Loose stone crunched underfoot as the Dweller made his way through the ruined street, the twisted corpses of rusted cars and trucks his only company on the lonesome road. Massive fissures and cracks snaked through the asphalt, creating a terrain more hazardous than anything the man had yet encountered. Still, it was a great deal easier to navigate than the surrounding landscape, which was effectively a sea of raised yellow-brown hills, desecrated buildings, and jutting rocks.

It was also deadly quiet, so much so that it put the Dweller in a state of mild panic. Every footstep was greeted with a startling crunch of gravel, every shaking breath that escaped his mustachioed lips seemed an unseen enemy. The tension surrounding him was unbearable, and was only amplified by the relative novelty of his situation.

The Dweller was, as his name suggests, a member of the secretive underground Vaults that lay scattered about the Mojave. Their purpose, at least to the folks who took shelter in them all those years ago, was singular; protect humanity from the ravages of nuclear annihilation, caused by a war that is long forgotten by those that survived.

The Vaults proved to be a useful means of survival for most that survived in the ruined badlands of the United States. It provided shelter, food, water, a means to escape the radiation that jump started evolution in a manner not meant for this world, and protection from the aforementioned beasts affected by the atomic dropkick. But this safe haven was only designed as a temporary measure to stave off nuclear annihilation just long enough so that the humans within were able to escape into the world, rebuilding and repopulating; it wasn’t designed to last two hundred years, with dozens of new members being added to its walls every year.

Eventually, like any home, the stainless corridors and hallways of the Vault became overcrowded. The food storage began to run dry, it became harder to supply water that wasn’t irradiated tap to everyone, and more and more creatures of the Waste were making their way, attracted by the noise that managed ton seep out above ground. It was no longer safe, not with its current population.

And it was for that reason that the Dweller was here now, wandering a broken road, paranoid of every shadow that flickered into view. He was one of the unfortunate dozen that was booted from the Vault under the title of a “scout”; a sacrifice for the greater good of the vault in all but name. The Overseer had informed him that his purpose was a grand one, one that would aid the Vault. Surely there must be resources out there, he had postulated to him as he stepped through the machine-crowded exit of his home. Surely the world was not so ruined that he could find the necessary materials to be accepted back, where he could help himself and the shelter he had grown up in?

But alas, that was not the case; it probably never was. He had already been wandering in the wastes for a day and a night at this point, growing more and more exhausted with each step. There was nothing out here besides the skeleton of a world he had read under the light of a fluorescent lamp; all that remained was the sea of gravel, the ruins of buildings, and the winding road the Dweller found himself marching on, the very faint hope of a potential reprieve still dimly pulsing in his mind.

The Dweller looked around him once more, and snorted, a flash of anger and sorrow snuffing out what little hope he had left within him. This was a death sentence, a way to allow for the younger and more important members of the Vault to carry on while the others were left to die. He would never find anything out here worth bringing back, and even if he did, the shelter’s Overseer probably wouldn’t even let him back in. After all, besides a potential penchant for finding random things, what else could he do? He couldn’t do electrical work, he almost burnt his arm to a crisp trying to replace a faulty wire. He couldn’t do physical labor as effectively as those younger than him, even though he wasn’t a terrible slouch. He couldn’t do more advanced fields because he lacked the dedication and patience to study for them. Of course, some of these issues were his own; if he improved himself, worked hard, then maybe he could've proven himself more valuable than just a mere spare laborer.

But such things were behind him now; thinking of the past was unimportant, especially when the brutal future stretched out before him. He was lucky to have found this road, as the first day of his time on the surface was harsh.

He recalled the position he was in he emerged from the Vault, its heavy, gear-styled gate closing with the scream of hydraulic pressing and shifting metal; he recalled the small butte he was situated on, the harshness of the sun above him, and the vast emptiness that stretched out before him. It made him thankful that he was on this road which at least had a clear direction, rather than the empty vastness of the Wastes. Past this patch of asphalt, there was nothing, only the charred, empty remains of a former civilization dirt.

A sudden crunch of gravel snapped the Dweller back to reality. He looked warily around this small, ravine-like road, pushing his unkempt blonde hair aside. But the only company he saw were two vehicles, ravaged beyond the point of recognition, and the hills just beyond the road. He quickly darted into the shadow of one of the cars, which has been raised slightly by the fissure, and observe his surrounding once more

It seemed that the origination of the sound came from just beyond this overpass of steel and stone, but because of the formations, it’s creator was no where in sight. The Dweller was practically frozen in place as he stared at the spot. What should he do? He knew there were things out here in the wastes, sure; but the noise was more akin to the footstep, and not the scuttling of roaches and rats he was accustomed to. That meant whatever was hidden was larger, probably stronger, and judging by his experiences with the aforementioned critters, certifiably dangerous.

Eventually, the Dweller was greeted with more footsteps, one quickly following after the other. They grew louder and louder, the faint sound of snuffling giving a sort of bizarre natural chorus as the unknown creature began to round the overpass.

The Dweller wasn’t really sure what to expect, but what rounded the corner was… not it. Instead of some hulking monster that flaunted in his imagination, the creature that rounded the corner was nothing more than a terribly scrawny, weak coyote. He had seen them occasionally, there corpses somehow ended up in the drainage system, but never one in the flesh. Well, “flesh”, because the horrid little beast barely had any covering its body.

It almost looked like someone took an underfed dog and took a razor-blade to it, nicking not only the blondish fur but the pink skin underneath. A fetid tongue rolled out of a drooling jaw as it turned its head towards the Dweller, the overgrown nails on tipping its paws clicking as it righted itself towards him. He noticed the smell of rotting flesh as it slowly approached, mangy haunches raised in a failed attempt to make the creature more intimidating. The thing looked positively pathetic up close, and the Dweller felt a pang of sympathy for the creature; it looked like it had been kicked out of home and hearth, left with nothing to its name. Somewhat like him, actually.

Still, it was clear that the mangy mutt meant harm, and even more apparent when it raised its crooked snout high, loosing a high-pitched yowl that sent a vibration down the loose flesh around its jowls. Within moments, two more coyotes emerged, slinking in from his right; it seems they were kept out of sight thanks to the girth of the overturned vehicle there. The Dweller’s heart hammered even harder as he steadily backed away from the slobbering canines, fear dancing in his eyes. They weren’t particularly big creatures, the largest one’s angular shoulder not even making it past his knee, and their entire body looked like it would blow over if somebody sneezed on them. He pictured a good kick would obliterate one of them if it connected, but that in of itself wasn’t part of the problem. The problem came into play when he took into account their infected, gnashing teeth, which would probably make short work of his blue and yellow Vault tech uniform and the flesh underneath. Not only that, the trek had been a perilous one; he hadn’t eaten anything since he left the Vault, and he didn’t even remember if he ate even before that. His knees cracked together as he shivered, and he felt unbearably weak, the sensation becoming stronger as his fear grew.

Still, he didn’t flee, trying his best to banish the fatigue and fear that harried him into doing so. There was no way he would be able to run the coyotes, and while he highly doubted the blight-filled canines were particularly quick, they were certifiably faster than him. But what could he actually do in this situation?

Thinking as fast as he could with death at his doorstep, the Dweller realized that he was close enough to touch the rusted car to his left, and, sucking in a deep breath, he took action.

“ Get the fuck outta here!”, he hollered in a rather embarrassingly shrill voice, slamming his balled fist into the metal, the ringing of worn metal and echo of his voice giving pause to the coyotes. They jolted upright, no longer in their hunched position, and began to back away from him, slinking towards their hidden ambush spots; it seemed that, like the rats he occasionally he had to deal to drive out within his former home, these beasts of the Waste didn’t take kindly to loud noises. He continued to slam his fist into the car, the pain of the impacts traveling up his arm in short bursts, but a bit of pain was a lot better than becoming canine chow.

He yelled again, an incomprehensible, almost primal sound, increasing the pace of his poundings. However, much to his panic, the coyotes were no longer backing down, and now seemed uninterested in the banging noise. Hunger was far more powerful than their fear now.

The Dweller had no choice but to back away now, his soft boots sinking into gravel as he left the “haven” of the road. Naturally, the pack followed him as continued his slow back-peddle, hungry eyes practically burrowing into his as they kept pace with him. Why weren’t they attacking? He was clearly on the ropes, nothing to defend himself with; if he tried to reach down and grab a rock to toss, they’d probably be on him, given that they were less than three yards away at this point, and the same outcome would happen if he tried to run. Maybe he was too large for them, and they were just waiting for him to collapse? To make a mistake, minimize the amount of harm done to them? He wasn’t even sure these irradiated mutts were capable of such a thought process, but it wasn’t too unreasonable to think that genetic behavior transcended atomic mutation.

His little hypothesis was proven right shortly after he began his back-peddle, when his leg slipped on a sudden incline. The Dweller swung his arms frantically in a desperate bid to keep balance, but it wasn’t enough; gravity was already dragging him down, and it took less than a second for him to land squarely on his rump. He didn’t even have time to check what was going on before the left-most coyote, which stuck out as the largest, dashed forward. Saliva flew from its mouth as it rushed towards him, closing the gap remarkably fast despite its deteriorating state, eyes narrowed as it closed in for the kill.

The Dweller felt a sudden sense of bizarre tranquility come over him as death neared, his pounding heartbeat slowing down dramatically. A calm rationality oozed into his mind, presumably a byproduct of his physically weakness and deteriorated emotional state, and he realized that he wasn’t going to make it out of this one. After wandering about in the wastes, after being ousted from the only home he knew, after realizing that his life in the Vault amounted to nothing in the eyes of those that held his fate, he supposed this was a fitting way to go out as any. At least it would be eventful, nothing like the terrible silence of dying alone on a cot as age hammered away at your very soul. That was how his grandfather had died, an event that seemed like a lifetime ago by this point, but he remembered it vividly. Others viewed it as a peaceful way to go, but to the Dweller, it seemed lonely, a waste. If one is to die, why not die in a way that makes an impact on the world around you? The idea was nothing more than fading ideology that occasionally surfaced in his mind like some unknown creature rising from the murk, but it was here now, in full swing.

He closed his eyes, lowered himself onto the gravel-encrusted dirt, and waited for the jaws of a Mojave beast to wrap its slavering jaws around him, ready to end his existence like a snuffed-out candle.

And yet, nothing came. Maybe he was already gone, the coyote having torn out his throat and left him spilling blood on the dust? Then… how come he could still feel the course gravel under his hand? Still smell the dust-clogged, metal-laced air. It was almost like the coyote thought better of attacking him, but it was flying towards him at full speed, or whatever constituted full speed for what as effectively a walking corpse; there was no way it could course correct without barreling into him.

Tentatively, he began his left eye, terror and anger now replacing his tranquility. Was he really prepared to just throw his life away, give up, because he got surrounded by a bunch of angry mutts? No wonder the Vault threw him out, he really was useless if he gave up that easy.

Both of his eyes flew open as his emotions flickered back to life, but the sight before him was arguably more concerning than if he had just kept them closed.

Where once were assailants of the wastes now was a splatter of blood, which stained the yellow-red gravel a much more vibrant shade of crimson. A single matted paw seemed to be the only thing that remained of the two furthest coyotes, the scene sending a pang of nausea reeling through his body. It reminded like the time he saw one of the Vault guards blow apart a rad roach with a caliber too large, detonating the invertebrate in a shower of viscera; except this was simultaneously cleaner and messier at the same time.

Still exhausted, now both emotionally along with physically, the Dweller shakily rose to his feet, realizing that the slight incline he tricked over was a shard of sandstone partially concealed under the dirt. He stepped over the stone, and stared at the blood for a few moments longer, realizing with a start that there was another splatter right in front of him. It showered the surrounding, along with part of his uniform, adding a bit of macabre vibrancy to the dulled blue and yellow jumpsuit.

The Dweller didn’t feel or hear anything; surely he should have? There was obvious signs of an incredibly brief struggle, bits of gravel displaced here and there, all of which produced plenty of noise when he walked over it. Maybe he just tuned out all sound in his “death acceptance state”, but it still felt off.

Whatever caused this damage clearly wasn’t a human, nobody moved that fast, so it had to be a creature. One that… completely ignored him. The welling panic inside of him as he surveyed the carnage turned into curiously, the small bit of wonder about his new world coming to life for the first time since he left. Whatever did this to the mutts could have easily had time to take out the Dweller too, but it chose them. Was it a because the creature was a predator, and it was merely eliminating targets in its territory? He heard of some animals doing that in the educational videos he watched as a child, but that still didn’t really explain why he wasn’t taken out; The Dweller had at least a hundred pounds and some change on the coyotes, to most he would seem like the more dangerous creature.

His thoughts were abruptly cut off when a horrific sound cut through the silent Mojave air. It was almost like a thick branch was caught under a thick pillow and twisted, followed up by a screeching yelp. It came from behind one of the vehicles; Obviously whatever had demolished the coyotes needed to finish the job.

The Dweller stood rigid as he looked at the car, almost as if was trying to see through its rusted metal. He didn’t know for sure yet, since he had his eyes snapped shut, but something within him, something… primal, terrifying, told him that whatever was on the other side of that thin divider was what had killed the coyotes. Silent, efficient, accurate, the Dweller figured the beast must be a creature of immense capabilities, far beyond that of anything he had seen yet. The prospect should have terrified him, but it was like a nuclear battery inside him had run dry; his fear was completely drained out of him, as was his anger, sorrow, and feelings of worthlessness. All of it had slipped away, consumed by a fearsome desire to know. To understand. He had no idea where it sprang from, but it probably was just filling in his exhaustion to make him feel something.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Somewhat lacking in necessary caution, the Dweller made his way towards the vehicle, crunching gravel replaced by the skidding of loose asphalt. The car was only 2 yards in front of him by this point, to his direct left, but it was tilted just enough that he couldn’t see the other side. But that didn’t matter much, because, as his boot impacted the loose rubble at his feet, the creature reared its head.

At first, he couldn’t really tell what he was looking at, even though the evening sun did a pretty good job at illuminating the beast; it was just its size, shape, everything was so… alien to him. Like something crawling out of a horror flick, it looked like it didn’t belong, even more so than the zombie-like coyotes that lay scattered across the field.

Eventually, however, he was able to make out details, the gears in his head clicking together as he looked at the beast before him. All he could say was its head and neck, which towered over the collapsed vehicle, not entirely dwarfing the ruined structure but certifiably making it seem a bit smaller. Its massive jaw, which was least a yard in length, was covered in a dull emerald coat of overlapping scutes that created a bumpy natural armor of sorts. Following the length of this maw was a row of jagged fangs, each one as long as the Dweller’s ring finger. They were surprisingly dull looking from this distance, but they looked sturdy, no doubt capable of crushing bones with ease. Those were probably the tools that deleted those coyotes but… there wasn’t a hint of blood on them.Further down the head was a powerful neck, the back of which was protected by the same scales that covered its head. However, there was a noticeable softness just under the rugged armor, appearing as a fatty flesh that dangled slightly. It was… oddly satisfying to watch dangle about, a complete juxtaposition to the rest of the head.

Finally, there were the eyes, which oddly enough, did not focus in on the Dweller, instead gazing off at the distance despite the noise he made. They were oddly reminiscent of the Vault cat that intermittently wandered the bleak halls, mainly in the way that the pupil within was nothing more than a vertical black slit. The rest of the eyes, however, was nothing like a cat, mainly due to the fact it glowed a brilliant yellow. This light surrounded the lone pupil, partially drowning out the dark spot like a flashlight against a pencil.

The Dweller found himself inexplicably drawn to this gleaming beacon, almost like a moth to flame. They seemed to gleam brighter than anything he had seen before, although he was almost certain this was a result of his failing emotional state and the fact that he really hadn’t had seen anything even remotely shiny aside from the sun above his head.

With a start, he realized that the creature was no longer staring at the horizon, as its slit-like pupil was now firmly focused on… him. A lump formed in his throat as he returned its stare, the creature’s head now turning so both of its golden eyes zeroed on him. Before he could even rationalize what to do in this situation, before he could even begin to feel a sliver of fear, the creature disappeared. He blinked hard at the spot it had just been, barely able to process what had happened. Was it an illusion? Was he actually dead, and the being before him was a demon, fading in and out of reality?

His answers were swiftly answered as a blur just out of his peripheral vision slammed into him, knocking the wind out of him and sending him sprawling into the gravel. He slid a good three yards, nearly reaching the spot he originally almost met his death, feeling the tiny daggers of stone pierce his skin as he went. Gasping for air, the Dweller tried desperately to prop himself with a now scuffed elbow, but found himself immediately pinned on his back. Looking down revealed that a gargantuan claw of sorts, nearly three times larger than his own pitiful hand, lay on top of his chest. Two thick fingers draped over his shoulders, digging into the soft earth underneath him to prevent him from squirming as the same terrifying maw loomed over him. Twin nostrils expanded and contracted as it breathed heavily, the wind they produced blowing apart his unkempt hair, and those shining yellow beacons stared down at him.

A low rumble ran down the course of its body as the Dweller strained against the claw, futility attempting to rise, to do something. But he was stuck, stuck to the Mojave’s soil like a fly to a glue trap. He felt a glob of liquid hit his choice as the creature maw opened slightly, the saliva within falling down as it continued to rumble. The Dweller had just dealt with accepting death once, and he wasn’t particularly keen on doing that again.

, However, before he had a chance to struggle once more against the reptilian bonds that held him, he heard something. Something clean, musical, husky, and not all what he expected to hear in this Hell on Earth. With wide eyes, he looked up at the beast, his scattered brain piecing together the fact that the creature had just… laughed? And not just any laugh; a laugh that was remarkably feminine, remarkably clear. His eyes expanded even more as the creature reared back slightly, fat underneath its jowls swaying slightly, and said one simple thing that would alter the Dweller’s once forsaken existence for good.

“Hey there, little one. Still got some struggle left in you, I see?”

“What’s the matter, little one? Where did all that struggle run off to?”. The Dweller didn’t respond, completely frozen in place under the creature’s massive weight. At first he had assumed that his brain was playing a trick, that his neurons were short-circuiting from the massive amount of stimulus he had just taken in, but no; he was actually being talked to. By a monster. One that was currently holding him down, had presumably just killed three dogs in a split second, and probably dozens more things before he even showed up in this hellscape.

His dizzying, short-circuiting thoughts were interrupted, or maybe even amplified, he wasn’t sure anymore, as the creature leaned close, the powerful air blowing out of her nostrils practically whipping up gale-force winds at this distance. He could see those glowing eyes, bright like miniature suns, although they looked… softer, up close, almost as if the light within them was more akin to a warm gold rather than the harsh yellow they were at a distance.

The creature loosed another rumbling chuckle, still loosed with that unmistakable feminine undertone, and released the grip on his chest, that mighty claw rising up as it did. Seeing his opportunity to rise, the Dweller tried to scramble away from the beast, to put some inconsequential distance between the two, but failed as his shaking arms gave in. He landed with a soft thud on his back again, breathing heavily, and looked up with slowly fading panic in his wide eyes.

The rational section in his brain was now beginning to overpower the scared primitive side, gently soothing him. It told him that if this creature wanted him dead, he would be a paste by now. Of course, he still didn’t know if this was just some ruse in an attempt to lower his guard but… the Dweller couldn’t defend himself even if he tried, and the monster clearly knew that. So maybe it would do him some good to actually… respond? He swallowed the lump that was clogging his throat, and went with his rationality once more.

“I… um… I-I… hello?”, was his meek first words to the beast, surprising himself at the softness in his voice. He had always had a relatively deep voice, shown in full display when he attempted to scare off the coyotes, but it seemed to have left him at this moment.

At first, the creature said nothing, merely looking down at him with that elongated snout and glowing eyes, but after a moment, it began to shake, the same chuffing that seemed to constitute as laughter greeted his ears.

“Howdy, once again”, it remarked, cocking its head. The Dweller could swear he saw amusement dance in her reptilian gaze. “You know, judging by that shouting you showed off earlier, I thought you would have a bit of a… deeper voice.”

The Dwellers cheeks flushed slightly at the slight, and he rose up, resting his tired body on his elbows. He cleared his throat, making sure that he didn’t sound like a prepubescent boy before responding.

“Sorry, I um.. just wasn’t expecting to be talking much out here.” There. Now he sounded like a proper thirty year old.

“Makes sense; There isn’t much to in the Mojave that wants to have a conversation with a lone shelter boy. Either they’re more interested in your caps, or in your flesh. By the way, your welcome.”

Now it was the Dweller’s turn to cock his head in confusion, taking a few moments to realize why he needed to thank the beast before it dawned on him.

“Ooh. You were the one who killed those mangy mutts?"

“ Who did you think it was?”, was its reply. He saw her raise a claw, only now realizing that it, along with the thick forearm it was connected to, was coated in a thin spray of crimson fluid. “Santa Clause?”

“Well, honestly… I was so damn tired that I would've accepted Santa Clause as my savior. But regardless,” he met the creature’s gaze, finally staring into those golden orbs without flinching. “Thank you. Really. If you hadn’t been here, I wouldn’t… wait, how the hell do you know who Santa Clause is?”

The creature laughed at his sudden switch of appreciation to bewilderment, thick fat under its jowls vibrating.

“ Well, it might not look it, but there’s plenty of shit out here to read if you got the time and…well, armor to do it. By the way, let’s get you up; its hurting my neck having to look down at you like that.”

With its clean claw, the very same that held him down less than a minute ago, the beast grabbed a handful of the Dweller’s stained Vault uniform, bunching up the fabric before pulling up. The sky tilted into its correct position as he was practically flung onto his feat, stumbling for a bit as he struggled to right himself on the uneven earth. Damn, this thing was strong; he was just glad it wasn’t using that strength to do something other than get him on his feet.

“Whoa, steady,” the Dweller felt a scaly palm rest on his shoulder as he swayed drunkenly, his weakness making his head swim, almost as if he had stood up a bit too fast. But it cleared quickly enough, and, as his vision managed to focus in on his savior, he was able to actually admire its full appearance.

Most of what he saw was pretty much expected; a huge, nine-foot tall predator clad in a suit of drab green scale armor, complete with huge forelimbs, powerful digitigrade limbs, and a trailing tail that he could see even if its back was turned from him. Muscle was clearly defined where the scale was thinner, such as the undersides of the arms, but there was also subtle fat there as well. Everything on it was designed to be able to protect organs from incoming attack, it was truly an impressive sight to behold.

But there was something else that drew the Dweller’s attention, something that was far more surprising to him than the monstrous size and sheer weight of the creature. His eyes widened when he realized that the beast’s body was… distractedly feminine. Instead of a thick chest laden with muscle, he was instead greeted with the sight of large, beige colored breasts that blended in with its similarly colored underside. They were gigantic, far larger than anything a human woman could comfortably fit on their body, but they seemed perfectly reasonable for the creature’s exaggerated frame. Interestingly enough, the fatty orbs lacked any nipples to speak of, almost as if the scaly flesh covering them was more akin to a skin-tight bra.

Further down, the Dweller could make out the beginnings of an hourglass figure, with a comparatively thin waist, extenuated by a noticeable paunch, that then connected to seemingly impossibly wide hips. Everything before him seemed to be designed intractably by some unknowable figure specifically to draw carnal eyes towards it, and he wondered how he hadn’t noticed such bodily perfection before. Probably had something to do with the encroaching death, but still.

Obviously he must have been staring, because the creature raised a heavy hand to her snout and coughed lightly into it. The Dweller looked up, embarrassment warming his cheeks.

“S-sorry, I-i just didn’t expect-”

“A gatorclaw having tits? Yeah, you ain’t the first to have that reaction.”

The Dweller blinked hard, still surprised at the remarkably brash method of speech this...gatorclaw seemed to enjoy using.

“ Right… um, look”, he began, wringing his hands nervously. He felt odd, like his emotions were being twisted and tumbled around each other. Should he feel fear? Appreciation? Camaraderie? It was making it very hard for him to think, and his lack of sustenance sure wasn’t helping. Still though, he managed to press on. “Thank you for saving my life, really, but… I dunno, I can’t really think right now. I don’t know what to feel, what to do-”

He faltered, a feeling of lightheartedness coming on. It was hard to talk after being effectively mute for the past day with nobody to talk to, and it was even harder to gather his thoughts into a cohesive structure.

“Alright, calm down”, the gatorclaw rumbled, its… her remarkably soothing voice flowing over him like a .gurgling stream “Look, its not gonna do us any good standing around while you try to form complete sentences, especially when it looks like you’re about to pass out. Why not you explain everything that’s happened at my place, yeah?”

“Y-you’re place? You have a place?” The gatorclaw loosed another rumble, something that sounded like a bizarre hybrid of an irritated snort and a loose chuckle.

“Yes, I have a place”, she continued. The Dweller noticed that her tail, which was considerably larger and more paddle shaped than he had originally noticed, was slapping against the gravel. Was that a sign of frustration, or amusement? He couldn’t say for certain, although he did notice just how easily that muscular appendage could have shattered his bones to pieces if the gatorclaw wished it. She added with a nod of her head, “Its just on the other side of the road, why don’t we go pay it a visit?”

“Do I h-have a choice?”

“’Course you do”, the gatorclaw mumbled, looking him over with a gleaming eye. “But you’ll die pretty quick if I leave you out here to your own devices, and I did not just burn up precious calories saving your blue ass just to let that happen.”

She was right, of course. If this armored savior hadn’t been here, the Dweller would’ve been torn to bits, strewn across this dust-covered wasteland like a very gory piñata. That was a fate that he may have accepted for a brief moment, but now that he had a chance to actually live? He was gonna take that shit and run with it.

“Alright”, the Dweller started, internally relieved to hear that his voice had mostly stopped shaking. “Let’s go to this place of yours, but uh, before we do-”

“Do you mind carrying me?”

The gatorclaw seemed to smile with that huge crocodilian jaw of hers, mismatched teeth within grinding against each other as she did so.

“Not at all, little one.”