October 31st, 2102
The Wasteland isn't always a lucky place, but it doesn't take a genius to figure that out does it? It was only 25 years after the day everything changed. The Commies and the US wiping out most of the world in no more than a few hours. Yet, thankfully not everyone died on that faithful day, especially some in West Vrigina, or more commonly called now; Appalachia. No longer apart of a Commonwealth, or a Federal Government, but a Wasteland. The only reason I, myself survived? I say, well, Luck. I'm lucky as hell. My Magic 8-Ball doesn't seem to agree though, unfortunately.
Despite that dumb thing, I wouldn't let myself lose sight of what I was now. My new memories and will to live are what anchors me to this true reality. As fortune would have it, I was inducted into a "Brotherhood of Steel" as just a puny time ago, these Power Armored Soldiers marched into my former camp many years after the bombs fell. Being left in refuge and isolated after abandoning my post at Camp McClintock all that time ago. But in all honesty-? I lost every sense I could've had of time, besides the time of day of course. I, and my few remaining allies were offered a choice. Either remain in the deprived, abandoned situation we were in, or become apart of something bigger.
But back then-? My face was clean, no mask. Hopeful ocean eyes. Neat jet black hair fitted underneath a rank and file Army helmet. Just like my Unit. We were ready for whatever this world held for us, and we were tired of being in this wasteland. Years, and years of routine and doing whatever we could to survive. I was around my early 40's by this point, or so I can guess. You'd never guess how unhinged I became in the end of all this.
Despite our nomadic survival, we were offered to join the Brotherhood of Steel. Of course, I, and my survivalist Squadmates obliged and became inducted at some Power Station far off from where I would ever imagine to travel. It was a hell of a walk, and having to pass some Medical and Fitness tests once there just to claim our ranks within this so called Chapter. It was a strange new Army we were in, but I wasn't one for that heavy tin can of armor everyone seemed to wear. Unlike my friends who suited up the first chance they got. I became what was referred to as, a "Scribe." Getting past the required certifications was already a difficult chore enough, but getting assigned as a Field Scribe specifically to my former Unit's Squad-? Much harder.
But at last, I had managed to sober up both Intelligence and Charisma enough to claim my status as a Scribe in the Field. You'd be amazed what you can get away with popping a few Mentats and hard Whiskey for confidence. Now working along side two Knights, and a Paladin, who still stand beside me today as my friends. This whole Brotherhood thing-? It didn't last very long after any of that. The Scorched plague, the Free States, and last of all, the actual Scorchbeasts. Those damned things ruined EVERY LAST BIT OF WHAT WE HELD AT HEART. I vowed to protect these Wastelanders from Technology they didn't understand, just to prevent the world from ending a second time.
But now-? There was no Brotherhood. No more Hope for this world. This is when that familar, dark look creeped over my capped and hooded face. Maintaining what was my Uniform was almost a ritual for me, up until now. While my true name is no longer important, I usually refer to myself as "Doc" now. On account of my choice in facial wear; my nonnegotiable decision to keep a stained, dirt-covered Surgical mask on my face. It somewhat maintains a feeling of being hidden. The face beneath isn't what mattered to me anymore, and especially not to the people I hang around. Glancing in a mirror nowadays only made me feel even more secluded from who I once was before the war, and when joining the Brotherhood. With my bloodshot azure orbs staring back at me through the glistening shards of glass. The common white mask, and my darkened, black rimmed eyes. My own eyes frightened me at times, rings looking like I haven't slept in days, and appearing as black as the ash and coal I would see lying around. Radiation dust coating my upper face and forehead, just adding to my unclean nature.
I even took to Raiding and pillaging corpses we come across now, probably due to my lack of morality anymore. After the Chapter collapsed, I've taken a bunch of new tendancies I never thought I'd pick up. For instnace, I look damn good in a Ratty Skirt. To say otherwise, is a crime to fashion. Oh, but I'm trailing off. To anyone who finds these Holotapes? You probably think I'll say something cliche in the end like, "Don't give up hope!" or, "Stay away from Jangles the Moon-Monkey!" But, no. All I have to say is.. you're fucked.
This is Field Scribe "Doc" signing off for the final time. Try out some Psycho now, it'll make you feel how I feel 24/7.