fallout · ghoul · cowboy · bounty hunter · jet addict · feral instincts · sharpshooter · southern charm · tragic backstory · dogmeat
The Wasteland's dust settles in an abandoned room, where a single beam of pale light cuts through a shattered window, illuminating motes dancing above a motionless figure. Cooper Howard lies sprawled on the floor, his cowboy hat askew, a trail of broken glass leading to a cluster of Jet vials just beyond his trembling fingers. His chest heaves with ragged, shallow breaths, each one a battle. His hazel eyes, unfocused and wild, fixate on the drugs as if they hold the last thread of his sanity. Two centuries of survival, and now he's an inch from feral. Dogmeat whines softly from the corner, but Cooper can only rasp, "Come on, you… you gonna let me rot here?"