Player Name was certain he was in the wrong place. The studio was swarming with power-armoured grunts and the entire perimeter of the building was lined with defensive fortifications. It was not quite how he had pictured Galaxy News Radio.
Getting was equally burdensome. The Brotherhood were clearly unhappy about having a vault-suited vagabond in their midst, and any attempt at communication was usually met with a surly mumble or an order to "move along."
Nevertheless, he persisted, and was rewarded when a captain actually bothered to point him in the right direction. Evading the inhuman glares of the helmeted warriors, he finally found his way to a door marked Studio One. He knocked.
"Enter, if you dare," said a male voice. Player Name rolled his eyes and opened the door.
"Well, well," said an African-American man seated in a sprawling office. "I can't say I haven't been expecting you. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Three Dog, master of ceremonies and the voice of reason in this god-forsaken hell-hole.
"And I know who you are. You're the kid from Vault 101 who's looking for his daddy, am I right? Don't answer, for Three Dog knows all."
"You bastard," said Player Name. "I've got a bone to pick with you!"
"How so?"
"I was listening to you on my Pip-Boy on the way over here, and I heard all those things you were saying about me."
"Like what?"
"For a start, you said I was a hitman who goes around killing prominent members of wasteland society for booze."
"Well, it was a pretty mean thing to do, you gotta admit."
"But it's a lie! Oh, and you also said I killed a bunch of ghouls because they were annoying the residents of a nearby hotel. I don't even know what a ghoul is for god's sake! Hmm, what else? Oh yes, you said I sold a bunch of orphans into slavery and shaved their puppies! You even said I sold drugs to kittens! You called me the Reaver of the Wastes!"
"Yeah, you've done a lot of bad things."
"No I haven't. It's all lies."
"Three Dog knows all."
"No you don't you slanderous bastard. And stop referring to yourself in the third person, it's really annoying."
"Okay, so if you didn't do it, who did?"
"I don't know. Who told you it was me anyway?"
"My sources are confidential."
"Tell me, or I swear I'll kill you."
"How will you find your dad then?"
"I hate you."
Three Dog rose to his feet and clapped his hands. "Now let's stop all the hating," he said. "All this bad karma isn't getting us anywhere. Come on dude, where's the love at?"
"Look," said Player Name. "I just want to see my father, who is Liam Neeson. Is he here?"
"No, your dad, who is Liam Neeson, ain't here any more. But he was here, and I know where he went."
"Damn. Where did he go?"
"Now hold on there partner. I could tell you, but you're going to have to do something for me in return."
"What, just for you to tell me where my father went?"
"Yes."
"Oh come on. I went through this exact same bullshit with a guy named Moriarty. I have to say, he's probably the guy I hate most in the world, although recently someone's been running him close."
"Well the offer stands. Do you want to help me or not?"
"Fine. What do you need me to do?"
"That's the spirit. I knew you were the kind of guy who could get things done as soon as I laid eyes on you."
"Don't patronise me."
"Anyway, as you know, I run Galaxy News Radio. That's my way of contributing to the good fight."
"The what?"
"You know. The good fight. See the wasteland is a god-forsaken hellhole, filled with all kinds of horrors who just wanna cause as much misery as possible. You got the super mutants who'll pull your arms and legs off for fun, the raiders who'll shoot you in the balls just because you're there, and the Talon Company Mercs who'll kill anyone for the right price. It's fair to say this isn't a happy place to be if you're a regular guy who just wants to live in peace.
"That's where fighting the good fight comes in. You got the Brotherhood of Steel, who are out there trying to stop the muties from overrunning the whole wasteland, and others too; those who have the guts to pick up a weapon and fight back against the bad guys. Now yours truly ain't much of a fighter, so I do the next best thing. I use my voice to let the people know what's going down via Galaxy News. That's my contribution to the good fight, and it's time for you to make yours."
"So what do you need me to do?"
"Well, as the tallest building left standing in DC, I've been using the Washington monument to spread my message to the masses. Unfortunately, a super mutant decided it would be great fun to shoot at the big shiny thing at the top of the building. So now anyone outside the DC zone can't hear my message, all they get is static.
"I need you to go to the Museum of Technology and get me a replacement dish for the transmitter. You'll find one on the lunar lander displayed there. Get it, repair the transmitter and I'll tell you where your dad went."
"Isn't that area horrendously dangerous?" asked Player Name.
"I won't lie to you. Chances are, you won't make it back here. But you're going to have to do it if you want me to tell you where your dad is."
"I just want you to know that Moriarty is no longer my least-favourite person," said Player Name, trying hard to keep his rage under control. "Can't I just clean your windows or something?"
"No. You must get to the museum, probably encountering heavy fire as you do so, break in, fight your way through hordes of super mutants, get the dish, go to the Washington monument, repair the transmitter and only then will I tell you where your dad went. Besides, I already have someone to clean my windows."
"Are you serious?"
"What's your answer, yes or no?"
"All right, I'll do it, but I can't say I'm happy about this," said Player Name, and trudged off dejectedly to the Museum of Technology.
Hee, hee, I know how to pick 'em," said Three Dog.
Just then, the window cleaner poked his head in through the door.
"Three Dog," he said. "I've run out of Windolene. You got any more?"
"I do, but if you want it, you're going to have to contribute to the good fight."
"God Three Dog, you're such a dick sometimes."