The midday sun blazed down on Megaton, glinting off rusted scrap-metal walls and making the air shimmer. The gate groaned as it opened, letting in a man with a brahmin piled high with battered armor pieces. The two-headed beast snorted, tails swishing at flies, as its master called out in a voice that carried across the settlement.
"Crow's Caravan, finest armor in the wasteland! Trade your junk, buy some steel, keep yer hide safe another day!"
Ash leaned on the railing above, his arms folded. At fifteen, he was no longer the scrawny boy who had first wandered into Megaton. His frame had lengthened, his stance sharpened. Two revolvers rode at his hips — sleek, humming faintly, polished in a way that made them look both alien and dangerous.
Deputy Lucas Simms found him there. The lawman had a stride that always carried a little weight, like the town itself leaned on him. He stopped just short of Ash and gave him a look — steady, measuring.
"You've been makin' yourself useful," Simms said, voice low enough not to carry. "Watch duty, vermin hunts, keepin' the peace when tempers flare. Haven't heard a soul complain about you yet."
Ash's brow lifted, but he said nothing.
Simms jerked his head toward the caravaner. "Crow's headin' to Rivet City. It's a long road, and he wants extra guns. He asked me if there's anyone in town I trust. I told him there is."
Ash tilted his head. "You're sending me?"
"I'm recommendin' you," Simms corrected, his voice firm. "But don't mistake me — you're still young. Too young, maybe. If you go, it's because you're ready to carry yourself like a man. Out there, there ain't no safety net. You fall, you fall alone."
For a moment, the boy's face was unreadable. Then, slowly, a half-smile tugged at his lips. "Wouldn't dream of falling."
Crow wasn't impressed at first. He stood beside his brahmin, eyeing Ash with the same suspicion a man might give a counterfeit cap.
"This the one?" Crow muttered, glancing at Simms.
Ash stepped forward before Simms could answer. "Name's Ash. I shoot straight, walk quiet, and I don't waste time talkin' when I should be watchin'. You need another gun, I'm it."
Crow's eyes flicked to the revolvers. He squinted at the faint glow along their barrels. "Never seen pieces like that."
"You won't see their like again," Ash said.
The caravan master barked a laugh. "Big words for a pup. You shoot as sharp as your tongue?"
"Sharper."
Crow stared a moment longer, then finally gave a short nod. "Fine. Cut of the haul if we make it. If you don't pull your weight, you don't eat. Welcome aboard."
Ash left the caravan briefly and made for Craterside Supply. The bell above the door jingled as he stepped in.
"Back already?" Moira Brown chirped from behind the counter, her hands stained with grease and dust. "Oh! No, wait. You've got that look. That 'I'm about to do something dangerous' look."
Ash gave a short shrug. "First caravan run. Rivet City."
Her smile faltered, just a fraction. "That's… far." She leaned on the counter, studying him. "You've fought molerats, radroaches, maybe even scared a raider or two off the walls. But caravans… the wasteland doesn't play fair."
"They never did," Ash replied softly.
For once, Moira was quiet. Then she forced a grin, though it wavered at the edges. "Well, you'd better come back. I've still got experiments that need testing, and you're my favorite test subject."
Ash smirked. "I'll come back."
"You'd better," she said, pointing at him with mock sternness. "Because if you don't, I'll be really, really annoyed."
He gave her a nod, then turned for the door.
That evening, as the brahmin groaned under their load and the sun began its slow descent, the caravan rolled out of Megaton.
Ash walked beside them, his revolvers quiet at his hips, his eyes scanning the horizon. He felt the weight of Simms' trust, the echo of Moira's worry, and the heat of the wasteland stretching endless before him.
It was his first step beyond being just a boy in Megaton.
The first step on the road to becoming something more.