I'm a difficult man to please. Is that so wrong?
It's not like I can help it. I have everything. Kind of. distinction, safety, and all the caps I could I need... And misery. Like I said, I have everything. Kind of. Not really. What does everything count for when you don't want any of it? What gift could you possibly give the man who has everything, but no one or nothing to exist for? A bottle of whiskey and the audacity to pull the trigger? That's a start.
Megaton is kind of my home. Do I even have a home anymore? I've been asking myself that for a while. "Oh Miles, things are so much better here in the vault! You'll be safe!" Except for the fact that the second you stepped foot outside, everyone tried to kill me. They tried to kill me! You didn't think about that one, huh, Mister Genius? Thanks, Dad!
It's not nearly as dark as the vault, and the vault smells likes burnt toast. Always. Megaton has its smells, that's for sure. But not nearly as consistent. Megaton smells like the wind, dust, and... freedom. The vault? It just smells like prison. And that damn elevator music... Someone convince me it wasn't Hell. I mean, really! It's underground and stuffy! If I can survive the vault, there's no way anything else out here can kill me.
But there's this thing about this... Wasteland. It's the "ceiling". There IS no ceiling. It just goes up for miles and miles... Not to mention there's a blinding glow. I think it's the Sun. Mr. Brotch lectured about it once. He said it was pretty important to the people topside. I've asked the locals about it, but everyone just laughs when I ask. I have yet to get a straight answer. Assholes.
Craterside Supplies, 7:50 A.M.? You bet your top dollar I'm there every morning. What for? Sometimes I come just out of sheer habit. But most of the time Moira has something first-rate set aside for me. If I had one colleague in this world, I think I'd want it to be her. She repairs my broken shit, sells me all the ammo I need, and I pay her. And I pay her good. It's a working relationship, I think.
Right now it's 7:48, and all I can think about is getting in there and seeing if Moira found some more teddy bears. I always buy as many as I can. Who knows why. I lean against the rusted railings of the catwalk outside. Damn, I hope they have SOME sort of vaccination or whatever it is they give for tetanus.
I swing open the door, and a thud comes from the ceiling. Someone upstairs shouts unintelligible words of pain. Some wasteland dust on the counter shifts. Smoke wafted through the shop. The cluttered bar rattles, as someone scatters down the rusty, rickety stairs. "I'll.. Be down in a few! Oh, ow, ow..." A man leans against the thin metal walls. Sun shines through a crack in the ceiling, and hits him directly in the face. He blinks back the sun and coughs. Who's this guy?
He's tall, and pretty scruffy. His hair is shaggy, auburn, and it has a gold glimmer. A bandana dangles around his neck, and a crowbar that shines hangs on his back. I wouldn't want to fuck with this guy. "She prolly fell outta bed again.." He coughs again. "I think this smoke is safe. I think, anyways." His voice is thick with a southern drawl. Where did that come from? "You think? you don't know? Who are you anyway?"