The gates of Megaton groaned open with their usual chorus of rust and chains. Ash stepped through first, boots heavy with dust, revolvers holstered at his hips. Dixon stumbled behind, wrists raw from rope, his limp worse than before.
The marketplace slowed to a hush. Eyes followed the pair. A boy not yet grown, dragging a man twice his size.
Sheriff Simms came down from the catwalk, his hat pulled low against the afternoon sun. His hand rested on his holster, more out of habit than need.
"Well, I'll be damned," he muttered, taking in the sight. "You brought him in."
Ash gave a small nod. Nothing more.
Dixon jerked against the rope, wild-eyed, spitting words like they might save him.
"Don't listen to him! Don't you listen! He ain't right—he ain't human!"
Simms raised an eyebrow. "That so?"
The raider's voice cracked, panic bubbling out of him.
"He killed 'em—killed 'em all before I could blink! Eight men, maybe more—gone in a minute! Not even breathin' hard! That ain't a boy, that's somethin' else!"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. A trader crossed himself. One of the settlers pulled her kid closer.
Ash stood silent, expression unreadable, letting Dixon's fear speak louder than any boast could.
Simms studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly.
"Alright. We'll take him from here. Payment'll be waiting at the office."
Two deputies hauled Dixon off, the man still shouting, still trembling. His voice echoed against the rusted walls of Megaton until the gates clanged shut again.
Ash turned, walking toward his house with the same steady pace he'd left with.
The whispers started almost immediately.
Ash left the square behind, the murmur of voices trailing him like dust in the wind. He didn't bother listening. Megaton folk would talk — they always did — but words didn't matter. Deeds were done, and that was enough.
When he pushed open the door to Craterside Supply, the smell of metal and oil washed over him. The pup Moira had taken in yipped excitedly from behind the counter, scrambling over a half-finished contraption to get to him.
"Down, Dogmeat, down!" Moira laughed, trying and failing to keep the little mutt from bouncing around Ash's boots.
Ash crouched, letting the pup paw at his hands, its tail wagging hard enough to shake its whole body. For the first time that day, the boy's lips curved into the hint of a smile.
Moira peeked at him, her eyes lingering longer than they had when he left. "Back in one piece, huh? You've got half the town buzzing, you know. They say you dragged a raider in singlehanded."
Ash scratched behind the pup's ear, gaze steady on the dog.
"Just work."
Moira tilted her head, watching him. She wanted to press — wanted to know how, wanted the story in detail — but there was something about the way he kept his words short that stopped her. Instead, she grinned and waved toward the shelves.
"Well, if it's work, then you just earned yourself some shopping. Got a batch of scrap parts in, some of it looks real promising."
Dogmeat barked once, sharp and happy, as if in agreement.
Ash straightened, coat shifting over the faint gleam of his hidden armor. "I'll look."
And just like that, the talk of the town faded behind the shop's walls. To Ash, it was just another day. To Megaton, it was the start of something they didn't yet have a name for.