In a hole in the ground there lived a vaultie. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a vault-hole, and that means comfort. Of course, that vault-hole had been destroyed, which took it from "comfort" to "you're better off in the Wastelands, Mike" pretty quickly.<br/><br/>Our story begins, as all good stories do, with an explosion. Oh, not something too gigantic, like the nukes that wiped the Earth clean of life. No wrath of God came down upon man to smite him for his sins. But it was an explosion nevertheless. And, judging by the half angry, half shocked look on the severed head that landed in the ditch near Amata, it was a well-placed explosion. The approaching super mutants had, indeed, all been tossed into different directions; some of them landed in one place, the others in... several. Yeah, explosions tend to do things like that.<br/><br/>As far as Amata herself was concerned, she was sort of... torn. No, not literally. She wasn't stupid enough to explode things in her face, after all. No, she was torn metaphorically, over issues that even the great philosophers of olden times pondered: whether she should shoot all the muties in the head while they were down, or conserve ammo and only shoot up whoever survived the explosion. In the end, she decided that patience was a virtue. Fate, it seemed, rewarded her for avoiding the seven deadly sins that day and she only needed one bullet to put down the sole super mutant still capable of getting up and fighting.<br/><br/>And thus the battle was won, and golf would've been invented, if it hadn't already been invented before, and if it involved super mutant heads being tossed into ditches. Which it doesn't, so if you are playing golf like that, then just let me tell you this: you're doing it wrong, Mike. Also, the Capital Wasteland was now a safer place; in particular, Big Town was a safer place, because Amata was pretty sure that's where that raiding party had been headed. Her experience in gathering intel had helped her deduce that... albeit admittedly, the part where the loud imbeciles spoke of "going and taking the squishy humans from Big Town" had tipped her off somewhat, too. That didn't sit well with Amata at all, and not just because of a longstanding feud with the super mutants; no, it was also because Big Town was an allied town and Amata's destination in this journey.<br/><br/>As far as the weather went, it was lovely - assuming you fancy a sun frying without really heating, and gusts of wind playfully frolicking back and forth, hurling dust everywhere. It was why Amata wore the biker goggles, in fact. And a cloth mask. And a wide-brimmed hat. And a dull brown longcoat.<br/><br/>While her proffessionalism in appearance suffered greatly at this sort of clothing, it was undeniably practical at this moment and probably also made her stand out less. So much less, in fact, that she had to take off her hat to prove her identity to Dusty. It might sound uncomfortable, but Amata was also somewhat heartened by it: it meant that Dusty wouldn't be just cowed into submission by any idiot from the wastelands any more.<br/><br/>"Oh, McKenzie... Glad to see you here," he said as a greeting.<br/><br/>"Dusty," Amata said simply, giving a barely perceptible nod in greeting. Big Town as a whole was... better. It had more people in it, for one. And the residents had... grown up a bit. It involved force and the brutal death of some of their friends - as well as a few headbutts - but it forced them to grow up and... act their age a bit more. It still was no Megaton or Rivet City, but with the buildings cleared up and the walls strengthened... well, it was a start. Amata couldn't help but feel a bit of pride for her part in all this.<br/><br/>And now, to meet this merc, see what he... she... something... was worth.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>