I'm really feeling it!

A boy in Hell.

In the wake of so much buzz around the possibility of a Fallout 4 announcement, I decided, with a mere 30 days to go until we all find out, to sate your need for anything Fallout with my own, handwritten 3 part novella of a particular play through of Fallout 3 done ages ago. Mind you, I took a bit of artistic license with the ending, however, this was a labor of love, and I felt there was no better time to share it than now. And now, without further ado....



I’ve never been much for the spoken word, and I suppose in all my years, not much has changed. This rattle-y old Vault-Tec computer isn’t much help either. However, an old friend had talked me into this; that people needed to hear this, because it was a story for the age that I had lived in. That missteps and victories both had a dramatic effect on what was formerly known as the Capital Wasteland. This is a story, of both good and evil that I had committed. This is not a book of praising. I feel like in the end, things that I have done had good effect on the environment, even though I believe, had the events unfolded differently, the world would’ve progressed this way through some other channel.


Chapter I: Home, underground.

I was brought into this world in the infamous vault 101. I was delivered by my father James, To my mother, who had died after complications shortly thereafter. I can’t remember my mother’s name, because it’s been so long, and the few people goodly enough to keep records, have passed some time ago. Life in the vault was tedious, boring, and hard. I had been schooled there, and if things hadn’t taken the turns that they had, I would’ve worked, lived and died there. It wasn’t all bad though. I had a friend, who was the daughter of the overseer. Her name was Anata. She was lovely. Really, She always had been, since we were kids, I always had a little bit of a crush on her, though it was hard to pursue that line of thought, considering she was the next logical choice for overseer for the vault. (A job that she would have much later, and to my belief, the best damn overseer that anyone could ask for.) I also had enemies; A weasel-y little bastard by the name of Butch. He had a little group of thugs called the tunnel snakes. Eventually, when I was in my teens, he would go a little too far, and things would get heated, especially when he would pick on Anata. Eventually I lost my temper, and hit him with everything I had. It wasn’t much, considering I’d never thrown a punch before in my life, but by all things considered, I had a decent threshold for pain, and had won that particular fight. Anata was especially happy, and during that time, she pecked me on the cheek while applying bandages to the damage that Butch had meted out on my face. But as the old adage goes, You should’ve seen the other guy. Butch had a broken nose, a blackened eye and a cracked lip. I really don’t know where I got the penchant for violence, I don’t know how I managed to stay alive during my adventures in the wastes, and I’m thoroughly surprised that I can still handle myself in a fight, should the rare occasion happen. This was around the time that we teenagers were getting ready to work for the rest of the vault; Which meant standardized aptitude exams. I loathed those things. I still do. The G.O.A.T. was a pain in the ass. But Dad had insisted. So I did as I was told, and took it. I was supposed to be a custodian, by their terms. I’m glad that never happened.

Chapter II: Out of the Vault and into the fire


I remember that day vividly. As if it were some strange dream. There had been an outbreak of Radroaches into the vault, which caused a frenzy. After all I’ve been through; I can’t imagine how adults could be so overwhelmed by insects. Though a suspect that It might not have been a coincidence, considering it was at the same time that my father had opened the vault and escaped. Either way, I had picked up a handgun and went to work, cleaning up the mess as those in the custodial arts are supposed to do. It was a mess. People were dying left and right. It was terrible. Butch, as much of a bastard as he was, didn’t deserve to lose his mother; One of my first accidents that had caused another to suffer. I still feel bad about it, because he was begging me to help him, but my stubborn grudge holding got the better of me. After all was said and done, I had a choice to make; to follow in my father’s footsteps, or to continue on in the now mess of a vault, as a custodian. Naturally, given my choices, I followed him, much to the dismay of Anata, and the Overseer. The official story, in vault 101 was that I was deported into the wastes for suspicion that I had something to do with the day’s proceedings. That story had been stricken from the record a long time ago, however. As I had taken my first few steps out of the vault, as it closed, I felt a deep sense of terror. I had given up on security, as a whole, for a half a clip of bullets, an old gun, a couple of Stimpaks, and my freedom to do what I wish. I stood there, looking at the screen door letting in a bright light. I must’ve been there for hours, because my legs ached as I finally stood up to my fears and opened the door. It was blinding. I never realized how dark it was in the vault, until my first few steps. I took a few steps outward, and promptly fell due to blindness. I was embarrassed, homeless, confused and had a hard time adjusting my eyes after 17 years of being in florescent lighting. I only had one thing cross my mind during this time. That this had sucked already, and I was ready to mop up after my friends for the rest of my life. But seeing as how that option had been knocked off the table, I stumbled off in a straight line until I had reached a massive structure. I never would’ve thought that I would ever consider somewhere so close to a nuclear device home.

Chapter III: Megaton, A home away from home


As I had walked up to the gigantic shining structure, as the gate had opened for me, I had passed a robot who had greeted me in something of a southern accent. Already I was weirded out. There was a man on top of this town, searching out for possible threats. One had already entered without him noticing. As soon as I had entered the main doors of Megaton, I had been greeted by Lucas Simms. A farty old man, who had looked meaner than hell, but was in fact, quite nice,. Right off the bat, he had given me a tour, showing me where to get a shower, a drink, and food. Though I hadn’t been familiar with the barter system, he had offered me a job for something he called “caps”. I still didn’t understand the finer points of economic exchange, but I took the job anyway. It only seemed fair. But I hadn’t really understood the magnitude of the job. “I want you to disarm the bomb.” He said. I looked at the huge nuclear bomb stuck in the pool of dirty water. I had a bit of a knack fixing electronic devices at the vault, and was feeling slightly suicidal anyway, so I figured the worst I could do was kill 30 people, my new sheriff friend, and myself by fiddling with this piece of dangerous ancient technology. I got to work. It’s surprising how much a nuclear device akin to a malfunctioning Mr. Gutsy. I managed to disable the bomb after only a few hours. It was tiring work, especially because I had unwittingly been ignoring the rising click of my pip-boy’s Geiger counter. Simms noticed this and stuck me with a needle. In my protest I had cursed him out, and pulled out my popgun, which was expertly picked out of my hand by the same sniper who had failed to identify the true threat of the person who had attempted to arm the bomb in the first place. Simms explained the medication known as Radaway, let a healthy dose course its way through my veins, and I had felt a lot better. Simms took me to a place called Moriarty’s for a celebratory drink. I had met a variety of friendly people there, and had found that a waiting predilection towards vodka. I felt better already. I even met my first ghoul, who was a bit timid, but very nice. We had chatted for what seemed like hours about the extreme differences in our lives and he seemed a lot happier knowing that there was somebody willing to talk to him for a change; though it wasn’t all good. We had been introduced to a Mr. Burke. You’d think for someone with so much access to caps would’ve been a little more discreet in hating me for undoing his work, but what can I say, Mr. Burke was an asshole. After a brief struggle, he left with little fanfare, and even less of a friendly attitude from the locals. However, the locals opened up and welcomed me with hospitality that reminded me of the vault. It had been less than 7 hours outside, and I had already had a house and a nice jingle in my coveralls due to the amount of caps that Simms had paid me for the job. Celebration was done the entire night, until I felt ill and rushed to my new home, just in time to throw up all over my new robotic manservant. He took it well, considering he didn’t have a combat regulator in his system.

Chapter IV: Following in his footsteps


Considering the short length of time it took me to walk to megaton from the vault, I decided that the best course of action in finding my father would be to, naturally talk to Simms about it. So I did. And he had been around here, but not for much than a drink and some supplies. Apparently, I never actually was born in the vault. This was quite a shock, considering that the overseer was such a hard on about opening the fucking vault in the first place. I had more questions than answers, so he sent me back to Moriarty’s. Moriarty was an asshole. Allow me to clarify. Moriarty is one of those people in the wastes that makes everyone seem a bit better. But he was a good (for himself) businessman. He insisted that he knew things, for a price. The general idea was that I give up all my caps, and the house for this little “important” piece of intel. Considering my windfall, a house and a few hundred pieces of currency was nothing to sneeze at, especially considering that I was homeless a few hours ago. So I respectfully declined in a manner fitting a waste lander. I smacked him in the face with my pistol and spat on his trembling carcass. This freedom, at the very least was liberating. You couldn’t really kill someone in megaton, but something like that was widely ignored. Something like that to Moriarty was cheered, however, despite the reasoning for doing so. He slithered away, but managed to drop his wallet during the little spat. I picked it up and combed through it for any little information, and I found his computer password. I snuck into his office later, around 4 in the morning, and searched through his files. I had found out that he sent a notification to the galaxy news radio office about his imminent arrival. And so I had spent a week preparing myself for the little adventure I had plotted out. This included doing odd jobs, and one big job which put myself in harm’s way for Moira Brown’s book on surviving the wastes. I’ll admit, that was not my finest moment, but admittedly, the book is crap. I wouldn’t buy it for anything other than novelty purposes. At any rate, off I went, with a small arsenal of guns, Stimpaks, and some wonderful provisions cooked by the elders of megaton. What I would find on my way made me feel a little uneasy about following dad around.

Chapter V: Big bugs, Big guns


If I hadn’t made it abundantly clear already, The wasteland is fucking scary. Like shit your pants, curl into a ball and wait for the sweet embrace of death scary. Knowing how to use a gun is one thing, knowing how to use a gun when running away from a swarm of giant Radscorpions is another entirely. It’s funny how karma bites you in the ass. So, after running up a broad cliff, and spraying a generous payload of death upon the creepy crawlers, I waited at least a half an hour for any signs of movement before I descended from the cliff. It was a good thing I moved when I had. A missile glided past the top of my head and exploding into a row of ruined cars. I got knocked into the bottom of the cliff, and fell into a darkness, inadvertently spooning the pair of Radscorpion corpses that I had just slain. I woke up a few hours later, surprisingly In one piece, but with a splitting headache. I peered up to see the raiders taking turns sodomizing a decapitated Brahmin. I know this paints a vivid picture, but they really are that screwed up. Raiders are drugged out of their minds constantly. They don’t sleep, and are essentially feral human beings. Needless to say, I took the time to fish a grenade from my pocket, pull the pin and casually roll it in their direction. There’s something funny to be said about the look of a raider realizing he’s not going to be able to finish his bestiality in peace. Given the fact that there was still a substantial amount of ordnance lying around them, the explosion was quite large. I had gotten my bearings after seeing the rain of flaming body parts, I shambled over to the hovel, looking for a bed to crash in, or at least some kind of medicinal aide. Instead I found drugs and alcohol.

Next time: Chapter VI: A fiend is born. Join us, as The Lone Wanderer falls prey to addiction.

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