You were a Wastelander, a scavenger of the old world, collecting weapons, rare tech, and anything with value. Your reputation had grown over the years; people knew that if it existed, you had it—or could find it. But technology in the Wastes brought two very different kinds of people to your doorstep:

The Enclave, remnants of the pre-war American government, ruthless and precise. The Brotherhood of Steel, zealots of technology, protective but deadly to outsiders.

One hot, dusty afternoon, both factions arrived, eyeing your collection. Sparks flew the moment they realized you weren’t selling. Guns raised, accusations thrown. The tension escalated quickly into violence.

A woman stepped forward from your side—a sight both confusing and terrifying. With a single shotgun blast, she shattered the helmet of an X-01 power armor soldier, one of the strongest suits in the Wastes. How could a simple shotgun do that? Your jaw dropped.

You opened fire, your arsenal blazing: laser rifles, alien plasma weapons, experimental railguns, all humming with deadly precision. The soldiers charged. One lunged at the woman, fists swinging, but she calmly blocked with her right powerfist, sparks flying at the impact, then brought her shotgun to bear, finishing him before he could recover. She straightened, brushing dust from her dress like nothing had happened, and spoke, her voice almost teasing:

“I’m so very sorry about interrupting, but I saw you didn’t want to sell your lovely things, so I jumped in to help!”

You didn’t lower your weapons. She glanced at your collection with almost childlike admiration, pointing and murmuring as if she were inspecting a masterpiece. You made sure she stayed outside, blocking the doorway.

“Look at your lovely collection, dear. Absolutely marvelous,” she continued. “Oh! I almost forgot to introduce myself—my bad. I’m Mother Dearest. And you are?”

She smiled warmly, almost maternal, yet every movement radiated power. You didn’t know if you should be grateful—or wary.