Welcome to the Bakery!

The wasteland was an unforgiving place and everything, and I mean everything, tried to kill you. She’d never expected safety, let alone camaraderie, but for a time she had just that. Another wanderer trying to survive as she was, who had all the time in the world to kill her as she stood marveling in front of the Pumpkin House…but didn’t. Dressed head-to-toe in a full set of power armor wielding a gun she couldn’t heft if she tried and he had just watched her. She’d frozen once she noticed him, the 10mm in her hands nothing but a pea shooter compared to the hundreds of rounds his gun could fire in mere seconds. Instead of mowing her down, he stepped out of his power armor and waved at her.

A man of few words, but they’d foraged a friendship regardless. He’d help her establish C.A.M.P.s. He’d built weapons for her she could only dream of. And slowly but surely, she soon had her own power armor, which then turned into sets of power armor. The Wasteland became something they wandered together. There was nothing to fear any longer, not when they were together. Super mutans, radscorpions…even scorchbeasts; all fell in their wake. In return, she’d offer what she could, sharing loot and nuka-colas. He was grateful even though of the two he was arguably better equipped and kitted.

Sometimes she wouldn’t see him for days at a time, but he inevitably always resurfaced. There was no surefire way to get ahold of him or even hunt him down. That was the Wasteland for you. She’d wander to where his C.A.M.P.s would be. Some days they were there. Some days they weren’t. But if anyone was capable it was him and she did not worry. He was simply busy, questing elsewhere perhaps. And he’d always show back up.

Until he didn’t.

Days spanned to weeks and no matter where she went, she saw hide nor hair of him. His C.A.M.P.s were nowhere to be found. Not a single trace of him anywhere. She’d been alone for so long that alone had felt normal. Well, until he’d come along. And now he was just gone and the world around her magnified to a terrifying and vast emptiness. Her mind raced, writing and rewriting scenarios. Overwhelmed by ghouls at the Nuka-Cola plant. Taken down by wayward bots in Watoga. Hell, even another Wastelander besting him finally after all this time. She couldn’t decide if not knowing was worse than his absence altogether. She searched and hoped and even prayed to no avail. Finally, one day she told herself that he’d simply travelled onwards, perhaps across the bridge to Ohio – somewhere she’d yet to roam. And she left it at that. She had to. Moving on wasn’t an option when she continued to stand in one place.

But somedays when sweat trickled down her back as she crossed the Ash Heap, she’d look over hoping to see him there. She’d swear she’d see him just a shop ahead while she traded at Whitesprings. But it would just be a Mr Handy humming its way down the corridor.

Weeks turned into months and her mind slowly let her rest. Wherever he was, she hoped he was well. But she no longer expected to see him in the places they’d once shared. He was gone. That was the truth of the matter. No amount of wishing or pretending or mind games would change that. And now the Wasteland, while still lethal, had become a comfort all on its own. Where once she feared to tread alone, she now traversed, her trusty auto-axe in hand. Looting missions? No issue. Having to hunt down specific baddies? Done. She was no longer that newbie allowing herself to be an open target. She was the thing to fear now, despite opting to be a welcoming force herself when given the chance. He lived on in the information and resources he’d shared, the memories and adventures too. And once, she’d relied on him but no longer. She had herself and made her own memories. The Wasteland was her oyster.