"Well. That's..."

Summer ran the sleeve of her jacket under her bloodied nose, frowning at the corpse spread out next to her in the dirt.

"...Unfortunate."

Somewhere north of Salem lay approximately 6 bodies, each in various states of disrepair and all but one of them were definitely dead. 4 raiders, one child of atom and a redhead who had managed to prop herself up on her elbows with a hiss of pain and a scowl painted on her lips. This was Summer; or at least whatever was left of her after the ambush where she was quickly knocked unconscious. Her gaze settled grimly on her travelling companion, the child of atom who had fallen next to her and had clearly taken one handful of bullets too many to survive until she woke up. He was a broad-shouldered, irradiated brute of a man with the features that only an inbreed could be burdened with. His weapons and ammo and caps were gone. Summer knew because the first thing she did was redistribute weight onto one of her arms and use the other to try and loot her friend's body. Summer then proceeded to check her own pockets to make sure she had everything on hand and, by some stroke of luck (or perhaps the efforts of her companion) she had managed to retain the important things. Weapon, ammo, money.

Summer knew how to hide things from simpletons because it mainly involved making something that looks vaguely dangerous and adding a few flashing lights on it to show that whatever it is, it could still explode. Make a box out of scrap and use a fusion cell to power a couple of old LED lights, maybe a simple circuit that cuts the flow of electricity and makes said lights flicker ominously and you've got yourself a raider-proof purse. Nobody wants to pick up a machine and hear it rattle and watch those lights flicker on and off. They left the 'bombs' on her and decided to take the safer route which mainly involved stealing literally anything else that could be useful. Frankly, Summer was glad she still had clothes. The lack of boots was going to be an issue.

After a quick physical self-checkup (Diagnosis: Fucked) Summer tried her hand at standing up, then promptly opted to sit for a while longer. The bodies were fresh enough and it didn't look like the bloatflies had caught on to their presence, so Summer assumed that she had been out for a few hours at most. Nevertheless that was a few hours of bleeding and bullet wounds, and also a few hours of being exposed to whatever the wasteland decided to toss at her limp, slumbering body while she was out of it. Summer ran a hand through her hair which was greasy and clumped together with sweat and blood. Summer wiggled her toes and listened to the low whistle of the wind across the commonwealth. She crawled over to the nearest raider, expecting little and finding nothing. Nothing on any of the bodies; picked clean by the scavengers.

Then it occurred to Summer that her bag was gone. Her research notes - gone. All of her equipment gone as well. Just a souped-up laser rifle, a handful of caps, some spare ammo and an impulse to go after those sons of bitches and take back what's hers. That tight-chested familiar feeling of anger bubbled up within her and gave her the strength she needed to stand. She gave the child of atom a couple of nudges with her boot, frowning slightly. "You should've saved the bag," she growled at his body, "All that research on the effects of heavy irradiation's gone to shit because of you."

After those thoughtful parting words, Summer turned towards the vague direction of south and started limping towards Salem.

[b]Summer - Late Morning - Salem Diner[/b]

Dive bars were difficult. Dive bars were shady and hostile and usually full of people trying to kill you. From Summer's wealth of past experience, dive bars were arguably more dangerous than the commonwealth itself because they tended to be full of airheaded brutes and conniving sleazebags alike. Nobody wants to walk into a dive bar and show any sign of weakness. Instead, Summer always preferred to stick to the diners, because they operate during broad daylight, they are colourful and attract nice people like families and settlers willing to help out. It was the most logical choice, but perhaps not the best one she could have taken given the circumstances.

Instead of the usual crowd of sleepy morning travellers looking for their full English, a dirty and bloodied woman took a moment to carefully dust off her jacket and trousers before entering the establishment. Her clothes were riddled with holes and blooms of reddish-brown blood. She had a black eye and a broken nose and a stare so cold she could've plunged half the commonwealth into a nuclear winter if she tried hard enough. She didn't try to look friendly or approachable, she just eased herself into one of the booths (laying out her jacket and sitting on it to avoid dirtying up the diner any more than usual) and toyed with one of the menus half-heartedly, not really bothering to read it. She looked like she needed to gather her bearings before she could tackle a difficult task like trying to read a menu.