"You can tell Tenpenny he can kiss my ASS! We got plenty of bottlecaps. Let. Me. In. GODDAMNIT!"

The harsh, angry voice cracked through the air like a gunshot. Well, maybe not a gunshot. Perhaps something less common than a gunshot. If it was a gunshot, the Wanderer supposed she would react. Then again in her condition she might not.

Just ignore it. It's not your problem.

The still, Wasteland air hung heavy; its oppressive heat pushing down on her. Her shoulders sagged under its weight and her feet dragged through the dirt. One after the other. Left. Right. Repeat. She paused momentarily, her feet scraping to a halt in the cracked earth.

"How many times do we have to go through this? You're not getting in," a second voice replied. This one was crackly and distorted. An intercom, she realized.

Standing still with her shadow fanned out behind her, the Wanderer closed her eyes against the harsh sunlight of the Capital Wasteland. Not that it did much good. The light bled right through her eyelids. She silently wished for a pair of sunglasses. She didn't even care what style. Whatever she could come across. She'd had a pair of sunglasses once. A nice pair of aviators. Butch had gotten them for her. But they were long gone, just like he was. She opened her eyes and folded her fingers over her brow just like she'd done when she first exited Vault 101. By now her eyes had adjusted to the outside, but nonetheless it was still very bright out.

"I can stand here all day yelling at you through this damn speaker if I have to!"

It was the first voice again. Still angry. Maybe I should see what's going on, she thought to herself.

It's. Not. Your. Problem.

The Wander closed her eyes again, but this time it wasn't against the light. Her brow furrowed and she massaged her dark skin wearily. The voice was getting loud again.

Not unless you look.

"Voices" she corrected. Not just one anymore.

Don't look.

Look.

Don't do it.

LOOK!

They were so loud! She grit her teeth in frustration. If only Three Dog could see his beloved Lone Wanderer now, she thought bitterly. Ha. Lone Wanderer. She was never alone. Not anymore. They wouldn't leave her alone.

The Wanderer sighed wearily. She might as well look, if not to satisfy her own curiosity then to shut them up. That would be the easiest way to return to the quiet of the Wasteland. Or she could get a fix.

She shook her head like a dog. No. Don't think about that. That'll just make things worse. She'd run out of Jet last night. Psycho two nights before that. Her hands would begin to shake soon. She'd gone through withdrawal symptoms plenty of times before to know exactly what awaited her.

To distract herself from the unpleasantness in her immediate future she craned her neck to the side to see exactly who was shouting.

Her eyes widened slightly. Where was she? Towering above her was a building in most of its prewar glory. It stood as an unusual and out of place pillar of decadence surrounded by desert and decay. A wall surrounded the building. Standing before a metal gate stood an irate ghoul. He was pounding his decaying fist against the wall right next to a battered intercom.

"I've already told you Tenpenny won't allow zombies to live here," crackled the intercom.

The ghoul stood back, shaking in barely contained rage.

"Who the hell are you calling a zombie!?"

The ghoul's scratchy voice grated against her nerves. Raw fire coursed through her head.

"You wouldn't be withdrawing if you'd killed that scavenger a week ago. He had chems.

The voice sounded bitter. Like it wanted the chems even though they would silence it. But she didn't know if the scavenger had anything. She had no way of knowing that. The voice was probably just bitter that she hadn't killed him. That's all it ever wanted. Blood and destruction. Then again she'd wanted the scavenger dead too. She'd just wanted him dead because he was an ass. She didn't have any caps to pay and he'd wanted... other methods of payment. After telling him she wouldn't sleep with him he'd packed his wares away and taken off. So, no Jet or Psycho for her. Or water, or food for that matter.

Her headache intensified and her stomach suddenly heaved. Fuck, she'd even take Med-X or Buffout right about now. Anything to take the edge off.

"You're definitely not human, that's for damn sure. For the last time: NO ZOMBIES ALLOWED!" the speaker man shouted with commanding finality.

"Can't tell the difference between me and a feral?"

The stupid ghoul was yelling again. All she wanted was for the yelling to stop.

You can help them. They'll stop shouting then.

If the first voice wanted nothing but blood, then the second wanted nothing but the opposite. Throw yourself at other people's problems. Take everyone's pain away. Like that did anything to take away her own pain.

Or you could shoot them. Can't shout if you're dead.

She scrunched her eyes up as tight as she could. They weren't there. It was all in her head. There were no voices. There weren't. She was alone.

Always alone.

Her fingers twitched. It was the beginnings of the shakes. Goddamn it, she really needed a fix.

"Fine. I'll show you the goddamn difference! Just you wait," the ghoul shouted before stomping away from the speaker with his rotting face twisted up in fury. He whirled back towards the tower, shaking his fist vehemently.

"You'll get yours. All of you!"

He turned on his heel and stomped towards the Wanderer, fuming.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" she asked meekly, her headache growing stronger by the minute.

"Out of my fucking way, smoothskin," he said brusquely. He pushed past her, deliberately bumping into the girl. The Wanderer stumbled and nearly fell. Red surged across her vision. Rage filled her every corner. How dare he do that? Did he know who she was? What she'd done for him? What she'd done for the entire, stupid, fucking Wasteland? What she'd lost? HOW DARE HE?

The voices were shouting again, but they were silenced compared to the blood pounding in her ears. Her quivering hand was steadying by the second and it strayed towards the revolver holstered at her hip. The ghoul didn't even notice. He just kept walking, unaware of what he'd done.

YES! Do it! Kill him!

The voice wanted blood? Well, it was going to get it this time. Her palm brushed the grip and she drew the revolver. The voice was cackling with glee. The other one was sullenly silent. She leveled the gun at the ghoul. Even without VATS, the ghoul was a dead man.

"You've got a bright future ahead of you, sweetie. I'm sure of it..."

Her eyes shot wide open and her jaw dropped slightly. Her quivering hand released the gun and it clattered to the dirt. That voice wasn't one of hers. That was the voice of a dead man. No. No. She couldn't take this. He was dead. Dead! Her vision started to blur. His voice couldn't be here! It couldn't! It was impossible! Dead men do not talk. The Wanderer felt like the world was crumbling around her. This was not something she could handle. She couldn't take this. He was DEAD! "No, no, no, no," she muttered weakly. The Wanderer sank to her knees in the dirt. The shaking in her hands spread to the rest of her body. She hugged herself and rocked back and forth. Tears threatened to well over and spill from her eyes.

The ghoul never even turned back.

The Wanderer sat there in the shadow of the tower, gasping for air. She had to- She didn't know what she had to do. She couldn't think. Her head was too full. What did she have to do? What could she do? She had to-

Home.

She had to go home.

With a heaving sob and a gasp for air, she staggered to her feet. She grabbed her revolver and glanced at the compass on her PipBoy and took off at a ragged sprint in the opposite direction the ghoul had stalked off in. The rocks and landscapes blurred past her. None of it registered to her torn and panicked mind. She just had to get away from that voice! If she could just get home then everything would be alright. It had to be.

Past the RobCo facility. Past Fort Independence she ran. She could see the walls of Megaton in the distance and knew she was almost there. Almost. Crags of rock rose in front of her as she passed under crumbling highways. Her foot caught and she fell. Her knees cut on the rock, but she barely felt it. Up into the slight hills she ran. But it wasn't Megaton she was running towards. It was her home before the Wasteland. The home before she'd lost it all.

Coming to a shuddering stop and panting heavily, she saw it. The door in the rock.

The door to Vault 101.

She tore open the door and stumbled down the corridor carved in the earth. Up ahead she saw the great door to the Vault. The proud 101 still emblazoned in paint shined on its metal surface. With shaking hands, from nerves or from withdrawal, she was not sure, she slowly reached towards the control panel. Tentatively she punched in the code.

Nothing.

The password had been changed.

But you knew that.

Why do you always come back here?

Why did she always come back? The Wanderer staggered backwards against the rock wall and slid down it. The tears did spill this time. They tracked through the mud and grime caked on her face. She started to sob.

"W-why... why won't you let m-me back?" she cried.

"WHY!?" she shouted at the camera above the door.

She lunged at the door and began pounding away. She felt bones break in one of her hands, but she didn't care. The pain was a relief. It meant she could feel something other than the mind numbing sorrow that ran through her.

"WHY!?" she screamed again. "LET ME IN! PLEASE!"

Her hits fell weaker and weaker against the Vault. The Wanderer slid down it sobbing into the dirt. She collapsed, her face lying in the grime.

"Please. I just want to go home."

"I don't want to be alone." cried the Lone Wanderer.