"I hate me."

James barely heard the whispered admission as the memory of Vault 112 crumbled away to be replaced with a bright, sterile environment. An operating room.

The operating room of Vault 101. Lying on the table was a woman.

"Catherine..." said James softly. His stern demeanor and acidic expression had softened to one of happiness. His wife was screaming in pain, but James face didn't change. He knew what was happening.

The Wanderer stood next to him with her back to the proceedings. Her arms were once more wrapped around herself in an effort to keep together. She couldn't bear to look at what was happening.

Catherine's screams were slowly petering out only to be replaced by the cries of someone different. A newborn infant. A much younger version of James stepped between the two observers. He crossed the room and held up the child in his arms.

"Let's see... Are you a boy or a girl?" James face lit up. "It's a girl? A girl! We've got a daughter, Catherine! A beautiful, healthy baby girl!"

The Wanderer winced as she heard him speaking like this. The specter of her father smiled sadly as his past self held the child and rested a hand on his exhausted wife.

"You've brought us here," he said to the Wanderer, but his eyes remained fixed on his wife.

The younger James was wiggling a finger in front of his daughter's eyes.

"Look at you, look at you. Hi there! I'm your daddy, sweetheart. Daddy. You're going to need a name aren't you? Your mother and I have been talking. What do you think about Ava? That's a good name don't you think?"

Baby Ava cooed happily.

"Fit's you perfectly."

James broke his gaze away from the happy family to look at the Wanderer. She was gripping herself so tightly that her knuckles were white and her eyes were closed. She wouldn't look at her mother or father behind her.

"Why have you taken us here? Everywhere else are moments you regret, that you are ashamed of. Why here?"

As he asked her his gaze was slowly pulled back to his wife. To see her face once more was tearing at his heart. To be so close, yet so powerless to save her.

The new father was pulling a monitor down to his wife and child eagerly. "Look's like they've finished the gene projection. Let's see what you're going to look like when you grow up." James laughed happily. "You're going to look a lot like your dad, but you have your mother's eyes. See that, Catherine?"

The Wanderer opened her eyes. And looked at her father's ghost. She still wouldn't look towards her mother. Her green eyes were wet and full of misery. James looked between her and the hopeful face of the young woman displayed on the monitor. The eyes were the only similarity. One was full of pride and joy, these had been stripped away from the other. The Wanderer was just a broken shell now.

"It's a big world out there, honey, full of people. What about you? What kind of person are you going to be?"

The Wanderer began to cry. All the memories she'd been forced to revisit all leading up to this moment. What sort of person was she going to be? A killer, a monster, a failure.

James looked at the infant and his ghost looked at the Wanderer. "You're just-" they both started, but were interrupted by a shrill beeping. James lunged to his wife's side.

"Catherine? Catherine! She's in cardiac arrest. Start compressions! Get the baby out of here! Move. Move!"

Baby Ava was taken from the room and the environment began to fade away.

"One, one thousand. Two, one thousand... Come on! Hang on, Catherine! Hang on."

James's counting and anguished cries slowly faded out along with the operating room until the Wanderer and Ghost-James were standing once more in front of Vault 101.

The Wanderer slid to the ground and curled into the fetal position. She began to sob uncontrollably.

James knelt next to her. "Why... why would you blame yourself for this? This wasn't your fault."

The Wanderer looked at him. "I killed her. I killed my own mother. I was always meant to be a killer," she cried. "I've been doing it since the day I was born."

James recoiled in shock. "No. Honey, no! You didn't do this! Your mother's death was not your fault."

But the Wanderer wouldn't listen. "I'm a monster," she said softly.

"No! You're not! There's still time. You can be better! I know you can."

The man that had been torturing her until now was telling her she could be better. No. She couldn't. Not anymore.

"I'll just kill more people. Everything dies around me."

The Wanderer swallowed and dried her eyes. She knew what she had to do. Everything had been leading her to this point. Tenpenny Tower, the Voices, Paradise Falls, all of it.

Now she just needed a gun.

She staggered to her feet and towards the entrance. James called after her, "What are you doing? Where are you going?"

The Wanderer stopped at the first skeleton laying in the dirt hall. She checked it. It had nothing, but a sign requesting to be let in to the Vault. The next had a hat and can of beans, but the third!

Clasped in its hand was an old beaten up pistol. She cracked its fingers away and removed the gun from its grasp. She placed the barrel under her throat.

"NO!" Shouted James. He made a dash for her and attempted to grab at the pistol, but his hands went right through the metal. He had no substance here. He had no power over the Wanderer anymore.

"Goodbye, Dad," she said, lowering the pistol momentarily. "I'm sorry." With a final sigh she prepared herself.

"You can't do this! You're stronger than this," insisted James. "What happened to the girl who fought for her life? Who clung to it? You can't just give up!"

The Wanderer's brow furrowed. He didn't know what he was talking about. She closed her eyes and put the gun back to her throat.

"What happened to the girl who was willing to sacrifice everything for the Wasteland?!"

The Wanderer's green eyes sprung open, full of anger. She whirled on her father.

"I did!" she screamed. "I sacrificed everything!" Hot tears of anger and sadness began to fall from her face and land in the dirt. "The Wasteland took everything from me. That's what happened! And I can't take it anymore."

Staring down the ghost of her father, she put the barrel of the gun against her temple and stared at him, daring him to try and stop her.

James raised a hand, imploringly. "AVA! NO!"

The Wanderer blanched. Her name. He'd said her name.

A hand closed on her wrist and struggled to pull the gun away from her head. The Wanderer stared at where her father had been standing, but he was gone.

"You... you said my name."

"Of course I did, you crazy bitch!"

"Wh-what?" she asked in surprise.

The voice that answered her wasn't James. It had spoken in her ear and belonged to whoever was holding her wrist. She jabbed the elbow of her free arm backwards, but she met body armor instead of flesh. With a grunt of pain from her and a short exhale from the man restraining her. She threw her legs up into the air and let gravity take her body weight.

She dropped like a stone and the man started to follow her, but released her instead of tangling with her on the ground.

"Ah, damn it! Come here, you! And give me that gun!"

The Wanderer hit the ground hard and rolled backwards between the man's legs and up to her feet behind him. She placed the gun to his head.

"Who are you? How did you know my name?"

The man standing before her was clad in clothes she hadn't seen before in the Capital Wasteland. He was wearing khaki pants and a tan short, sleeve button up shirt. One of the sleeves was missing and a black t-shirt poked through. On this arm he wore a small shoulder plate and bicep armor. His hands were raised and more armor was clamped over his forearms above dirty, tan skin. His gloves had the first finger removed on either hand. He was wearing an armored chest piece as well, what her elbow had hammered on ineffectually. His thighs, kneecaps, and shins were similarly protected. On his right thigh was holstered a shiny, well cared for pistol. Another one was holstered in the small of his back. Atop his messy, black hair stood a straw cowboy hat, just under the brim of which was her pistol.

"Easy there, easy. No need to start shooting."

He spoke softly, his voice like one used to calm a spooked animal.

"I asked how you knew my name," repeated the Wanderer angrily.

"I know, I know. Just come down."

He was still speaking calmly to her, but at the same time he was slowly lowering his right hand towards his gun. The Wanderer snorted. Could he be any more obvious?

She went to grab his wrist with her free hand, but as she shifted he moved. The gun was just a ploy. He sank down and spun around, snapping a leg out to catch her unawares and hitting her in the back of the knees. With a startled yelp she fell backwards. Both the man and the Wanderer rolled backwards away from their opponent; the man drawing his pistol and the Wanderer trying to regain her footing.

Sliding in the lose dirt, the man trained his gun on her, but the Wanderer was already darting towards him. With a muttered curse the man threw himself back while pulling the trigger. The shot went wild and didn't connect with her. She jabbed with her free hand at his throat, but he pulled back his head to avoid it. He drew his second pistol and pulled the trigger next to her ear. The violent bang shattered the quiet and potentially the Wanderer's ear drum. She cried out in pain and stumbled backwards.

"Alright, sorry about that, but, you know, you had a gun to my head."

The Wanderer looked at him as she clamped her hands over her ears and grit her teeth in pain. The man was older than her, probably late twenties. His eyes sat twinkling mischievously above a nose that looked like it had been broken once or twice. He kept a trimmed mustache above a cocky grin.

"Ah, come on. It doesn't hurt that bad," he laughed at her.

The Wanderer's foot whipped out and struck between his legs. Her boot clanged off the piece of metal guarding his privates, but the impact was enough for the man to double over in pain.

The Wanderer stood up still rubbing her ear. "Ah, come on. It doesn't hurt that bad," she mocked.

"Touche," he started to mutter before he was once again kicked, this time in the face. The man sailed back and thudded into the dirt, his cowboy hat floating down on top of him. He was down, but not out and the Wanderer had no intention of sticking around to wait for him to get up. She turned on her heel and sprinted out into the Wasteland.

"Ava! Wait!"

The Wanderer whirled around, yelling, "How do you know my name!?" but the cry was just a ploy by the man to get her stop. As she turned he jumped at her and tackled her to the ground. He wrapped one arm around her throat and the other around her arms. His legs scissored around her waist and he held her firm.

She growled viciously at him and writhed about, but he didn't release her. After a few moments her violent moments slowed until she sat glowering in silence. The man craned his neck to look at her.

"You done now?"

"The fuck do you want with me?" she spat back at him.

"I was hired to find you," he answered.

"What are you, a bounty hunter?" She gulped. "A... slaver?" she asked nervously.

The man looked offended. "A slaver? Hell no! I'm a goddamn mail man. A courier."

"A courier?"

"Yeah."

"And you were sent to find me?"

"Bingo."

The Wanderer sat considering this for a moment. "Wanna let me up?"

The Courier looked at her warily. "You gonna kick me in the cajones again?"

She said nothing, but the Courier took the silence as an agreement. He slowly unwrapped his fingers from her wrist and let her roll of off him. They slowly clambered to their feet and turned to face each other.

The Courier was dusting his pants off. "I've been tracking you for a while and the trail you left said you were dangerous, but damn, you're good. I mean... fuck."

The Courier had looked up to see the Wanderer pointing her gun at him again. "You said-"

"I said I wouldn't kick you again. I'm not kicking you. Now, start talking."

The Courier had his hands half raised, but didn't seem particularly worried about the pistol trained on him. "You know, threatening is generally more effective if the gun works." He pointed a finger at it.

"I'm not stupid. I'm not going to fall for that."

He rolled his eyes. "No, really. Look." The Wanderer glanced at the side of her pistol. Right in the side of the barrel was a bullet hole.

"What the..." she muttered curiously.

When he first shot, she realized, he hadn't missed. He just wasn't aiming for her. He was trying to disarm her.

She brandished the broken gun at him angrily. "How the hell did you make that shot?" The Courier crossed his arms in front of his chest and smiled smugly at her. "I'm a really good shot. Now, about that threatening."

The Wanderer interrupted him by pistol whipping him in the face. His head snapped back and blood spurted from his nose.

"AH! What the fuck?" he asked as he gingerly pinched his nose. "Why would you do that?"

She raised her hand threateningly again. "Who. Are. You."

"I already told you I'm a courier, ahhyeeahh!" She swung the gun at him again, but he ducked under her arm. "I swear, that's my job." He was talking faster now. "I was hired by a man to find his family. He was expecting a son and daughter in law, but, well, he's got you."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're family," the Courier said, "they hired me to find you."

The Wanderer stopped trying to bludgeon him and her arm fell weakly to her side. "W- what? I don't... have any family."

"Sure you do. Just not here." The Courier fumbled around in one of his many pockets and pulled out a battered post card. He flicked it her. She caught it and looked at it in her hands. In worn and scratched ink was a picture of a small rural town. In bright, flashy letters it read 'Welcome to Goodsprings!'.

The Wanderer sat back onto the ground with a thump in shock. She felt like crying. She felt like screaming. Nothing would come out. All the rage and pain she'd been holding in for the past three years had stormed out of her and now there was... nothing. "I... I have a family?"

The Courier plopped down next to her. "Sure do. You've got a grandfather. I was hired to track down your mother and father. Or any sign of them. Well, I was a tad to late. Sorry for your loss by the way."

The Wanderer looked at him. Despite his nonchalant way of telling her, she could tell he was genuine. "My parents are dead. Why are you still here?"

He smirked. "I got hired to find family. Not son or daughter. And well, you left some very big signs across the Wasteland. Wasn't hard to track you. Then you dropped off the grid a few months ago. Took me this long just to find you again. You've got a grandfather. And if you're willing, I'd be happy to take you to him."

"Where is he?" she asked quietly. He pulled out a delivery order. On it read, 'Delivery: Good Springs, Nevada, Mojave. Package: Persons, Family. Recipient: Doctor E. Mitchell.'. "I've got a grandfather," she whispered quietly.

"Sure do. So, Ava Mitchell... What now?" The Courier rose back to his feet and looked down at her. She looked up at him in panic.

"I- I don't know... what to do? What do I do?" she whispered. "What do I do?!"

The Courier extended a hand to her. "No one can tell that, but you."

She frowned. No one, but her. So long with nothing, but people telling her to do. Now there was no Three Dog, no Burke, no Voices, and no ghost of her father. Just her.

The Wanderer looked up at the Courier and nodded. She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet.

"Glad you decided to come, kid" the Wanderer said to her and for the first time in a long while Ava, and not the Wanderer, looked back at him with a smile.

End of Part 1. To be continued in Part 2: Frontier Dreams

EPILOGUE: The Courier and Ava were hurrying out of the Capital Wasteland. Too many people wanted her dead for them to waste time. They stopped briefly at one of her gear stashes so she could grab supplies, but kept moving quickly.

However, their departure was not completely unnoticed. A pair of mismatched eyes on a scarred face and snout looked down at them as they fled. A large, gray and black mongrel sat on the top of the cliff side of Vault 101 staring down at them. He was happy for his mistress. She smelled better now. He scratched his neck. Some of his wounds were itching as they healed.

Several high pitched yips caught his attention. He'd love to go with her, but he had his own concerns now.

Dogmeat got up off his haunches and went back to his den. His pups were barking happily at him.

Good luck, mistress.

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please, if you haven't reviewed yet, I ask that you post a quick review of the whole story, just your impressions, stuff like that. It is not only nice for me to see what you guys think, but it is also helpful. I want to make a better story for you guys and the only way I can do that is if you guys let me know what needs work, so please review and please join me in Frontier Dreams (which is up now).

Also, if there are any of you who persevered with me through "Shattered Illusions" that thought, "Wow, that was dark as fuck," don't be alarmed (if you liked the heavy or not), the rest of the series strikes a much better balance between heavy stuff and normal story. So if it wore you down, don't worry, please don't be deterred. If it was something you enjoyed, still don't worry, it just gets better woven into the narrative. I've gone back and read "Shattered Illusions" and it is GRIM. So if any of you kind of got put off, I hope you stick with me.

Anyway, love you all. Writing this story is a treat for me and I hope it is for you as well.