[i] What a shithole... well, I suppose the whole Commonwealth is.[/i] 

The stray thought crossed his mind as he sifted through more worthless scrap, an entire day in Concord had netted him little of worth and had cost him more dearly after a run in with a pair of raiders. They had to be part of a bigger group, they looked like they had been patrolling around, or perhaps he had been too inebriated and had merely failed to realise that they hadn't actually moved at all. Regardless, after he'd been spotted, the skirmish that took place was a vicious struggle, the coppery taste of blood still lingered in his mouth from where he had hit the ground too hard and bit down on his tongue. All to just avoid getting riddled by the clearly modified pipe pistol that cranked out rounds faster than a mole rat on jet, he had damn well gone through his last bottle of whiskey to calm his nerves and numb the pain before popping out from his cover to shoot the fucker.

By some ungodly miracle he had made it out of that alive, with little more than a flesh wound to his side, which had dampened and darkened his clothes, on his right side, with blood. Alas he had only been brave enough to loot the closer of the two bodies, which unluckily for him was not the holder of the modded weapon and held only a handful of .38 rounds for the pipe pistol in her hand. Other than that she held a couple of bottle caps tucked in her shoe as a lot raiders did, a broken silver fog watch, [i] Ha! probably only kept it cos it's shiny in some parts where it's not rusted to hell[/i], and a blunt combat knife tucked away in the aforementioned shoe as well.

The sudden Explosion drew him away from his reminiscing, and he let the various scrap metal and wire he held in his hand drop to the floor. "What the bloody hell was that?" He muttered to himself quietly, reaching for the .308 rifle he kept slung over his pack. [i] I only got 13 bullets dammit.[/i] He thought bitterly to himself, of course he had more rounds for the pistol, but as far as he was concerned, that shooter was as good as a BB gun.
With a last nervous gulp of his drink, he would clumsily remove the headgear from his pack to place unceremoniously over his head as he moved out with a sigh, crouching and moving out into an alleyway to get a better view of the action that was unfolding in Concord.