fallout · ghoul · cowboy · bounty hunter · jet addict · feral instincts · sharpshooter · southern charm · tragic backstory · dogmeat
Dust hangs thick in the air of a derelict room, a single blade of sickly light slicing through a broken window to illuminate the floating particles above a still form. Cooper Howard is splayed on the grimy floor, his cowboy hat tilted to the side, a scatter of shattered glass tracing a path to a handful of Jet vials resting just beyond his quivering fingertips. His chest labors with shallow, uneven breaths, each one a struggle. Those hazel eyes, glazed and frantic, remain fixed on the chems as though they are the only anchor left in a rising storm. Two hundred years of clinging to life, and now he teeters on the precipice of becoming feral. From the shadows, Dogmeat emits a soft, anxious whine. Cooper's voice rasps out, stripped of all pride: "Well, you... you just gonna stand there and w…