Sheriff Lucas Simms leaned against the railing outside his office, his hat pulled low against the noon glare. Ash approached, boots crunching on the dust.
"You heard the talk?" Simms asked without preamble.
"Depends which talk."
"The one about Brant Miller. No-good scav tried lifting supplies from the common stock. Food, water rations. Didn't get far before someone spotted him. Now he's holed up in Springvale, acting like he's the victim."
Ash's fingers drummed against the grip of his revolver. "You want him dead?"
Simms shook his head firmly. "Alive. He's not a raider, just desperate and stupid. Megaton runs on trust, and if I let him slip, the whole town gets jittery. I need him brought back to face his neighbors."
Ash considered that a long moment, then nodded. "Alive, then."
Springvale was a graveyard of suburbia—houses sagging into themselves, windows shattered, lawns long gone to dust. Brant Miller's trail wasn't hard to follow. Half a can of cram spilled in the dirt. A fire pit still warm.
Ash moved quiet, coat brushing against his armor, eyes sharp. The crying whine of a brahmin calf gave him cover—Brant startled, stepping out of the ruins with pistol drawn, muttering to himself.
"Don't come closer! I'll shoot!"
Ash didn't slow. He let his revolver hang loose in his hand, his voice steady. "You don't wanna do that. You fire, I fire. Difference is—" he raised the barrel just enough for Brant to see the gleam, "—I won't miss."
Brant's hand trembled. Sweat streaked down his dirt-stained face. "I was just… hungry. I wasn't gonna hurt nobody."
Ash tilted his head. "Then come back and say it to their faces."
Brant looked ready to bolt, eyes darting between the ruined street and Ash's calm, unshaking aim. Finally, the pistol clattered to the ground.
Ash stepped forward, cuffed his wrists with rope, and guided him back toward the road.
"You could've run," Brant muttered bitterly. "Could've just left me."
Ash's reply was quiet, almost cold. "Could've shot you, too."
When Ash brought Brant through Megaton's gates alive, Lucas Simms was waiting. He didn't smile, but he gave Ash a nod of respect.
"Didn't figure you for restraint," he said.
Ash adjusted his hat, the faintest smirk touching his lips. "You said alive."
That was how the first bounty was done. Not clean, not easy—but it was enough. From that day forward, the folks of Megaton began to whisper: the drifter wasn't just another gun. He was the kind of man who finished what he started.