I own nothing…..literally, but in this case I own nothing to do with Fallout 3.

Chapter 1

It was a normal evening at Moriarty's tavern. Charon, Butch and myself were sitting at the bar with Jericho who was regaling us with a story about when he was an interrogator for the raiders, this was all before he came to Megaton. Suffice to say his torture techniques involved, a large bag of mixed nuts, a phillips head screwdriver and an icing bag filled with custard.

It was hilarious.

Anyway, in came a bloke with a stupid beard and ridiculously old fashioned jumper. One of those waste-lander efforts that people wore a lot before nuclear war broke out. He was carrying a large round case. He sat down in the corner and didn't order a drink. An eyebrow or two was raised at the bar but nothing was said.

Then a few minutes later came in another pair in the same silly looking jumpers and sort of mucky, brown wasteland trousers. One of them had a satchel of some kind while the other carried something that made Jericho's eyes light up, a fiddle case. Shortly after another man came in and he had a guitar case followed just a minute or two later by another undesirable with a banjo case.

One of them came up to the bar. "5 glasses of water please, barchappy!" he trilled.

It doesn't matter what century you live in, you never order water in a bar. That's just wrong.

So Moriarty served him with a furrowed brow. Gob took the drinks over to their table on a tray and they sat there talking for a while.

I had my back to them but Jericho could see them from his seat. About 10 minutes later he said "Oh my God, 101. That little prick's after taking out a pair of spoons. And that other fucker has taken a tin whistle out of his satchel."

I looked around. It was true. And the guitar and the fiddle were out of their cases and the banjo was on its way too. There wasn't a moment to be lost.

"Quick!" I shouted. "Get them before it's too late."

So we got up from our seats and rushed over. Butch leapt on the man with the guitar and headbutted him in the face as they fell to the ground. The man's nose burst open in a splatter of blood.

Jericho went straight for the lad with the spoons who was looking around desperately for a way out. A dark stain appeared on the front of his pants just miliseconds before Jericho's fist landed straight on his nose. To make sure there'd be no spoon tapping Jericho snapped all the fingers on his left hand one by one.

Charon took the fiddler to the roof and threw him off whilst Gob raised his armpit to the banjo man who promptly passed out at which point Charon had come back down. He then broke the banjo over his head a few times.

I was left with the tin whistler, who seeing the damage done to his chums, took drastic action. He put the whistle to his mouth.

"You wouldn't dare", I said.

"Try me", he answered. "Come any closer and I'll start some kind of a reel or jig. I swear to you."

"Just put the whistle down and we'll let you go. Come on, put it down. Don't be stupid. There's nobody left to protect you and there's 5 of us."

He backed away, nervously. I moved towards him.

"I TOLD YOU NOT TO COME ANY CLOSER!" he shouted, whistle still in his mouth.

"Ok, Ok. I'll stay here. I won't come any closer", I reassured him.

"I will though" said Moriarty coming from behind the bar just before he smashed a bottle of Vat 69 – cheap as fuck whiskey for the tourists – over his head.

"Whistle that, you fuck", he said.

The one thing we can't stand in this bar is music. Well, at least the music that Three-Dog plays, and nobody likes that. Cause its shite.

After we'd desposited them groaning, moaning and in one case sobbing like a baby on the street outside we sat down and Moriarty poured a round of pints.

"We didn't order a round, Moriarty?" I said, perplexed.

"No bother lads, this one's on me".

I almost cried.