Cass wakes up after a brief siesta, still marked with bullet holes and scorpion stings. It may be suicide to wander around at half health, but I’ve just had the last of my water, and I desperately need to find more or I’m finished either way – the nearby pond is radioactive as hell, and I don’t plan on mutating any time soon.
Using the hairpin I picked up, I have a go at picking the lock on one of the ammo boxes. Alright! Four frag mines! This should solve my scorpion problem in no time. I should start practicing my cool action star lines. “Hey, what has eight legs and explodes violently?” “I’ll bet you didn’t read the claws in that contract. Of death, like. Because you’re scorpions.” Yeah alright, probably needs some work.
The buffout is still pumping through my veins, leaving me feeling pretty, well, buff, so I cram my new armoured leggings full of explosives, as well as the food and junk I’ve gathered, and head back into town to enact fiery vengeance on the arachnid menace. Yep, that’s right: I’m bad.
This plan disintegrates when I get back to town and find that the scorpions have been chased off by a pair of raiders, who are standing over the mangled remains of Bomb Lady. They don’t look too friendly. But hey, screw you, I have mines. I guess they didn’t raid the small pr… well anyway, I have mines.
Unfortunately these guys are wise to my tricks, and my attempt to bait them into a mini-minefield with some gunfire fails miserably. They circle around, shouting and firing, and after a few missed potshots I take the hint, and run off down a completely unfamiliar side of the hill. Luck is on my side, as I soon find what’s left of a stone building to hide behind and catch my breath. Plan B is fast becoming something of a misnomer, I fear.
Fortunately I’m no more injured than I was before lunch, but I’m going to be easy prey for the scorpions, raiders, or anyone else who might show up. I remember the birds circling yesterday, and sure enough, they’re still nearby. Nobody appears to be chasing, but I hurry on anyway. Hopefully the birds are over a town or camp I can rest at until these guys move on.
Some kind of train yard? I guess trailers are a good source of shelter, and could be used as protection from raiders… good signs. But it looks like nobody’s home.
Is that what I thi… oh. Oh dear.
I should not be here.
I should definitely not be here.