and they visibly flinched.

To my surprise, Hancock's tensed ever so slightly. He stopped walking and turned to the set of drifters, fixing them with the same stare, but somehow it seemed much more dangerous now. His eyes glimmered with venom, and the drifters looked absolutely terrified out of their minds. Slowly, he said, "You say some kinda shit like that again, and you're gonna die period."

They nodded frantically, stunned into silence. He turned curtly and continued walking just as briskly as before.

I was unable to stop the grin from spreading on my face. "Thanks. I could have handled them, though."

He dismissed it with a wave of his hand, but he muscles were still tense. "Don't worry about it. Somebody's gotta set 'em straight."

As we came to a stop in front of a building called the Memory Den, his arm around my waist lingered for a moment before he withdrew it. I instantly felt a subtle pang of coldness, but forced it to the back of mind.

I closed my eyes and inhaled and exhaled slowly. That ache returned in my shoulder as I pushed the doors open.

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

yall,, when i first posted this i had 134 reads, and now i have 832 ????

WHAT?????

you guys are so awesome, thank you,, seems like this story kind of exploded overnight, and i couldnt be more humbled !!

i love the song, too. the louis the child remix is so GOOD

xo,
—rambler