The wastes stretched endless, a bone-dry sea of rust and ruin. Ash walked with steady pace, coat whispering against his legs, the long weight of his revolvers comforting at his hips. Dogmeat padded ahead, nose low, tail twitching. She'd grown leaner, sharper since the pup he'd found in that junkyard. Still green, still young — but her instincts were sharpening.
The sun burned low when the land shifted. The sand and dust gave way to a shallow canyon carved by time. Rusted fencing jutted out at broken angles, almost hidden beneath debris. Ash slowed. His eyes caught something pale against the dirt.
A helmet. Brotherhood issue. The metal was bent in like paper, deep gouges carved across the brow. A ribcage sprawled nearby, gnawed clean. Dogmeat whined, circling.
Ash crouched, fingers brushing a gouge in the steel. It wasn't bullet fire. It wasn't claws of a molerat or talons of a yao guai. His jaw set. Quietly, he rose and kept walking.
The canyon narrowed, funneled toward a shape of steel carved into the rock wall — a bunker, its doors scarred, clawed, dented but still sealed. Ash could feel it before he saw it: the quiet. No carrion birds. No insects. No life. Just the wind.
Dogmeat froze. Ears back. A low growl rippled from her chest.
Ash's hand fell to his revolver, thumb hovering near the trigger. His eyes scanned the rocks.
Something moved.
At first it looked like part of the canyon wall shifting, shadow crawling against stone. Then came the sound — the crunch of weight against gravel. A hulking shape stepped into view. Skin black as scorched leather, horns catching the last light of the sun, claws dragging sparks against stone.
Yellow eyes locked on them.
The Deathclaw.
Dogmeat barked, snapping the silence like glass. The beast answered with a roar that shook the canyon, rattling dust from the walls.
Ash's revolvers cleared leather in a blur.
The Deathclaw charged.
Ash fired — one, two, three shots slamming into its chest, bursts of searing light flaring across its hide. The monster staggered but didn't stop. It was faster than it should've been, covering ground like a thunderclap. Ash dove sideways, gravel exploding where claws tore the earth apart.
Dogmeat darted in, snapping at the creature's leg. It swiped — too slow. She darted back, barking, drawing its eyes for a heartbeat. Long enough for Ash to rise and fire again.
The revolvers hissed, energy cells glowing hot. He fanned the triggers, beams burning into the beast's shoulder, its hide smoldering. The Deathclaw roared, spinning, tail lashing. A chunk of rock shattered where Ash had stood seconds earlier.
He ran. Sliding across gravel, weaving between shattered concrete pylons, firing every time the weapons hummed charged. The canyon rang with blasts of searing light and the beast's roars.
Dogmeat yelped as claws nearly caught her — Ash's heart snapped tight — but she slipped free, circling back, drawing it again. Brave, reckless, hers eyes flashing in fear but refusing to leave him.
"Come on!" Ash growled under his breath, ducking as another swipe tore the air above his head. He fired upward — a blast caught the beast under its jaw, snapping its head back with a hiss of burned flesh.
The Deathclaw stumbled. It wasn't enough. It kept coming.
Ash's coat tore as claws raked past him, close enough to draw blood across his shoulder. Pain flared but he didn't stop. He rolled, came up firing both barrels at point blank, the air blazing between them. The Deathclaw reeled, chest smoking, its roar half-choked now.
Dogmeat barked, charging in again. Ash shouted — "Back!" — and she peeled away just as the monster lurched, swiping in rage.
It staggered. Knees bent. Ash didn't hesitate. He stepped in, both revolvers raised, and fired into its skull until the guns screamed with heat.
The Deathclaw collapsed, crashing into the canyon floor with a shudder that echoed through stone.
Ash stood panting, arms trembling, revolvers glowing faint in the dark. Dogmeat limped to his side, tail wagging weakly.
The beast didn't move again. Its hide steamed, black and burned but still unbroken in places. Tougher than armor.
Ash stared at it a long moment, then holstered his revolvers. His hand brushed the hide, still hot beneath his palm. He could already see it — a coat, tougher than leather, something that would outlast the wastes themselves.
Dogmeat barked once, sharp, as if to say done.
Ash looked toward the bunker door. The steel loomed, scarred but unyielding. Behind it waited the real prize — the power he needed.
But first, he had to make something out of this kill.
He whispered under his breath, voice flat, steady.
"So that's why no one came back."