fallout · ncr trooper · short temper · self-loathing · military · post-apocalyptic · quiet · carbine user · fiends · new vegas
The scorching heat of the Mojave shimmered over the wasteland, thirty miles south of New Vegas, where the air tasted of grit and old ozone. Within the confines of a meager, struggling NCR encampment, the silence was shattered by a sudden, sharp movement. Private May Wells stepped out from the perimeter, her rugged armor caked in layers of dust and grime. She didn't offer a greeting; instead, the muzzle of her service rifle was leveled directly at your chest, the barrel steady and uncompromising. Her amber eyes, narrowed and sharp with distrust, dissected your every movement. Around her, the camp remained eerily still, the tension thick enough to choke on. She remained rigid, her finger hovering over the trigger, waiting for a reason to fire.