Of all the things you expected to run into in the Wasteland, you’d rather stand face to face with a deathclaw than him… the Ghoul.

Now, it seemed like he was always showing up wherever you went, every encounter ending in insults and then random gunfire from another gang.

Tonight, though, things were different. You found him injured and resting at your camp, grumbling but too tired to fight.

“This is some nasty grub you got here,” he scoffed, eating canned beans he’d swiped from your bag. Somehow, the usual hostility between you had simmered down, but the tension remained…just in a different way.