"Now hand over the kid."

The Lone Wanderer hesitated.

The Lone Wanderer's name was Tobias.

The infant didn't even make a noise.

You'd think, what with all the gunfire and explosions and screams of the dying, the baby would be crying. But no. She just sat there, quietly, silently, wrapped up on the back of Tobias's old, leathery duster.

Tobias was still panting. His boots were drenched in blood, and the red liquid went up in a splash formation to his knee on his left leg and to the ankle on his right. His combat helmet, too, was covered in blood. Blood even ran down his tanned face. It was violent outside. Very violent.

"Come on, hand her over."

On Tobias's right hand, covering it, was the hand of a Deathclaw. It wasn't the most comfortable peace of attire, the air inside stuffy and making his hand sweat. But it was definitely deadly. He'd picked it up off of one of the Bear Brothers.

His hand twitched.

Back in Haven, the scientist was dead. Her brains were splattered across the wall and across her lab coat, her 44. Magnum revolver on the ground by her now opened hands. Thoughts still whirled in Tobias' mind about whether or not he'd done the right thing, whether grabbing the small baby had been good or bad for the infant. He'd stood in the room for several minutes, staring at the wall, the Deathclaw hand that he now wore in his pack, his trustworthy old hunting rifle clenched tightly in his hands. She seemed safe there. But any moment, the slaves would raid the place, and all it would take would be one stray bullet to end little Marie's life. And that scientist, that mother, sure wasn't letting Tobias go without a fight.

So Tobias had once again pulled the trigger he'd pulled hundreds of times before.

"Jeez, would you hand the brat over already? Tests to be done! We gotta hurry!"

Tobias looked up from the dirty floor at Warnher.

It wasn't safe.

Tobias swung his hand from his left side to his right. Then he brought it up, almost like a back-hand slap.

After the Deathclaw hand and Warnher's throat made contact, to put it in the least vivid detail, there was quite a gagging noise, and suddenly a lot more blood on The Lone Wanderer's old Regulator duster.

Tobias stepped back as Warnher hit the dirty floor.

He wasn't a Regulator, of course. He merely wore the coat. He, Charon, and Dogmeat had been walking one day when suddenly, out of the blue, appeared three or four Regulators. Tobias hadn't even been aware he'd gained a negative reputation.

That still didn't stop him from shooting them all dead and taking one of their coats.

After a moment, Warnher stopped moving.

Tobias hesitated again, panting heavily, his wide eyes staring at Warnher's corpse.

Now what?

He'd gone completely on his own path.

He'd just abandoned the slaves by killing Warnher.

The slavers here certainly wouldn't accept him back.

"Just you and me now," Tobias muttered.

The baby cooed.

"I was talking to the gun," Tobias said, patting the old 32. on his waist that he happened to talk to quite often.

Tobias swung around, briskly walking towards the steel door. He threw it open, his boot clanging against the metal catwalk as he stepped outside. The gunfire, of course, remained nearly deafening, shots flying everywhere. One whizzed past Tobias's ear. He ducked, going into a crouch and moving faster now.

The Regulator duster he wore was slightly tweaked. In Tobias' line of work, which was basically a mercenary despite his protests against it, calling it a 'Wanderer of the Wastes,', he carried a lot of guns. On his back, vertical, the baby between them, were straps attached. They held his sniper rifle and the Infiltrator he'd grabbed off one of the opponents in The Hole. Inside were more straps, holding more guns, his hunting rifle on the inside left of the duster. His belt held quite a few frag grenades, and a fair share of Stimpaks. His 32. was on the right side of his waist, his laser pistol on the left.

Tobias moved down a ladder, dropping down onto another catwalk with another clang. Adding to the variety of noises was a loud PING as a bullet hit the ladder a few inches above his head.

Tobias almost smirked. Imagine the look on Charon's ugly face when Tobias brought home a baby.

Tobias turned, sprinting forward. He jogged quickly down a plank, across a catwalk, and through the broken window of a building.

"HEY!"

Tobias felt heat against his ear as the bullet flew past, smashing into the concrete wall.

He leapt forward, landing on one foot and slashing the raider across the chest. He did another slash across the raider's face for good measure, and ducked as another bullet went over his head.

Using his free left hand, Tobias pulled out the laser pistol and quickly blasted the guard four times. The guard let loose a scream and was vaporized, reduced to merely a glowing pile of ashes on the old floor of the building.

The baby still didn't cry.

Tobias had read somewhere that it was creepy when babies didn't cry. That, or if they didn't cry they were unhealthy. Either way, to him it was creepy.

He rushed forward to the gaping hole where there had once been a wall, the remains of it large chunks of concrete sprawled across the bloody floor.

He grimaced.

There was a catwalk below, but not directly below. It was to the left, merely a vantage point or viewing point. It didn't lead onto any of the floors and so was a few feet out in the air. He couldn't jump down onto it and he couldn't leap forward onto it.

"Hold tight," he muttered.

The baby said nothing.

"I was talking to you that time," he said.

Tobias leapt off the old floor. It was weak, centuries old, having survived the nuclear apocalypse and quite a few years of teenagers partying in their apartment room before that. It was a tough old floor, but the sudden burst caused part of it to now crumble. Luckily, Tobias was already in the air.

His duster flew up around him, only staying flat underneath the baby. It billowed around The Lone Wanderer like flapping wings, the baby cooing as she saw the leathery blackish-brown engulf the orange-red sky around her.

The old boots smacked hard into the catwalk, Tobias stumbling. He hit the railing, his body continuing, and nearly flipped over it. Despite the durability of the catwalk, it still trembled.

The Lone Wanderer pushed himself off the railing, stumbling down the catwalk and closer to the ground.

Milk.

He had to get milk, Tobias thought as he whipped out his 32, planting a bullet in a guards head.

He recalled seeing milk in that slave lady's place. He didn't remember her name. He'd been too busy sweating and feeling naked without the weight of his weapons to pay much attention to anything but the mission.

Tobias swerved around a slave busy sawing through the cranium of a guard.

It was a good thing the baby wouldn't remember any of this, he thought to himself as he flipped over some railing and onto another catwalk, then down another ladder.

Tobias let go of the ladder mid-way.

THUMP.

He was finally back on ground.

A bullet smashed into the ground to his left. He saw a slave drop mid-run, falling on her back and still sliding across the rough asphalt. A pair of slaves sent a guard tumbling over a catwalk more than a few dozen feet up.

Tobias didn't like The Pitt.

He briefly slashed another raiders leg and face, and charged into a guard football-style. He continued to sprint forward, the baby cooing again on his back as she watched the gunfire, little bursts of light everywhere like fireworks against the diseased sky, red splashes of paint flying onto the walls and into the air.

A few minutes later, Tobias was outside Midea's house. He opened the door, quickly stepping in and closing the steel door behind him.

"Hey! You're here! I told you to go talk to Wernher!" Midea exclaimed.

Tobias glanced at her for only a brief moment, briskly walking forward and grabbing all the milk bottles he could find, shoving them in his satchel.

"H-hey, what are you doing?" Midea asked.

Tobias said nothing.

"Hey, where's Wernher? Is he alright?" Midea asked.

Tobias moved over to Midea's desk. He picked up more milk bottles. He guessed that she'd started collecting these for when the baby was hers.

"Hey! Listen to me, alright?!" Midea shouted.

Tobias looked up.

He found himself looking down the barrel of a gun.

There was a moment of silence, the only noise that of the muffled gunfire and screams outside.

"Where'd you get that?" Tobias asked.

"Found it on a dead guard," Midea said, clenching the 10mm pistol tightly.

Tobias nodded.

He slapped it out of her hands.

"Hey!" she exclaimed.

Before Midea had time to run, Tobias had pulled out the 32. and placed a bullet in Midea's brain.

More silence.

The baby still didn't make a single noise.

Tobias shuddered.

He didn't know whether he'd shuddered at himself or the baby, though.

Tobias holstered the pistol again, his eyes locked on Midea's corpse.

He still couldn't decide whether he was a good person or a bad person. He supposed today he was a bad person.

Tobias hurried out.

BREAK

Marie cooed.

Wadsworth continued to float around the house, occasionally emitting a hum or a whistle.

Tobias sat on the couch, his head in his hands.

A baby.

He still hadn't gone and gotten Charon back from The Ninth Circle yet, or Dogmeat back from Vault 101.

A baby.

Tobias dropped his hands, collapsing back onto the back of the couch. His duster was sprawled over the arm.

He had milk now. He had a home. He had protection. All things that were good for raising a baby. He wagered he could wander into the wasteland every now and then and go and get some more milk, so supplies weren't a problem.

The problem was the caretaker.

Was he a good person?

He'd disarmed the bomb of Megaton. He'd taken in Dogmeat. He hunted for purified water to give to Carlos outside of Rivet City.

Then again, Tobias thought, as he looked over at his refrigerator, his fridge was full of mutilated body parts and human flesh.

He stared up at the ceiling.

He worried often that he was going insane. Probably too often for someone who was trying to take care of a baby. And it wasn't a joke, either. He literally wondered if he was going insane.

It happened to a lot of wastelanders. He liked to deny it, but in truth he knew he was just a mercenary. A gun for hire. Some day he had morals, some days he didn't. He'd slapped a slave collar on that one kid in that abandoned old house and told him Paradise Falls was a safe, warm place. He'd shot innocent people in cold blood. He'd fished in the bags of raiders and collected organs and body parts. He'd shot all of the ghouls outside Tenpenny Tower without batting an eye, then did the same to all the residents of Tenpenny Tower.

He supposed what had started it was his attempt to return.

He'd stumbled back one day. His hunting rifle strapped on his back, his Vault 101 jumpsuit dirty and muddy and bloody, sweat pouring down his pale face. He was a Vault Dweller, his skin pale from having never seen sunlight, and the sun burned. He was drenched in sweat, he stunk, but most of all he was terrified. He was terrified and alone. He'd thrown open the rickety old wooden door hard enough that it smashed against the stones of the cavern, feeling the cool inside engulf him. He'd staggered over to the giant, humongous vault door and pounded on it. Collapsed to his knees and pounded and pounded on it. He'd screamed and screamed to please be let back in, he'd felt tears flowing down his dirt-crusted cheeks, mixing with the sweat.

He'd gotten no answer.

He'd knelt there for hours, pounding and pounding on the door. He'd rushed over to the keypad and tried desperately to type in the right code. He never got the code right. And he never got a response.

So he'd sobbed.

And sobbed.

And felt something snap inside him.

That day he'd gone and shot an innocent trader caravan, looting the traders dead bodies and not even letting the pack-brahmin live. Then he'd started collecting human flesh. He'd run into a group of hunters that sold him nameless meat, and he wasn't stupid, he knew it was human meat. He'd killed them all and then took all the meat anyway, stumbling back to his home and shoving it in his fridge and planning on one day maybe eating it.

He disgusted himself.

The headaches started again.

Tobias leaned to the right and reached a shaking hand into his duster, fumbling around and finally finding a Rad-X bottle. He snatched it out, screwing it open and dropping a few pills on his tongue. He screwed the cap back on and swallowed the capsules dry.

Radiation sickness.

He was lucky he hadn't turned Ghoul already.

His Pip-Boy said he was already at deadly levels. If he didn't keep taking the Rad-X, not only would the horrible headaches continue and get worse, but he'd probably turn into a Ghoul, too.

Tobias glanced down at the baby.

"Well, you might be the answer to my problems," he said.

Marie cooed again.

Tobias stood up.

He could do it on his own. He was a scientist himself. Back in the vault, it was the job he'd been assigned on the GOAT. He was excellent with science. Science and medicine both. It was a little unusual, a merc who was also a doctor and a scientist on the side, but it was true. Sitting in the corner of his room was the small lab he'd bought from Moira that he made chems in. Every day he made a new chem and sold it to Moira, getting a steady income of money that way.

He could support the baby.

But what if he got it killed?

Tobias sat down on the stairway to the upper floor.

"Marie, looks like you've got a psychopath for a babysitter," he muttered.

Marie cooed.