In the darkness, the light from the derelict old town could be seen from miles...even though it was abandoned. A lone figure stepped out of a rusty old hatchback, from before the war, and began to walk briskly towards the town. He traveled light, a backpack full of provisions, his SigP228 handgun which was always loaded, and his worn baggy pants and black tank top. A long coat hung about his body, keeping him warm against the cool breeze of the desert's night. He didn't make a sound as he walked, knowing full well that if he did, he would probably disturb the scorpions that inhabited this part of the radioactive desert, and he knew that his Sig wouldn't be able to handle a huge mutated scorpion. As he drew closer to the town, he saw it was a small town, consisting of one street, several dwellings, and one large tavern/hotel. It was at the fountain outside the hotel he was heading. Even from a distance, he could make out the fountain, and the jeep, with its headlights on. It was here that his contact had said to go, and as much as he disliked doing contraband runs for gangs, he needed the money. He owed a powerful loan shark back in New Reno a lot of money. He had originally intended to pay the loan shark back by doing a hit against a rival operation, but it went horribly wrong, and he wound up getting the one of the loan shark's closest allies killed instead. So, the shark demanded the money in full, with double the interest, and the Drifter was forced to take up several, less professional, mercenary jobs. This smuggling job was to be his last before he had gotten all the money, and he was confident he could get it done before the loan shark's deadline on Sunday, the end of the week, before he had people crawling up his ass trying to beat extra money out of him. It was an early Monday morning, as the Drifter walked towards the fountain, his hand on his gun...