Fallout: A New Age Post-Apocalyptic Fan-Fiction

Preface

"It all began with a statement. Oh, sure, I've heard it, too. 'It was an energy crisis,' yeah, well that's bullshit. War, war never changes, and it always, always starts with a statement. Someone up high on the chain of command got too big in the head, lost base with his people and released a belligerent statement to the opposition. Yeah, well, that's just the past. No one ever gives a shit about the past. Always looking forwards to the future. Well, I'm getting another drink, then I'm going home."

These words, spoken by a certain Ralph McClain were part of the last statement that Mr. McClain gave to other humans in the town of Augusta Falls, Maine. After he had his last drink for the night, he wandered back to his small shack, worth a small fortune in caps because the water and electricity still ran, and the roof was still water proof. As he lay down in his bed, which was stained with dirt and bourbon along with the tarnished memories of a life never fully realized before the Great War, he noticed how bad the radiation taste in his mouth had gotten. He resolved to see Dr. Goodall the very next day. If he had lived, he would have been told that he had very aggressive cancer in nearly his entire bum left arm. It was better this way, at least he died asleep.

As he drifted off to what passed for sleep in this day and age, he thought about life, and the futility of it all.

He entered REM at 1:48 on January 1, 2115.

Happy New Years.

Mr. McClain, age 73, never woke up.