It’s time for another installment of A boy in Hell, A Fallout novella.

Before we get started, I’d just like to say thanks to those who left comments on the initial chapters. It’s always nice to see my work get such a positive response, and if you like what you see, or even if you don’t, let me know. Also, if you’ve got any requests for future stories, leave a comment and i’ll see if I can work something out. And now, Another installment of...


A BOY IN HELL

Chapter VI: A fiend is born

There’s one thing to be said about raiders. They never fucking sleep. Seriously. During my travels, You find that you always need a place to make repairs to dysfunctional weapons, patch up armor, or yourself and if you truly did manage to disarm every threat, a bed and a few hours of sleep. Raider camps, or at least the ones that I’ve been through, have never had a bed and here’s one of the reasons why. While carefully settling down into the former raider nest, I had found they had taken an enormous amount of drugs. Jet, Psycho, Mentats, Buffout, and other unlabeled dangerous materials to be smoked, snorted, digested or shot up. For some reason, I ended up thinking that with a little bit of information, some of these could be useful, or at the very least, could be peddled to some random junkie looking for a fix for a few loose caps. Well, considering I had been miles away from my home in megaton, I decided that perhaps that in lieu of sleep, I would give jet just a little try. Now people around the wastes have experimented with all sorts of drugs. Some of them for medicinal use, others for slightly more nefarious uses. I started in column A. Jet was fantastic. Energy without feeling jittery, until the end, you could stay awake for days with just a few inhalers. It almost seems like it made me more focused, but I was finding myself quicker to pull out my pistol than to rationally solve my problems. I had inadvertently shot a scavenger, his dog and his Brahmin and about 3 other people. I felt a little bad about that in hindsight. I feel really bad about it now. During this time though, I was setting foot into what was formerly Germantown, which in those days was host to a particularly horrifying breed of beast known as the super mutants. These creatures were a solid foot taller than anyone you’d meet in the wastes, and were 400 pounds of solid muscle. They had the capability of speech, although they usually let their actions speak for themselves. Some of them would carry guns or blunt objects like rolled up stop signs, small trees uprooted, or old parking meters. The first super mutant I had ever seen had held a waste lander by his neck with one hand as proceeded to tear his lower torso clear in half with the other meaty paw. Needless to say, in my drug addled state, this was much more terrifying than it needed to be. I screamed. Three or four super mutants started to charge me, and I had fallen over and felt a shooting pain in my side. The tattered rucksack I had full of drugs ripped and I had fallen on a rather large needle full of psycho. I felt this would be the time to try this particular toxin’s effectiveness and I swear for a few minutes, I was a super mutant. I leapt to my feet, and had jumped on the face of these abominations, tearing and clawing at the leathery skin until he collapsed and I was scratching at bear skull and brains. It was fucking scary, hilarious and exhilarating at the same time. I pulled out a hunting knife and jabbed a second in its side and used all the force I had in my arm to filet this giant up to his shoulder. It had rained entrails over my bent form, as I whipped my shotgun from its holster and shot the third and fourth full of buckshot. In these few short moments, I was covered in blood and flesh, reverted back to my jittery addict self and passed out from the overwhelming need for sleep. I could’ve slept for 5 minutes or 5 days because I was feeling just as shitty as I had when I fell asleep. I was groggy and upset. I needed a fix of jet, I was hungry and paranoid. I spent my entire payload of ammunition and broken the knife dispensing death to the group of super mutants. And thirsty. I had never been so thirsty in my life. I stumbled into the police station to more super mutants. I ran out, a horde of super mutants following suit, grabbing a loose hunting rifle that had been owned by one of the four I slain and hopped down the stairs into the outside of the subway. My mind was clearing up from the haze. If I could just filter the monsters into a single file line, I’d have a much better chance of survival. I checked the clip. 4 bullets left, and none to spare. Everyone had to be a headshot. I steadied my hands, held my breath and took aim as they began to scramble down. I fired. I missed the first one but managed to hit the one behind him in the temple. They rolled down together, and at my feet, the corpse landing on the back of the first. I stomped at his head until there was nothing but blood and brain matter. The other three had gotten halfway down, I took three blind shots, terrified at the onslaught that was inches away. They fell over dead. I laughed victoriously until I noticed that my gun had jammed with the second bullet stuck in the chamber. “Someone else is here” I thought, frozen with terror as the jet addiction reared its ugly head. But who could kill 3 super mutants in such a short time? I peered up, as the sun was burning in my eyes, casting a silhouette of something mechanical. It had a gleaming Gatling gun pointed in my direction. I dropped the rifle, and to my knees, in surrender to fate. This was it. I left home in search of my father, only to be another casualty in a world gone sour. I was an addict, a killer, and a lowlife. The form spoke. “Move along outsider. There’s nothing to see here.” I shot my eyes up at him, the form I saw was a soldier, clad in steel. I climbed over the heap of dead creatures and scrambled up the stairs. He was already on his way to his group, I called out to him in thanks but he ignored me and soldered on. At the point, I had decided that some group had started a campaign against these horrors, and as I turned, I had seen fourteen or fifteen mutants on the ground, some still clawing onto life, but most of them dead. It was all clear. I scavenged some of the weaponry, and it was pretty good, considering. A beat up sledgehammer, a few assault rifles in disrepair, which were salvaged into one decent one with two full clips of ammo left (The bee’s freakin’ knee’s to a scoundrel like my former self), a bouquet of grenades set as a trap which picked carefully, yielded enough to line my belt with and most importantly, an inhaler of jet, dropped by the poor bastard who had been eviscerated by the mutant. It was half full, but enough to get me by until my next encounter with a caravan. I had hoped. I took a hit, and then another. And one more for good measure. I felt wonderful. I felt like myself, the terror subsided, and my head stopped hurting. It make me feel well rested and lifted my spirits and stopped the shakes. I was the overseer, god and a fucking atom bomb rolled into one. I ran to the bathroom in the police station. I drank water til it hurt. I threw it all up and remembered the rad away and rad x in my pocket. I shot some and snorted the other as my pip boy’s Geiger counter clicked away frantically. I felt worse, but then I was back on the high. I scavenged every nook and cranny in the station until I found an untouched bottle of spring water. I held my pip boy over it and pulled out the Geiger counters detector. I ripped the cap off and stuck it in. It hadn’t moved. I found a rarity in the wastes. Clean, drinkable, untouched by man’s clusterfuck. I sucked the whole thing down until the bottle crinkled. I fell over, sated momentarily. I let out a belch the put the roar of mutants to shame, and laughed until it hurt. I felt unstoppable, so I left Germantown, and headed for my next settlement. It was during that time that a new fresh hell awaited.

Chapter VII: Marked for death

I had walked past what had been an old bridge, now collapsed into giant slabs of concrete. Three men in black armor walked next to me. They murmured something and then one pulled a pistol out and asked me my name. Naturally, I had suggested their ask their mothers. Apparently my choice of words weren’t taken kindly, as I felt the butt of the gun hit the back of my head. As I collapsed into a heap, I flicked one of the grenades dangling precariously by their pins on my belt onto the ground and rolled a few times. My pursuers followed me, ignoring the bright green bomb under their feet. I felt the all too familiar feeling of heat and body pieces surround me along with the orange glow of a satisfying “Three birds with one stone” sense of accomplishment. I leaned up and fished around in the largest person’s pocket and pulled out two things. A flask filled with a clear liquor, probably vodka, and a note for my dismissal from this mortal coil. I drank the vodka and tore up the note smugly. I was invincible. I didn’t care for anyone else’s shit. Mess with me and you die. And I left this note as a reminder of this addict’s version of the fact by the mess of body parts. But I would find more of these mercs later in my travels. I headed toward east to a sunny little doomed hole referred to as Minefield. Now this is all that what this former piece of suburbia was. Landmines, and a lone sniper firing at anyone stupid enough to try to get too close. Well, being that I had been out of jet for about a day or two and desperate for an hour or two of sleep, I’d take on this little gauntlet in the hopes that maybe he’d have everything I’d need for this trek I was on. He fired a warning shot and set off a cache of mines to my left in hopes that he’d scare me off. This was not the case, especially with an increasingly mentally unstable individual like myself. My assault rifle barked louder than his sniper’s shot, hit a mine that ignited the dormant nuclear material of the totaled car which flipped into his ruined holdout, sending a generous slab of it and him falling into his own trap. I let out a raucous laugh as the man burst into a bouquet of gore and fire and carefully marched into the remaining complex. It was a goldmine of drugs, caps and weaponry. There was even a bed, which I nearly made love to as I curled up on top and slept for a few days. A setup like that only came once in a while, especially one this apparently notorious, where it was deserted for a few hundred yards. I ate like a king, slept like a king and medicated myself like a madman. I whooped it up until supplies got short and then I continued on my trek, trading with caravans almost like a normal person. In fact, this was the most normal I had felt in weeks, because the old man had hoarded years’ worth of jet and I had taken most of it with me. I was a happy little drug addict, and the monkey on my back was very much sated. I continued, wiping raider camps off the map in acts of sadistic glee, trading up for bigger weapons and armor, feeling like one of those soldiers clad in steel, on my happy mission, to now find and kill my father for this hell he dropped into my lap for whatever reason. I was no longer concerned about logic. I wanted big guns, vindication by my own hand, to screw up whatever bullshit reason he had to open the vault and then to return victoriously to my happy home to tear apart the vault door with as much firepower and explosives as were necessary, then kill all the inhabitants and live out the rest of my days with Anata as a sex slave, doing tons of drugs and living off the fat of the vault. I had a hell of a plan and it almost would’ve worked if I hadn’t picked a fight with a deathclaw.

Chapter VII: Drug addled downfall

Deathclaws are maybe the scariest thing. Ever. Hands down, bar none. Yao guai’s got nothing on them, the bugs, giant scorpions, telekinetic fish monsters, super mutants, and ghouls have NOTHING on these things. They’re bigger than most super mutants, faster than any feral ghoul, claws like razors, and they’re generally hideous and fucking scary. If you ever see one from far away, slink away before it notices you. If you ever see one close, pray you kill it before it gets in arm’s reach. I saw one of this things from afar, and because I had been so boastful about my morality anyway, I decided that the head would make for a good symbol of my power. I shot at it, and in turn it charged at me, and before I had a chance to blink I was down and bleeding from my chest. With some feat of strength I lifted my arm which was now shattered and unloaded a clip’s worth of ammo into its head. It roared into a guttural death rattle and fell over. I of course was bleeding heavily, and found that it was time to rest for a minute. I grabbed at the dirt and teared up. I was sobered up by this experience. The super mutants were one thing, but this was different. I was mortally wounded. I could barely breathe without little drops of blood flying from my mouth. The sun, beating down on me, but I was cold. A shiver ran through my body. No caravans around to patch me up, I was alone, and dying. My drug fueled bravado stuck me on this road, out for my own father’s blood, less than a raider. Why didn’t I see the first time as a wake-up call. These last few moments flooded my mind as I closed my eyes, believing it was for the last time. But as I did I heard footsteps, and clenched my jaw, hoping it wasn’t a raider confusing me for a dead Brahmin.

Chapter IX: Recuperation

I woke up in a damp room in blinding pain. My arm encased in a piece of steel armor that was locked in place so I couldn’t move it, my body bound by leather belts, and a Stimpak IV dripping into my arm. My voice was gone, parched to the bone. The door opened and I reached to my holster with my left arm only to feel biting pain nullify the effort. “You awake?” The person said quietly as he produced a bottle of spring water. I nodded and looked away. “Good. You’ve been out for three weeks. A miracle you’re still alive. Bittercup found you while scamming around the wastes and decided you might be worth saving.” I grasped the bottle of water and took several generous swigs before he explained that this was a small colony called big town. He informed me that I warranted the use of restraints when I was detoxing from the chems I had taken. But that I was completely clean now. I felt a little better, knowing that. He explained how, given my patched clothing, armor and general raggedness; they thought that I was a raider. I told them that thought wasn’t far off. I asked how far I was from the GNR plaza and he said that It would take about a week to get there, but In order to survive, it would take a good two weeks for me to recover to consider any sort of travelling. I accepted that and offered him a good chunk of the caps I had accumulated for the treatment. He offered a different option for payment. “You look like you’re pretty skilled with a weapon. Bittercup said that she had never seen a person lobotomize a deathclaw in condition like yours, especially when it was getting ready to snuff you out.” I appreciated the offer, but kindly asked him to take the caps. I was a different person now. I felt remorse. I had killed innocent people for my own gain, and to fuel my habit. I didn’t want to kill again, not for sport, nor for defense. Apparently, I didn’t have much choice in the matter, because he put a silver revolver in my hand. I’ll never forget the words he said to me at that moment. “Son, This is the capital wasteland. And here, you have two options. You can point that gun at your temple, or you can point it at something ugly and wanting to kill you first.” So I accepted. A couple of days later I was on my own two feet again, but well fed, bathed, clean shaven and rested. I felt like shit still, because I was in a fair amount of pain, but it was manageable. Learning how to shoot left handed would show its own problems, considering I was basically wearing my right arm as some sort of ridiculous decoration. I trained for hours, and at around daybreak the next day I had managed to be a fairly decent shot again. I had met Bittercup, my wasteland savior during this time, and she seemed more interested in make-up and disturbing sexual positions rather than helping me work on my aim. After this, my arm was killing me. Doctor’s orders were that I couldn’t take anything stronger than a Stimpak, rad away, and just a hint of med-X for pain relief. So I took a shot of med-X and I felt a little bit better. Then I heard the scuffle. A pair of super mutants had broken through the gate, and was dragging the guard out into the wild. I picked up my hunting rifle and shot one of them in the shoulder, and the other in the head. The guard ran back into the settlement as I grabbed my new hunting knife. A gift from the good doctor as a reminder that sobriety gave way to a sharper mind. The super mutant roared and ran back into big town, I shoved the knife up to the hilt into his eye, twisted and yanked it out. I kept walking as I slipped the knife in place and soldered on. I was pissed. Behind the hill was several mutants marching towards big town, they let out a battle cry and took to arms as soon as they saw me. I pulled my belt, still with grenades off my armor, clicking the pins off each one, I threw it in the air and left a massive crater in the hill. I grinned that I had taken out a good four or five. Two had been clawing towards me, but I took out my rifle and put slugs in their heads. I searched their corpses and fished out a couple clips and somehow a small fortune in caps. I was pretty satisfied with the results. I severed the heads of the mutants that actually had heads left over, and I lined the fencing around big town with them. A grotesque decoration to be sure, but it ensured that big town had been moderately untouched. I gave everyone my regards, and left for the GNR plaza.

Chapter X: The road to revolution

I decided that I might be a little better off taking the old dilapidated road towards GNR. It was a known fact that only the real crazies of the wastes wandered around the road, and it was true. But in reality, that meant that for the most part, it was barren and empty. There was the occasional super mutant, raider pack, and rogue robot, but other than that, there wasn’t much. My arm started to feel a bit better so I unscrewed the armor, which allowed me slightly to bend my elbow and flex my muscles a bit. It felt tender, but nicer than being stuck in one position. However there was an interesting incident. A pack of those armor clad soldiers had been fighting a group of super mutants and obviously overpowered them. It was interesting to see how easily the super mutants had been overrun. By three of these soldiers no less. Well as an interesting turn of events, a gigantic super mutant loomed over them in the mall, and charged towards them. I’d never seen something so big. It had a fucking car on its back and it was carrying a bus as a weapon. It threw it and the soldiers were on their backs. One of them had carried a rocket launcher that had tumbled at my feet, and in a shining moment of humanity, I knew what to do. I grabbed the launcher, going up to one of the soldiers and told him to cover me. They got behind a busted fountain and opened fire, as I circled around what had to be a plaza of some sort and aimed the launcher at the back of the behemoth. I knew this was going to take one shot, and it was going to be cool. I fired the rocket, and grinned at my imminent victory, right at the time as the rocket petered out, spiraling and hitting part of the already dilapidated buildings. “son of a bitch...” I muttered as I loaded in the last rocket and took aim. By this time the mutant was quite aware of my presence and started to pitch the bus. I fired, and hit the bus which, still in his hand, exploded, recoiling right into his face. He dropped to his back and then the car exploded, sending an absolutely massive fountain of gore on top of the four of us. The smell made me throw up. Twice. The soldiers thanked me profusely and introduced themselves as Paladins of the Brotherhood of Steel. I was a little embarrassed by my raucous sickness, but they said they couldn’t smell the gore through their helmets but understood the need to relieve myself. They gave me some caps and I asked where I was. “You don’t know the Galaxy News Radio station? Man, are you new around here or something?” one of the scrappier Paladins said with a little air of aloofness in his voice. I didn’t care. I was at my destination and I ran in, dropping the empty launcher and shouting for my dad. I was happy for the first time in a long time, but it was short lived. I opened the door and a man was sitting there, pistol pointed at me with a bit of a grimace. “Who the hell!?” he spoke with his other hand covering the microphone. “You a raider or a merc?” I put my hands up and explained the situation as short as I could. he dropped the clip of the pistol and set both aside. “I’m sorry; I didn’t realize you were coming. The name’s Three Dog. And welcome to Galaxy News Radio.

Chapter XI: Galaxy News Radio

Three dog explained about my father’s involvement with the brotherhood of steel, though he left some time ago for rivet city. He also explained that he had reporters roving around the wastes and he had known somewhat about who I was. He thought that I had done some very good things, although there was room for improvement. I explained myself and he was actually sympathetic. He had gone through the same thing at my age, that jet was a hell of a drug to fuel adventures, and while he seemed like he wanted to help, it more or less made the itch grow substantially. We cracked open a couple of beers while he explained his own problems, and I felt up to helping him out, at least after the fourth or fifth beer. I stumbled out into the heat after getting some ammo and two items that piqued my curiosity; a device that enabled invisibility called a stealth boy and an interesting variant of rocket launcher called a fat man. The paladin I bought it off of said that this was one of those weapons that wasn’t for novices. I scoffed and walked out the door, I knew how to handle a weapon, hell I just picked up a rocket launcher for the first time and killed a behemoth. I knew what I was doing, but of course I didn’t know what I was really in for. I stumbled my way through the metro tunnels, and while ghouls are naturally a little scary, and a lot creepy, they’re just funny when you’ve been drinking. I found that drinking alleviated my terror when it came to dealing with the monsters of the wastes. So I did a little bit more, careful not to become addicted like I did with drugs, however. So when I found my way to the outskirts of the Washington monument, you can imagine what I found. An entire horde of super mutants. My terror was returning as I had spent most of the trip sobering up, so I pulled out the stealth boy and read the instructions carefully and switched it on. I raised my hand to my face and couldn’t see it. This was kind of amazing. I decided not to play around too much, considering it only had a 15 minute battery life, and I doubt the mutants would be so inclined to allow the satellite just deliver itself to the monument. I slithered through the ranks of the super mutants, dropping the occasional grenade, which actually made some of the other mutants laugh as they figured some dumbass fumbling with a grenade out of boredom blew himself up. It was a little weird to hear a mutant laugh, but that just made me go quicker. I slipped into the museum of technology, right when my stealth boy petered out. I grabbed my pistol right as the mutant noticed me and put a slug in his head right as he was about to yell. While, this helped, it kind of didn’t because the shot was louder than the mutant could scream. Another 3 popped their heads in the door right as I ran down the vault tec corridor, “crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap” I was thinking as I was dropping mines, grenades and generally anything explosive on my way through the faux vault. However I did manage to close the vault right as the explosion hit my side of the wall. I dropped to my knees out of exhaustion and took a little breather. I wasn’t far now though because posters of the lunar lander were around. So with that I was up again, I reloaded and walked into the room. More mutants. I was really getting sick of this crap. I picked off one, two, then six more. It was something I was getting better at, but this crap was for the birds. After taking out the last mutant, I was beat. I sat down at a bench, exhaustedly picking a bottle of water from my rucksack and taking a sizable gulp. I missed jet. These feelings of fatigue wouldn’t be here if I had just a hit. My hands were shaking. I fished out a syringe of prewar muscle relaxer and injected just enough to make the tremors stop. I got up, wobbly but steadily walked towards the lander and took out my knife. I carefully unscrewed the satellite from its mounting and tugged it loose. Now to get out of here. I carried the dish down to the bottom floor, and removed the ripper given to me to cut through the walls, so I could easily navigate to the monument without being seen by the mutants outside. I revved it up and got to work. Cutting a wall with something only slightly larger than a hunting knife is harder than he made it out to be but after an hour, I was finished. I shoved the wall a little to not cause a ruckus, and slipped the dish through. I did this twice more. I left the floor littered with mines so the mutants had issue with pursuing me. I kicked the back wall in and it hit the ground with a thunderous sound. The mutants went in through the front door and about 10 seconds into running, the last building collapsed in a heap from the mines. I ran straight for the monument as the two brotherhood knights provided covering fire. Heard something whistle in my direction. ”SHIT, A MISSILE!” I screamed as I waved the knights to get in the elevator. It was too late. The missile missed me by inches but blew me right off my feet. Luckily the dish and myself slammed right into the elevator. The two knights weren’t so lucky, however. I was battered and beaten. My forehead got cut by the shrapnel and I was bleeding so it was hard to see. I rode the elevator hoping the mutants were out of explosives. I figured there was an equal chance I was dead as I was going to survive. I remembered that I had the fat man launcher and a couple rockets for it. Now seemed as good a time to test my new toy as any. I wiped my brow and tied my sock over it to stem the flow of blood. I extracted the rail of the fat man and opened the steel box with the short missile in it. My jaw dropped when I realized this was a nuclear device. I loaded my weapon with a rocket and pointed it at the biggest cluster of mutants. I fired and hoped for the best. My god, I’ve never seen a mushroom cloud, and while it was small, it was scary. Nine mutants down with one shot, and a couple of cars on fire. The few mutants that picked up weapons from their falling brothers died when the cars exploded. There were none left after that. I hooked up the satellite and heard three dog talking on the radio on my pip boy, it was a success and I got the hell back to GNR. There I had a decent payoff of 1200 caps, but the big thing was that I had an in with the brotherhood of steel and I had made a good friend in three dog. Believe me, it pays to have a friend in the only personality known by most everyone.

Chapter XII: The seafaring city of Rivet… sorta.

Walking to rivet city was arduous. I felt a lust for fixing up one of those broken down cars just so I might be able to take a rest while travelling. You don’t realize that fighting becomes tedious until you’ve actually killed hundreds of enemies. With a little bit of boredom, I’d pull out my pistol towards the prowling talon company mercs who were still after me and shoot them in the knees or the shoulder. I picked one unfortunate mercenary who I had shot in the crotch. I picked him up by the throat and pulled out my knife. “Y’know , I’ve had quite enough of you fuckers following me.” He sneered at my comment and spat in my face. For a time, I drew the edge of my knife against his skin, leaving superficial cuts. I moved the blade faster and cut up his Kevlar armor to shreds, Then out of anger, I grabbed his fellow mercenary who at this time was begging for mercy and as I held him by his hair, I left one quick slash of my knife against his neck, leaving the body behind. I handed the wounded merc the head and told them to bring their leader this message. He trembled and dropped the head. I walked away, and shot the one hiding behind rubble. But this wouldn’t be the end, not by a long shot. I wandered down the road and saw a massive ship. This was rivet city. I met the commanding officer and he led me down this tub to the science office. And there… There was my father. He looked like hell. He said I looked even worse. We talked a bit about what I had done, and he had a sad tone in his voice. He scolded me for following him, and apologized that the wastes had turned me into something of a monster. I felt hurt by that. After all the good I’d done, and through all the hell, my father just called me a monster. I slammed down my fist and yelled at him. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have to go through this hell. I was ejected from the vault, because of him, that if he could stop fuckin’ around for the sake of the wastes that had nearly swallowed me whole, everything would be okay.. his assistant would be alive, and I would be clean. It sucked, but it was better than the 4 months I had been out. I stormed out of the center, mad as hell, even after I had reamed out my father. I punched a wall and caved it in. I broke my wrist, and shattered part of my forearm, forgetting that my arm was still a bit tender. I cried out in pain, and tears welled in my eyes. I picked up my last inhaler of jet with a single shot inside, and raised it to my lips, trembling. My father opened the door and slapped it out of my hands. “Stop. You’re my son, damn it. And you’re no junkie. I apologize for saying what I did. Let’s get you fixed up.” I walked into the medic’s office and got shot full of painkillers, while he removed my armor sleeve. “Your arm isn’t healing properly. We’ll have to operate.” I was scared but I didn’t have much time to react. As it stands, my father had been putting an anesthetic in my IV, which put me out quickly. I woke up hours later, with a hard plaster cast with a metal casing around that on my arm. It hurt like hell. I got up and when I did the doctor explained the fractured bone had been allowing hardened marrow deposits in my forearm. So they replaced the bone with surgical steel. I had to walk around in a sling, and was a little annoyed that I, Again, had to take it easy. So the weeks passed. My father explained about his project. Purified water that would naturally replenish itself, like the prewar days. I volunteered immediately. I wanted to help my dad, and my arm was getting better, and I was starting to miss the chaos, although I enjoyed the regular meals, showers and company. Luckily for me, I had been enlisted to clear out the Jefferson memorial of all of the super mutant goings on. I grabbed my rucksack and got up, to which my dad promptly sat me down again. Apparently I was stuck recuperating for another three weeks.


Next time on A boy in Hell: The lone wanderer meets his biggest foe yet.