It was lonely little dive in a very lonely sort of world. Strike felt a kind of pleasantness from the thought of it all. For the first time in a while....he felt at home. Then again, maybe he was just happy to see a glimpse of civilization out in this barren wasteland. 


It had been a few days since he left the last town he strolled through, Rivet City. A rusty boat in a rusty world.. didn't hold much interest in Strike. He was never one to settle down and Rivet seemed as settled down as you could get these days.


Standing on the ridge overlooking the intact building Strike contemplated his next move. He sure could use a drink. He set off towards the front door, eagerly awaiting to see some faces on the other side. Coming closer and closer to the door Strike began to feel something wasn't right. Things were too quiet. The lack of windows kept him from getting a better view of the inside, he wasn't one for surprises. He figured he'd take his chances anyways and grabbed for the handle. The door was locked.....of course it was.


Feeling defeated Strike stood and pondered. He knocked on the door. Nothing. He knocked again. Again, nothing.


"Crap! What the heck am I gonna do now?" he asked himself out loud. Suddenly a voice echoed from the other side. "Hello?" the lonely voice asked. Strike was quick to answer with a pleasant greeting. There was a moment of silence before the voice echoed back. "Well, what do you want?". "Well, sir.. I was taking a look at your digs here....and I was more then hoping I could come inside and have myself a drink....if that was ok with you sir?"


A moment later the door cracked open just slightly. It was real eerie actually. Strike grabbed the handle and opened the door real wide. Inside....well it was a bar. A pool table in the corner, bar stools littering the floor, a jukebox in the back. A smile crept across Strike's face when he saw the whiskey behind the bar. He hadn't had whiskey in months. He walked towards the bar with his eyes set on the bottle. He leaned across and procured himself the bottle of sweet victory.


He grabbed himself a seat from off the floor and set up shop on the very right end of the bar, closes to the jukebox. He poured himself a shot, he figured drinking straight from the bottle wouldn't demonstrate good manners towards his host. He downed it in one big swig, but something was hanging in his mind. His host? Where was he? Suddenly, Strike had felt very uneasy. He couldn't understand how he had let himself get into a situation like this.....everything seemed so innocent, but suddenly he had a very bad feeling about all of it. A gun to the back of your head kind of feeling.


"Hello!?!" He shouted out not entirely sure if he wanted a response or not. There was no answer. A cold sweat overtook Strike as he quickly turned around gun drawn. There was nothing there, absolutely empty. Strike glanced back and forth double checking his surroundings. There was nothing. How could this be? Thoroughly creeped out, Strike pocketed the bottle of whiskey and quickly headed for the front door.


He kicked the front door open to a surprise on the other side. Three guns pointed very much in his direction. "Crap!" He couldn't help but feel that this one might be it for him. He thought back to that whiskey. It was good. A whiskey he was proud to go out on. A smile crept across his face as he said four words.


"How fast are ya?"


Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!


After the smoke cleared, there stood three very dead men, and a lone survivor. Strike stood there as if he was made of stone. He was in a state of shock and was fearing the worse. "Am I dead?" he asked himself in a sort of playful manner. "I don't feel dead....." A voice echoed from the roof of the bar startling Strike. "Nooope......You're not dead son, but you do have my whiskey...."


Strike turned around as slow as a snail to none other then his host. He was an older gent, looked like the sort of fella that would run a dive like this. Strike was overwhelmed with all sorts of emotions, he wasn't really sure exactly what he was feeling anymore. "Yea, I do have it.....I'm sorry, you can have it back" he pleaded. "Oh, no son.....I can't stand the stuff. However, you could have at least asked me first."


Strike just blankly looked at the man. "Right. I'm......I'm gonna just go now." He looked down at the corpses and quickly looked back at the man. "Thank you." he said before trudging off in any other direction. He got no response, but in a way he was glad for that. In fact he was glad about a lot of things. Especially the whiskey.....


This was based in the Fallout Universe. 


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