The Wanderer.
@FEVWarriorFormer Centurion of Caesar's Legion. Current wanderer. || Fallout RP ||Backstory: https://t.co/V2O7LdIpmy
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"I'm a giant fucking mutant with a gunshot wound in the side." Blink. With a press of a button, the Pip-Boy 2000 on the mutie's belt lit up.
+step closer I'll crush your strung-out raider skulls like grapes."
"Not in the mood for a gang of damned raiders..." The Wanderer cleared his throat. "I don't have any caps, and if you damned bandits take a+
... Someone's speaking. There's a laser pistol in the bag. He grabs it, by instinct, flicking it on. It hums quietly.
"The next time I see that damned drunk scientist, I'm going to wring his neck. This arm sticks too much..."
Probably quite the sight, a super mutant with a robotic arm and a hat clutching his side, while walking down the road. In the dead of night.
After throwing back a few pills of Buffout, he was able to stand again. And he started to walk. Opposite of the commotion, of course.
"Christ, more commotion..." He pulled himself up, digging through his bag.
It was too dark, and he was too dazed. He slid to the ground, back against the door. "I could use a guardian angel about now, heh..."
"Air... I thought I'd never thought I would be happy to breathe the stench of the wastes..." He pulled himself up. Where... was he?
He unceremoniously opened the door of the decrepit old gas station he woke up in, collapsing to the ground in an almost comedic fashion.
Knocking down bottles as he pulled himself towards the door, using a shelf as a support, the creaky mutant groaned in pain. "Gah, damn..."
He wasn't quiet, by any means, as to be imagined from an old, clumsy, and injured mutant who just woke up from a trance spanning years.
"Damn it... I'm going to have to get up, aren't I..." The large mutant slowly pulled himself up, noting the Pip-Boy 2000 hanging on his hip.
"Is... anybody out there? I'm injured and I need help!" A deep voice called out into the dark emptiness outside, hoping for assistance...
He had to take the chance. He couldn't die. Not here.
Was there anyone nearby? Would he WANT them to know, if they were?
How many has he killed? Innocents? He prays to god he didn't.
This isn't a welcome awakening by any means. It's been... years. At least, he thinks it has. Years of... wandering, in a haze.
Name: Unknown. Alias: The Wanderer, Rommel (Formerly), 'The Sheriff' (Formerly) Age: 125, approximately. (cont) tl.gd/n_1spu37c
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