Andale

It was the middle of the night, and the Capital Wasteland was eerily quiet. The moonlit rocks and ruins held no cause for vexation for me that night as I made my way down the broken concrete trail. After walking southwest of Vault 101 for quite some time, I hadn't encountered a single Talon Company unit, renegade robot, or Deathclaw- a blessing, as my health was very low and I was without food or Stimpacks. My Reservist Rifle was in good repair, but I had very little ammunition to get by on, and had no wish to stand up against the Talon Company with nothing but five bullets, a knife, and dumb luck.

After slinking through the rocky darkness for a good long while, I peered through the scope of my rifle into the distance. Looking to the south and east, I saw nothing but more broken waste and a few Mirelurks shuffling through the brush. To avoid an unfortunate encounter with the cycloptic crustaceans, I decided to continue west and see what existed ahead. With my luck it would probably be an entire nest of Deathclaws, but I ultimately decided that something so disturbing couldn't possibly exist out here.

Whilst cresting the next hill, I saw rooftops begin to crest in the chasm below. My Pip-Boy quickly identified what was left of the D.C. suburb as Andale. It was still dark, but through my rifle scope I determined the town to be deserted- perhaps populated by a Raider or two, at the worst. I crept slowly down the hill and into the remains of the village's main street, seeing nothing that constituted a threat. However, with my health and ammunition running as low as it was, I decided it would be wise to tear the place down in search of loot. Before I could proceed into any of the houses, though, something strange caught my attention. Between two of the houses on the main street stood what appeared to be a small tool shed. It seemed rather unassuming, but I felt compelled to search it first, as it might have contained some really useful equipment.

Upon approaching the door, I discovered it was locked- very locked. Someone had clearly stored something here that was not meant to be discovered. And with my stellar lockpicking skills, I felt compelled to reassign ownership of whatever was so carefully secured within. As the lock's tumbler moved and the door creaked open, I was confronted with a grizzly scene.

From wall to wall inside the shed, dismembered, half-consumed bodies were strewn about on the floor, hung from hooks, and stuffed into bags. There was a workbench that ran along the far wall; it itself was stacked with body parts, bone saws, chainsaws, and other evidence of sadism and torture. Several refrigerators stood next to the bench, and I felt no desire to discover the contents. After regaining my composure, it took little effort to turn around and escape the box of gore.

As I shut the door behind me and gazed out into the open air, I soon realized was also gazing into the barrels of several firearms and the eyes of angry humans. They made it immediately obvious to me that they were responsible for the contents of the shed, and were quite ready to mix my body into the Shed Stew. Fortunately, these folks didn't appear to be the brightest and I readily convinced them that I too was a cannibal and simply grabbing a snack. While this saved me from certain death, it didn't save them from my contempt for their behavior. They bantered on about being the last great American town in the country, and how they did all they could to uphold American values. The two families existing there- the Smiths and the Wilsons- made their living from deaths of passers by, and made mention of a "crazy" older relative living nearby. After the situation had quieted, they returned to their homes and I was confronted with an even worse conundrum. What was I to do about this? To leave the situation unchecked would result in scores of future deaths, but could I really bring myself to execute two whole families?

I ran to what I believed to be the house of the mentioned relative, and I assumed correctly. If they didn't like him, it was probably because he was the only one with any sense. Upon entering the house, I was immediately greeted by a man who introduced himself as Harris. He was absolutely terrified of what went on in the town, and feared that he might be next on his own family's menu. After speaking to him about the condition of the village, I decided the best course of action would be to quickly, quietly, and painlessly dispatch the adults of each family and put the children into the care of Harris. Such a thing would be an emotionally daunting task, but change was needed. For their sake, it would be best for the children to grow up in a healthy environment with Harris as opposed to with their demented, cannibalistic parents. The gravity of what truly needed to be done began to weigh down on me.

It was about two thirty in the morning, and all of Andale's citizens had returned to bed. A calm, peaceful silence had fallen upon the town. Every star was visible in the cloudless, early-morning sky; moonlight danced softly on the hills and rocks surrounding the village.

Drawing my knife, I stepped into the Wilson house.