The sky, like the rest of the wasteland, was bleak and haunting. As it approached night, the sight of a settlement came into view through the dense foliage. The lights shining through the trees acted like a beacon of hope to those in need of refuge and a target to those who would try to steal. Upon approaching the walls, he was stopped and asked his name, shifting in the cloak that covered his armor he gave some fake alias he had used a few times before and walked into the city.

After a few minutes of searching around, the main attraction of the town was spotted. A tavern by all appearances, the most important feature of almost every sane community in the wasteland. Walking toward the establishment, he began to hear the sounds of whiskey courage and cheap beer sobbing that was common to these places. The door was large but not so large that he fit through easily wearing the heavy cloak over his armor. Ignoring the angry glowing one and the obnoxious man at the counter, he stepped up and waited for a bartender. After a few moments an assaultron came over and asked what he wanted, he ordered a bottle of whiskey and paid. Walking to a dark corner in the far end of the bar, he stood leaned up against the wall waiting to see what the night held in store.