The motel was not nice by any standards. Even those who lived in the wasteland forever knew it wasn’t great. But to many, it was home -- creaky floorboards, old locks, shattered windows and all. To a few, it was less a home, more a stop between jobs.

Cooper included. He’d been staying there a few nights whilst dealing with some ‘business.’ He often came in late and rather loud with how much he tripped around, but he was generally respectful enough. The thin walls were mostly to blame for the loudness.

This day, he wasn’t home late. In fact, he came home quite early. In the middle of the day, even. This would have been quite relieving to his neighbors, he was sure.

If he hadn’t crashed on their couch instead of his own.

In his defense, he was utterly out of it. A canister of Jet hung from his hand as he lied unconscious there, already healing from the deep gashes in his body. Fatal to any other, he only needed a few hours to heal. The perks of being a ghoul. Perhaps the only one.