The ruins whispered of violence long before the gunfire started. Ash walked at the head of the hired crew, revolvers loose at his sides, the air tense with the scent of rust and cordite. Dogmeat padded close to his heel, ears flicking, her tail stiff with unease. She was older now, stronger, but still new to this kind of work.
The raider den was inside a collapsed apartment block, its windows black with soot, doorways sealed with scrap. As soon as Ash kicked the barricade aside, the fight began. Bullets spat, voices cursed, steel screamed on stone.
Ash moved like a storm through the chaos—calm, precise, untouchable. His revolvers pulsed red with searing light, each shot lancing a raider from cover, each movement flowing into the next. The crew scrambled to keep up, but Dogmeat froze.
A raider burst from behind a counter, cleaver raised. Dogmeat barked, hackles up, but didn't leap. She trembled on her paws, instincts fighting fear. Ash was already there, one fist snapping across the man's jaw with a crack that dropped him flat.
He glanced at her, voice sharp but not cruel.
"Next time, don't stop."
The fight ended as suddenly as it began. Bodies smoked in the ruin, the stink of scorched flesh clinging to the air. But one figure was missing—their mark. A raider captain, wanted alive, had bolted in the confusion.
Ash crouched, finding a spatter of blood where a laser had grazed him, a strip of cloth torn on rebar. He held it low for Dogmeat.
"Find him."
She sniffed, circled, whined, unsure. The crew muttered behind him, already eager to loot and leave, but Ash's focus stayed on her.
"Trust your nose. Show me."
Her ears flicked. She sniffed again, caught the faint trail of blood in the dust, and padded forward with hesitant steps. Ash followed, revolvers holstered, one hand resting on her back.
They trailed through the ruins—across cracked streets, into a half-flooded alley where ferals stirred in the dark. Dogmeat froze when one hissed from the shadows. Ash's hand brushed her side.
"Easy. Eyes front. Keep moving."
His guns sang, ferals falling as ash and bone while Dogmeat pressed on. Her paws led them through twisted rebar and broken concrete until they reached a gutted metro entrance, the stench of sweat and fear thick inside.
The bounty was waiting. He thought he'd lost them. He raised his rifle as Ash stepped into view, only for Dogmeat to lunge—clumsy, teeth catching his arm instead of his throat, dragging him down in a snarl.
The man screamed, firing wild. Ash's boot came down hard, kicking the rifle away. Revolvers hummed, but he didn't fire. Instead, he hauled the raider upright, shoving a binding cord around his wrists.
The man spat blood and curses. "You're dead, you hear me? They'll come for me—"
"Shut up," Ash said, voice low as steel.
The march back was silent save for the raider's muttering and Dogmeat's heavy panting. She limped at his side, exhausted but proud, her muzzle stained with blood. Ash reached down, resting a hand on her head as they neared the light of Megaton's gate.
"Good girl."
Her tail wagged weakly, but her eyes shone. The green pup had taken her first step into the wasteland's fire.
Want me to follow this up with a scene of the Megaton townsfolk reacting—hearing Dogmeat's name spoken for the first time as people notice her alongside him—or keep it personal, just Ash bringing in the bounty and treating it like any other day?
The gate guards didn't even blink when Ash dragged the raider in. Men like Dixon and worse had already passed through their hands, and another scumbag in rope bindings was hardly worth a second glance.
What did catch their eyes was the dog. The guards smirked when Dogmeat trotted behind Ash, tail wagging, tongue lolling despite the dried blood on her muzzle.
"Cute mutt you got there," one of them said. "Better company than most folks in here."
Ash gave a nod, nothing more, and pressed on.
Inside, the heat of the day was breaking, lanterns sparking to life around Megaton's rusted bowl. People barely spared him a glance. A bounty brought in meant safer roads for them, but to most it was just another scrap of survival in the wastes.
Ash walked the prisoner straight to Sheriff Simms. The man looked him over, gave the bounty chit, and hauled the raider off without ceremony. Business as usual.
Dogmeat drew more eyes than Ash ever did. A pair of kids ran up, giggling, scratching behind her ears until she flopped onto her side in the dust. The mutt lapped it up, tail hammering the ground.
Ash leaned against the railing near Moira's shop, the chit heavy in his pocket. The day's work was over, just like any other. Another fight, another handful of caps, another night in the wasteland.
But for Dogmeat, it was her first taste of what that life really meant. And from the way she barked happily at the children, no one would have guessed she'd bitten down on a man's arm just hours before.