EXT. CALIFORNIA DESERT WASTELAND – DAY
The wasteland stretched wide and sun-scorched—an endless desert of heat, silence, and skeletal remains. Bleached bones of overpasses. Dunes formed from crushed concrete and dust. A world boiled down to its driest truths.
Juno moved through it like a ghost—cautious, steady. The grit crunched under his boots, but his thoughts were louder than the wind.
He reached what looked like an old checkpoint—its signage long sandblasted away. Just beyond, the skeleton of a collapsed gas station.
+25 XP: Location Discovered – Gas Station
Then he saw it—something glinting in the dirt.
He crouched low, brushing away sand with the edge of his hand
It was a foot. Or the remains of one. Mechanical—crude, improvised. A prosthetic, attached to a headless body.
The body lay there twisted, slumped against the concrete. Civilian clothes. A stained coat half-pinned beneath the wreckage.
And no head.
JUNO (quietly):
"…Jesus."
The wound was clean. Just straight up chopped off.
Juno took a step back, his expression tightening.
JUNO (low):
"So yeah… someone took it. They cut this dude's head off clean. Maybe for a trophy? Maybe for food—no, that doesn't make sense. The head wouldn't give you much to eat."
He knelt beside the corpse again, noting the rusted gear and battered prosthetic.
JUNO:
"Maybe this guy asked for this… there's no signs of struggle. Wait a minute—did that Vault girl do this?"
(beat)
"Had to be the ghoul, right? But that would mean he caught up to her. Yet there's no sign of fighting… or her body. So I guess she did the cutting."
His eyes scanned the surroundings. Tracks. Drag marks. A faint blood trail, veering southwest.
He tapped a key on his Pip-Boy.
Something under the coat caught his eye.
Paper. Crumpled, bloodstained. He pulled it free.
A wanted poster. Faded by weather, the edges flaking apart. A hand-drawn likeness stared back at him—an older man, worn features, thinning hair. Below it:
"Wilzig – Alive Preferred. 10,000 Caps From the Enclave."
Quest (Optional): Find Wilzig's Head
JUNO:
"Well… I'm guessing that's you. Or what's left of you."
(beat)
"Fucking Ma June didn't mention shit about a bounty. Damn. Whatever."
(beat)
(muttering)
"Okay… that makes sense. Your head's the bounty."
He stood slowly, holding the paper for another moment before folding it and tucking it away.
JUNO (quietly to the body):
"What the hell were you guys going toward? Or running from?"
No answer. Just dust on bones.
JUNO:
"I'm talking to a headless body right now."
He adjusted his coat and turned toward the southwest.
He climbed a low ridge, broken road markers half-buried beneath shifting sands. As he reached the top, the landscape opened up.
In the distance—beyond the shimmering heat and fractured horizon—stood a warped skyline. Twisted metal. Distant shapes that might've once been terminals or hangars. And above them all, barely upright, the bent frame of a skeletal control tower.
The remains of LAX. Or what was left of it.
Juno stared.
JUNO (under his breath):
"Wow… well, let's follow the trail."
He glanced back at the body one last time.
Then followed the trail southwest, into whatever waited beyond the heat, the silence… and the blood.
END