Sorry for being so late everyone, I've been so busy for the last few months! Least I'm in time for Christmas…
It occurs to me I haven't done a disclaimer on this fic. While I really doubt Bethesda would bother to go through with the effort of sueing me for writing a fanfic about Fallout, it never hurts to be careful.
Don't worry, this is the only time I'm bothering to do this. No need to avert your pretty little eyes away from the disclaimer every chapter.
*clears throat*
I don't own the Fallout franchise. Nothing. Zilch. I do however own future original ideas, any OC's that might be introduced in the future, as well as the homicidal super-powered version of myself that is running around the Mojave. Don't own the two mods either. All credit goes to the incredibly talented people who made them.
To the creators, I doubt you'll ever see this message but thank you for making FNV gameplay a better experience. In case you readers have forgotten, the (only) two mods used in this fic are Project Nevada and A World of Pain. Give them a try!
frankieu: fixing a vehicle? Hmm… I do know how to drive a car… perhaps.
Big Forehead: Me Me Big Disappointment.
Akashic Records: I have something special planned for the mutant lodge, don't you worry. Probably won't see it till the very end though.
kumbrakarna: I'm like a month late but… close enough?
Rated M for a reason. Bit more of a serious chapter this time round. This is probably the most important chapter related to the plot of this fanfic so far.
10000+ words.
Chapter 8 – Something ugly in the psyche, demanding to make itself heard
The Beast of Burden is my name, killing the unrighteous keeps me sane.
-First verse of "Antipathy", a mantra associated with the mass murderer known as "Ricksaw".
A controversial figure in recent history, Ricksaw is most in-famously known for killing what is estimated to be in the tens of thousands of raiders, slavers, cannibals, and assorted criminals across the remnants of what was once the United States of America.
When appearances first started in 2281, Ricksaw was largely believed by many to be a horror story, a myth intended to dissuade those with unsavory intentions from preying on the less fortunate. But the myth was proven true at the Battle of Hoover Damn when Ricksaw appeared in front of NCR and Legion forces. In one of the few recorded mass sightings of the mythic boogeyman, Ricksaw responded to the request for help by one of Mojave's heroes of the wastes, The Courier, in aiding her against the invading Legion forces at Hoover Dam.
Ricksaw proved his existence to the masses by slaughtering Legionaries by the dozens. With Ricksaw's help, alongside others, The NCR and Vegas were successful in driving the Legion out of the Mojave Wasteland.
Mojave Wasteland has been noted as unusual in the fact it birthed several greatly influential figures as opposed to the usual one for most areas, such as the Lone Wanderer from the Capital Wasteland, or the Sole Survivor from the Commonwealth. Many of the men and women accompanying the Courier attained legendary status among their peers, and have earned their place in history.
-Excerpt from "Men and Women of the Wastes." a book containing facts about influential figures of the wasteland from all across the continent of North America. Written by Miranda Harrison, published year 2307.
I stared up at the sun, my mechanical eyes dull in their gaze. The sun couldn't harm my eyes, nor leave blemishes. There were black shapes high above, likely birds, circling the sky above me.
Is… is it over?
From my sprawled position on the ground I sit up slowly. My body spasms in response, hands trembling and fingers twitching.
That… that had been… something, for a lack of a better term. I don't think I have ever… felt that much pain before. My bones shattered, all of them. My skull, my limbs, my… everything.
It was excruciating. I felt like I was on the verge of dying, yet couldn't slip away into blessed unconsciousness.
I grab the sand, attempting to stop the twitching in my right hand. The effort is for naught, as my hand just begins to spasm even more.
This body… It must have some kind of version of the gamer's body thing I've read about in all those gamer crossovers. Something that allows me to feel pain yet prevents death until my "health points" run out. It's the only explanation I have for not dying from lacking a skeleton for a few seconds. The sensory overload should have outright killed me from the pain, but I stayed lucid for the entire thing. Which I wish I rather didn't, as it sucked… massive balls to feel.
I felt my entire skeleton break and then regrow in a matter of seconds. I don't think I'll ever be doing that again, if I could ever have a chance to repeat it.
Bracing myself I attempt to stand. Putting pressure on my legs- Breaking, everything broke-
I find myself face down in the dirt.
Oh… when did that happen?
Need to get up. Need to keep moving.
Can't. Limbs won't respond.
So… this is what… trauma… feels like?
Can't say… that… I'm a fan. It hurts to think. Thoughts are… coming in sporadic, clumped- no parceled, chunks as opposed to a flowing thought process.
The warm sand is comforting. I can just lay against it not thinking and everything will be alright, yes everything everything everything broke everything did it hurts it hurts it hurts oh the beach feels nice today eve rhythm ng every ding Ed dy whe area's Eddy everythi-
My vision fades, and I dream of fractured blood red bones filled with marrow that leaks out through the cracks. The cracks splinter, and-
…
…
…
…*
…**
A man stands in a giant entrance hall. He's all alone, not another soul in sight.
This is acceptable for the man. Right now, he doesn't want to be bothered by anyone, much less his blood siblings. Taking a few steps forward, he ponders his next move.
Feeling cold metal press against his neck, the man grasps hold of the coldness and brings it into view. It's a necklace. One he knows all too well. A bloodied ring of metal, with several arrows shooting out from the center.
This recent… development… has shook him more than he'd like to admit. He's not against bloodshed but… the systematic butchering of children? Even for them this was a new low.
Though the man is emotionally incapable of feeling remorse or pity, he's always been the most pragmatic out of his colleagues. Sacrificing children for such a… alteration… seems like a very poor decision. They wouldn't survive the fallout among the slaves to come if the scheme was to be uncovered, contrary to what his establishment believes, and they would be subjecting innocent beings to the horrors of such a fate.
There are too many slaves and not enough of them, if the slaves were pushed to the breaking point and decided to endlessly throw themselves at the movement, it would end two ways. Either the establishment would die first, or a total extermination of all a count more than 500,000 slaves strong would be necessary to prevent further insurrection. That's also not accounting for The Sewer Dwellers, The Tribals, or The Old Security in the event the slaves manage to get them to side with them.
Unlikely to ever occur, but stranger things have happened.
Use the sewer dwellers he says, but no, they laugh at him and scorn him saying it has to be children for the "purity".
Idiots. When their plan eventually backfires he won't bother saying "I told you so."
Committing crimes against nature never ends well. Something they've been long overdue for.
But for now… he needs to leave. If he stays, they will expect him to undergo the change just like the rest of them. They will likely dispose of him if he refuses to comply. Defiance is, never has been tolerated under their… establishment.
He stares at the necklace once more. What he is about to commit will be seen as heresy for certain. Well, he'd never really felt like he believed in the "god" signified by this thing anyway. It was more of a way to further feign compliance.
He grips the necklace tightly and pulls. It snaps off easily, and the man throws it across the room. It slides across the metal floor of the bunker, hitting the wall with a dull clank.
This isn't a life he wants to live.
The man won't have anything more to do with those people. He's not going to take the fall with them.
It's time to disappear. Somewhere they wouldn't think of looking for him. He's been planning escape ever since they picked him off the streets and infected him to become part of their "chosen". A plan more than 20 years in the making, finally bearing fruit.
It was a pain to rid himself of that blight, so he could escape in the first place.
He had to make a suppressant strong enough to bury it, yet mild enough to ensure he would not perish for good in the process. It wasn't perfect, but it would last long enough for him to distance himself far far away from this place before it wore off.
How long it would last, the man didn't know. If he was lucky, he had silenced it for good. As long as he held no hatred in his heart, the blight would never have the criteria needed to reawaken from it's slumber.
Finding deserving test subjects was a pain, since the procedure had a high fatality rate. He never experimented on the slaves.
Unlike the rest of his "relatives", he never forgot his origin. Something that had served him well to disillusion himself from being just another loyal servant of that self-righteous wench.
That woman had underestimated the sheer power of spite, and how hate could serve as the best defense against brainwashing.
It was just a pity that that trait was now working against him, and he would basically have to lobotomize himself and butcher whatever was left of his emotions in order to make sure the sedative worked.
Ironic. She probably knew his true feelings towards her, seeing as she made him the...
Well. That wasn't important anymore. What was important was that once he was out of that snowy hellhole, he needed to find someplace to take up residence in.
A city would be too obvious. The wilderness would be too suicidal.
Perhaps… a small town, out in the middle of nowhere.
My eyes snap open. Gasping for breath, I remove myself from where I must have fallen earlier. My head is pounding from a headache that must have come from hell. I was lying face down in the sand, with drool leaking out of my mouth. Sand is in my beard.
Ah, I… collapsed. Why did I collapse? I was doing something yes, but what…
I gaze upon my surroundings, spotting a few raider corpses.
Oh yes indeed, I leveled up… Adamantium skeleton. Everything broke, yes everySTOP STOP STOP!
*Take a deep breath. Rationalize the situation. Breathe out.*
Calmly, I breathe out.
Leveled up to level 14. Picked Adamantium skeleton as perk. Former skeleton broke, presumably replaced itself with the Adamantium material, whatever that is. Likely stronger than normal human bones. Collapsed due to exhaustion and stress. Not thinking straight, possible brain damage. Most likely have trauma due to recent distress. Don't move, don't react.
…
Nothing's happened. Possibly safe from triggering another episode.
Slowly, I reach out and grab a handful of sand. Opening my hand, I watch as sand particles fly out of it due to a gust of wind. That's good. No distress yet.
Hesitantly, I get up and stand on my feet. I sway slightly, and stamp my right foot into the sand to ground myself. Still feel a bit disoriented.
I flex my hand, feeling sand on my fingers. Damn stuff must have gotten into the armor when I was taking a nap.
Where's Eddy?
Several ash piles, small in size, surrounded me. I think Eddy has been shooting any birds who tried to peck me while I was… incapacitated. Damn vultures. Or ravens, probably ravens.
FZAPP
Oh, there he is. Eddy's currently running away from a bunch of golden geckoes, taking the occasional potshot at the horde. Must have gotten too close for comfort. I pull the fire axe from my back and prepare to help Eddy.
Assuming my stance, I prepare to charge when my hands twitch uncontrollably and the axe slips out of my fingers, making a muffled thump in the sand.
I stare blankly at the weapon. Bending on my knees I try to pick it up, only for my hands to spasm once more and have it fall out of my grasp.
…
Oh, you have got to be kidding me.
Thinking of a solution…
!
Kneeling down, I place the palm of my currently-useless right hand underneath the grip of the fire axe. Reaching with my left hand into a pocket on my person I pull out a roll of bandages. Using my arm and palm to prop up the axe, I concentrate and force my fingers to grip the fire axe with difficulty. It's far too slow for my liking. I definitely have some form of nerve damage in my hands.
Greeeeaaaatttt. Wouldn't be a proper protagonist without some form of handicap. Thank you so much writer, I bet you think you're being really clever right now.
Fuck you.
Putting the loose end of the bandages in my mouth and biting down, I begin to tie my hand to the axe. After a minute I finish it with a simple, but tight knot. The rest of the bandages I cut off using the blade of the fire axe, which is still plenty sharp despite not sharpening it recently.
Then, I assisted Eddy. Thankfully, my impromptu hold on the fire axe didn't lessen its lethality any. An axe to the head is still an axe to the head, no matter how clumsily it was delivered.
After felling the last of the geckoes, my body had a fit once more and I collapsed. Thankfully, I recovered quickly and was able to hoist myself back up without much trouble.
Eddy beeped worriedly at me. For him, seeing me scream in pain and collapse out of nowhere must have been quite a shock. Double with the fact that I wasn't doing too hot right now.
"I'll be alright Eddy. It'll get better with time."
Hopefully.
Eddy gave off the impression of not being convinced, but didn't push the issue. He for a lack of a better word gave a heavy impression of pouting as he swiveled away from me. Heh, for the "vanilla" version, the eyebot is just as emotive as his Divide counterpart, if not more.
"Come on, we've got a lot of ground to cover. Want to be in Novac by at least midnight."
Eddy beeped affirmative, and we continued our journey to Novac.
As the day progressed on, the spasms seemed to go away, only to return with a vengeance every few hours. The waiting time between each episode increased little by little every time it happened. With luck, it'll eventually go away completely. I can only hope.
I suppose this is what I get for taking the whole gamer thing for granted. I didn't even consider the fact that the perk would hurt or debilitate me in the first place. Now I'm stuck with nerve damage for my carelessness, and who knows if I'll ever fully recover. Can't blame myself too much. Never in all my years of reading fanfiction or any other gamer related thing have I come across a new skill actually hurting the recipient.
Which means this is something uniquely tailored for me. Just my luck. There's nothing I can do about it however. Walking back to Goodsprings for Doc Mitch to have a look would take too long, seeing as I've just reached that abandoned ranch near the old pre-war highway bridge. It was nearing dusk by the time I stepped onto the property, with the sun just beginning to dip beyond the horizon.
Still abandoned just like it was in-game. Harvested some plants and fruit growing there unabated, and then retrieved the unique meat cleaver, Chopper, from the nearby shack. If I didn't know any better I'd think it was just another meat cleaver, albeit with a curved blade that's slightly rusty brown in coloration.
I decide to take a break. Telling Eddy not to wander far, I sat down on a beat up mattress that was lucky enough to be on a bed frame. With a bit of difficulty, I untied the bandages securing the axe to my hand. I kept it on the entire time on the walk to this place, mostly because I remember there being more raiders in the hills and didn't want to be caught with my pants down should any of them had decided to say hello.
I try moving my hand experimentally. The fingers and hand respond, which is good. Slight delay, but nothing major. There is still however, a twitch that refuses to go away.
"Fuck."
I punch the wall of the shack halfheartedly, not putting any force behind the blow. Allowing myself to sprawl on the mattress, I wince as I feel a bedspring scrape the back of my armor. After checking to make sure it won't skewer me, I ponder my next move.
There's a chance the nerve damage could heal over time, but given that it was a result of my skeleton breaking I highly doubt it. I'm not much of an expert on the subject, but I believe I would have to apply electro-therapy for my best bet at recovering. Have no clue if it would actually work, I'm just guessing this on the logic that because nerves carry electrical signals and they would need a bit of juice to aid in recalibrating. Need to find a real doctor and ask them.
I obviously can't do that right now, which means I might have to rely on something else I'd really rather not.
Drugs.
What's there to state the obvious disadvantages of using drugs as a short term solution? Let's see- addiction, dependency, and the altering of my body's biochemistry to just name a few. Because it just wasn't good enough that our protagonist is suffering a mental disorder, but also needs be an addict as well.
No. No drugs unless we have to. I'm not falling into that pitfall no matter how helpful they will be. I will get addicted and suffer from drug abuse later on if I use such methods. There's no such thing as being able to moderate it, it will happen no matter how hard I try to not get addicted.
In fact, let's not even think about which drug will help me. I know this sounds dumb and this decision probably has a good chance of getting me killed later, but if I don't know which one will help me I can't abuse it in the first place. I don't trust myself enough not to. Moderation's never been a strong suit of mine, as I'm practically addicted to caffeine and can't go without a soda every few days.
Well, couldn't. Switching bodies has gotten rid of that particular addiction. It's almost worth it being a total antisocial ass in exchange for having a fit body.
I need to fix my charisma, I really do.
It was a full moon tonight. The air was cold and crisp, a slight breeze was blowing, and I was absolutely freezing my nuts off.
Kindly ignore that last part.
The moonlight lit up the surrounding desert landscape and looked positively beautiful, marred by one slight thing.
A camp full of raiders.
Now, I know what you're all thinking: I really shouldn't be doing this given I've suffered a traumatic incident today, but my only other option is heading to Novac to rest, and I don't feel like doing that. I slept for roughly six hours at Wolfhorn, with Eddy standing guard. Currently, I feel as fit as a fiddle.
As proof of this statement, earlier I took down a bunch of Nightstalker's. Granted, I had the advantage of knowing they were there when they attacked the legionaries, who attacked a nearby caravan, whose members all died horribly.
Just a typical night in the Mojave Wasteland.
Oh yes. The last hour was hectic, to say the least. The game sadly wasn't exaggerating, can't walk five minutes without getting attacked by something. No wonder nearly every Fallout protagonist in fanfiction is a crazed paranoid shoot first ask questions later kind of person. They also more commonly than not suffer from some kind of PTSD.
You can't really blame them when they're so used being attacked nonstop. Poor bastards. Poor me.
Do you feel sorry for me? Probably not.
How heartless of you. You should feel ashamed of yourself.
Currently, I'm sitting up on a ridge that overlooks the subway tunnel entrance the camp is built around. I'm near that deathclaw cave that was in the original game. Made sure to check thoroughly with thermal vision before setting up for the night. Since Eddy has a tendency to act on his own, I've sent him to linger near the house and come warn me if a deathclaw so much as pokes its ugly mug out of that cave. Littered the path on the way up to my position with disguised mines hidden behind rocks and stuff.
Since I'm still not confident in my body not fucking up at a critical moment, I've decided to do something different this time instead of my usual battle plan of charging in headfirst.
Working on my aim and being a call of doodie camper. And I don't even play that shit game. I bought a few mods for the laser rifle, which were the scope and that piece of machinery that you snap on the front, making it do extra damage. Not the twin beams thing.
The scope for the laser rifle is the weirdest kind of scope I've ever seen. Instead of it being the normal circular scope you see on sniper rifles it's instead this strange roundish rectangle. I mean, I've seen it before in the game and thought nothing of it, but it's just weird in real life.
Maybe it's because the creators were trying to go for the whole futuristic look. Looks cool, but seems unrealistic.
...Ah right, I'm in a video game turned real life. You know what, I'll let it slide just this once.
In any case, let's get right to sniping. I don't expect to be hidden for too long, as the beam from the rifle and the light cast by the moon will give my position away when the raiders start actively looking for me. By the time they do find me I'll have hopefully whittled their numbers down a fair amount. Count in Eddy and the mines and there's a possibility I won't have to lift my axe once.
Squinting twice, my vision transitions into a world of blue and far off reds. Might as well use the other features of the bionic eyes more often, after all that huffle of me risking the chance of losing an eye for good. That was pretty stupid of me in hindsight, but they were so worth it.
Hmm… how about that chap right there?
Clint was a raider. Not the most respectable of professions, but hey, a man's gotta eat. He'd done it all. Killing, thieving, extortion, you get the idea.
Reaching into his coat pocket, Clint pulled out a cigarette and a match box.
He'd had a good run so far as a raider. Had three meals a day for the most part, along with relative safety in numbers.
Though…
Lately, Clint had been reconsidering his life choices. Perhaps his conscious was nagging at him. He had done some pretty questionable shit over the years, and this lucky streak wouldn't last. Never did with his kind. Sooner or later, some scmuck with a decent weapon who happened to be tougher than his entire group would show up and wreck shit something fierce.
Clint didn't really want to go out like that, would make his crap life seem meaningless. If he was gonna die, than he was gonna go down doing something that was worth dying for. Not sittin outside some subway tunnel out in the middle of goddam nowhere.
He didn't even like his "comrades", which mainly consisted of nasty sons of bitches, shitheads, rapists, and cannibals. There were few people in that group who were like him. People who just wanted to survive.
Clint shivered. He wasn't a good man, far from it, but even he had his standards. Food wasn't exactly plentiful in the wasteland, but consuming your fellow species…
Clint was one of the few who refused to go inside that subway tunnel. He could, but he preferred the harshness of the desert rather than be sharing his sleeping space with cannibals.
Far as he knew, all the captives from the last caravan they raided had been eaten by the subway dwellers, though he had heard rumors from Niles, one of the few brave souls who had the balls to sleep amongst those… things, which one of the girls had been spared as a "stress reliever".
Poor girl. She didn't deserve Tashia's "tender" mercies, but who was he to stop her? Not worth going toe to toe with her. Hell, she'd probably set those cannibals on him. Scratch that. He'd definitely end up as another meal for them.
He turned his head around to nervously glance at the door to the subway tunnel, in fears one of them would have heard his thoughts. It was irrational, but after seeing Todd get into a disagreement with Tashia one day, he disappeared that night and Barry never saw him again.
Tashia. Utter bitch. From what he'd heard, she had originally been a normal bottom feeder just like the rest of them, but the previous boss had had a thing for her, so he placed her as his second in command. When he got his ass killed running into a Legion patrol, Tashia took over the raider gang.
And boy, did she have a mean streak. Nobody wanted to get on her bad side, not even the fucking cannibals, and those guys were half fucking crazy to begin with. Tashia was one of those people who looked pretty on the outside, but the second she opened her mouth you'd know she was someone to steer clear of, lest you want your throat slit at night for saying something she might interpret as an insult.
And if you disagreed with her, it was your ass for dinner. Girl had an inferiority complex bigger than the damn moon.
Really makes you question why he didn't just cut and run. Clint wondered that too. It wouldn't be hard, just volunteer to watch the outside at night, like what he was currently doing. Then, slip off into the wasteland, hopefully able to start somewhere else anew.
So why hadn't he done it?
Simple. He was afraid. Clint wasn't exactly blessed with a strong constitution, forcing him unable to use any weapon reliably except for pistols. If he got caught trying to flee, he'd get the piss beat out of him, possibly eaten, alongside the dubious honor of becoming a new play toy for that damn bitch!
He cursed as the match was snuffed out by a slight breeze. Damn wind. Do you know how hard it was to get a fucking lighter that actually worked in the wasteland?
Not fucking likely!
So matches it was. Luckily, he was able to successfully light his cigarette on the second match and puffed away on it contentedly.
How had he even ended up in this position? Well, a couple months back he was part of a gang of Vipers a little ways near Novac. One day, Tom, the former leader of the raider group Clint was in decided to merge with a nearby group of raiders living in the subway tunnel that was across from the whole highway.
A little while after his group merged with the subway raiders, they managed to raid a caravan group. Five males, three females. Probably a family looking to seek their fortune in Vegas. Such a thing wasn't uncommon these days. Stupid though. Gangs like his had sprung up everywhere these days, not to mention those crazy ass Fiends living in the ruins of Outer Vegas.
But he was getting off topic. They shot the men, captured the women, and looted the caravan.
That's when things went downhill.
See, one of the subway raiders had, instead of letting the bodies of the men rot out in the sun, taken the bodies inside the subway tunnel. That set off warning bells in the newly integrated gang. Just what were they planning to do with those bodies?
Low and behold, a few days late the unpleasant truth was laid bare to all when Dickson, one of the "shitheads" ran out and hollered to all that "Them fuckers are eating the bodies!"
Very astute Dickson. This didn't sit well with Tom, who marched into the sewer and confronted Brackson, the old leader of the subway raiders. A few tense minutes later, Tom came back out and walked off into the desert. Some followed him. Most didn't.
Even if your bedfellows were cannibals, there was safety in numbers. The wasteland wasn't a hospitable place, and if you had enough guys around you to feel safe, then that was a luxury not guaranteed to most.
The ultimate fate of the women was to be expected. The two older women were raped, beaten, and eventually eaten by those sick fucks. The only reason the younger one survived was that Brackson had claimed her for himself, and when he was eventually killed, Tashia turned her into her personal whipping girl.
Clint felt sorry for her, he really did, but there was nothing he could do. He never really wanted to be a raider in the first place, but he had no other options at the time when he had first started all those years ago. He just wanted to live. Just wish he didn't have to- what was that?!
A flash came from up on the ridge, and Clint looked up just in time to witness one of his "friends" get vaporized into an ash pile.
Sniper!
Clint made a mad lunge for one of the poorly constructed metal huts. He hit the ground hard, grunting as he dragged his way behind cover. He could already hear the angry voices of his fellow raiders as more red beams fired themselves from up on the ridge to the northwest. Suddenly, an explosion rocked a hut close to Clint, leaving his ears ringing. One by one, he watched as more of his comrades fell to the sniper.
They were being decimated.
Clint pulled his gun out. It was an old plasma pistol, nothing special aside from the fact it had served him well throughout the years. But he was no expert marksman. What could he do against a sniper with just a energy pistol -
Wait. This was his chance!
But the girl…
Clint glanced up at the ridge.
That guy's probably going to clean house. If that girl isn't dead, she'll likely be rescued by that sniper.
Conscience sated, Clint turned his gaze back onto the road. There was nothing stopping him now. No moral obligations, nothing. It was now or never. It was unlikely he'd ever get a chance like this again. Spitting the cigarette in his mouth out, Clint pulled his pre-war cowboy hat down slightly to shield his eyes from the sand blowing in the wind.
"Time to dash. It wasn't a pleasure, and good riddance."
Clint holstered his gun and ran for his life. If luck was on his side, he could reach Novac in an hour. He didn't get far before the accusation of "Coward!" notified that his currently-in-progress abandonment had been noticed.
Upon hearing the far off yelling of one of his former "comrades", Clint redoubled his efforts and exerted himself, eventually managing to reach the old highway road. Panting heavily, he ran onwards, not looking back even once. Miraculously, he wasn't shot at by the sniper on the ridge.
Perhaps luck was on his side for once.
Little did Clint know, but looking back on it years later, his choice to turn away from the life of a raider ended up being the most important decision of his life.
I eject the spent microfusion cell from my laser rifle, causing it to join a small pile of used cells on the ground next to me.
Well, that's that. Let's see that's like… one hundred and fifteen. I killed seven guys directly, four got blown up by the mines, and Eddy shot one at the very end. Since I repaired Eddy and he's practically mine by ownership, his kills are technically mine. Only cause he's a robot.
Not sure if Eddy has a soul, but regardless of the true answer I'll just assume responsibility for his actions...
Speaking of kill counts…
Hey, I wonder if when I get a pip boy it'll just magically know everything I've done during my time here. Also wondering if I get a fast travel feature and how that would work.
Maybe I just simply teleport. Or the funnier option is that I lose control of my legs and run really, really fast across the desert. Now that, would be amazing. Potentially terrifying and most likely traumatizing, but amazing.
Actually, I have a confession to make.
I lied about getting all of them. There was this one lanky guy who booked it earlier after I took the first shot. Not sure what that was about. Don't think it was out of fear as everyone else stayed behind. Perhaps he had a change of heart and realized the error of his ways.
Nah, he's probably just a coward. Well whatever, maybe he'll live long and prosper.
Doo doot doo doot
Here comes the level up.
Let's see… ooh! Mad Bomber!
Finally, I can make use of some of the junk I've been collecting for the past few weeks. Also we can make really cheap microfusion grenades that will come in handy should we find ourselves in the Sierra Madre.
Though I'm not really sure I want to go there… the gold's not really worth going through all that suffering. Only real thing of interest there would be the holorifle, since that's like one of the most powerful energy weapons in the vanilla game.
Perhaps the vending machines could be useful… need a crap ton of fission batteries…
By the way, what are fission batteries used for anyway? I think it was… crafting rockets? I never really used Red Glare that much since it would lag out my game with V.A.T.S.
Plus the damage isn't that great late game.
Hmm… we'll have to see. Need to find the Courier first.
Mad Bomber- Allah is the greatest.
I bet he is. At least the description isn't something worse.
Making my way down the ridge and disarming all of the mines I had placed earlier, I cautiously entered the ramshackle raider camp that definitely wasn't here in the vanilla game. Wasn't in AWoP either, so this is something entirely different.
Ah, there's my first victim. The shot I fired actually turned him into ash. Now my hands are seeing if there's anything worth…
Oh. That's different.
There's like… all his crap-
Tugging slightly, I pull a fully intact caravan shotgun out of the human ash pile.
This really shouldn't be able to fit in that tiny ash pile.
I need to experiment. Sit tight for the next few minutes.
…
Alright kiddies, Uncle Rick's here to educate you little shits. Listen.
Using the knowledge I've gained through digging in human ash piles, I've learned of another aspect of my… gamer-ness. Now for me, how disintegration into an ash pile via laser rifle works is that everything biological… withers and ash-ifies for a lack of a better term. Everything else is left intact, so stuff like weapons and miscellaneous can be retrieved with a little bit of digging through a person's ash remains.
Kinda morbid in hindsight, but I doubt that'll stop me from pilfering regardless.
Ooh it's going to be sooo much fun if I use plasma. I don't think I really want to put my hands in that.
Going throughout the camp, I find all sorts of the usual decorations. Ammo boxes, strewn items, the usual. I eventually reach the subway tunnel. Now if I remember correctly, there was a door… right… here!
AWoP. I guess we should go inside. Let's crack the door open a notch and have a look inside. Inside the subway tunnel, it is dark, which isn't really unexpected.
Alright.
"Eddy."
Inquisitive beeping
"Keep your distance for a bit. I wanna try stealth for once."
Confirmatory beeping
Rick's voice has some sort of accent on it. I didn't notice before because his throat hurt from disuse every time I spoke and as a result, his voice possessed a scratchy quality to it. Since then, I've been making a habit to talk aloud at random intervals to get used to speaking again. It's worked magnificently and I no longer sound like I have a handful of gravel present in my mouth whenever I speak. Though I still have the pissed off quality in my, well, our voice. Which is a pity, because I don't think that's ever going to go away.
Stepping into the tunnel, I then proceeded to completely slaughter anything that moved.
Pew. Pew.
"What do we have here?"
The man licks his lips, with his tongue trailing across his cheek. He points his oversized machete at me.
"Fresh meat."
Now that's what I call edgy, ladies and gents. He then proceeded to run at me, oversized machete raised overhead and poised to strike.
"Tch." I threw the laser rifle to the side and reached for my axe. The rifle will probably be fine, it's lasted 200 years so far, there's no reason it would break now.
Nearing striking distance, the guy jumps up into the air and with a battle cry, and brings his machete down on my head. Raising my axe, I block the strike with the middle of the handle. No sign of my muscles failing me, good…
The machete bounces off and with the man's blow redirected away from me, I slam the end of my axe into the cannibal's gut, causing him to double over wheezing. Raising the weapon over my head, I swing the axe down upon the raider's head. It splits his head open like a walnut with a great meaty crack, and ooh that's nasty.
"Oh shit!"
Maneuvering my way around my most recent victim's corpse, I charge at another raider who's had the dubious fortune of walking out from a corner. He goes down without much of a fight.
For the next several minutes the floor of the subway tunnel becomes more and more bloodied as corpses begin to pile up in the maintenance tunnels. Not really bright, these raiders.
Along the way I discover several human corpses in the kitchen waiting to be carved up. Look like these raiders were cannibals.
Really?
I mean come on, it's not there's absolutely nothing to eat out in the desert. Go find a barrel cactus plant with some fruit on it you shits! Sure it'll make you feel ill, but you won't go hungry! Or hell, what about the mole rats? I know I saw some up in the hills on the way here.
Sneaking up behind a bloke with a chainsaw of all things I put my hand over his mouth and slit his throat, silent execution style. As I lay his currently bleeding-out corpse quietly on the ground, I hear a slight noise.
From the sound of it, someone is getting the absolute piss beaten out of them.
Turning the corner, I see a women with pink hair crouched over another person. I then witness the women punch the other across the face.
Ah shit, that's not a raider. Real life, of course there might be prisoners.
The pink haired bitch is yelling something very impolite to their captive, summed up basically as "I am so much better than you. You are worthless. Quit looking at me like that!"
That woman has issues.
Then, the women leaned out of the way to grab something that looked like a knife. Crap, I need to put a stop to this before this gets any wor… worse…
Oh God.
My vision unobstructed, I saw the women's "punching bag."
Her victim, a young girl that looked to be at least in her early teens, sat there kneeled with her hands and feet cuffed, clad in nothing but dirty rags. Her eyes were dead, her lip was split, and parts of her hair appeared to be torn out, leaving parts of her head bald. Face bruised and covered in blood and grime, her arms were littered with scars both old and new.
Whatever I was going to say next was forgotten entirely as my mind turned to thoughts of absolute fury.
My vision tunneled, focusing on nothing but the female raider and that chained victim. My fist clenched, my teeth formed into a snarl as I started taking steps forward toward the woman. So intoxicated by the power, the authority she held over the life of another, that she didn't notice me.
You… You… I'll…
A dull pounding registers itself in my brain. My head begins to feel warm, like something is trying to spill out into my psyche. I've… began to salivate at the mouth. The back of my neck feels like it's on fire.
What is this feeling- these… feelings of hunger?
^%$&%*^%&-[Marauder Antipathy]-&%^*%&$%^
ANGER
RESENTMENT
BLOODLUST
HATRED
This…I feel…
Strange.
That women… she needs to be…
She needed to be hurt, to feel pain like no other. The axe was no good. Too fast. Too merciful.
No, I needed something… more. Something that would flay and rip the skin, something that would invoke terror in her mind and body, something that would-
Looking back, my gaze fell upon a bloody chainsaw clutched in the grip of a dead raider I had dispatched not moments ago. Bloodied, not from use, rather from the wounds of its former owner. Cut arteries often cause major blood loss, regardless if the person is freshly dead or not.
…Yes. It would be perfect.
I halted in my movements and bent down, taking a moment to pry it out of the death grip its previous owner was currently inflicting upon it.
The chainsaw was heavy, incredibly so. It lacked the balance the fire axe had offered me, instead substituting with an unwieldy, cumbersome shape. Clearly, it wasn't ever intended to be used as a conventional weapon.
In a few moments however, that was going to change.
I resumed my pace, absentmindedly taking a moment to find and locate the on switch. Pressing a button located on the side of the impromptu weapon powered the chainsaw on. Fusion powered, apparently doesn't need gasoline to function. It whirred quietly to life as I continued my steady walk to the woman.
She hadn't noticed a thing, must be confident that she wouldn't be disrupted. My eyes narrowed, accidently switching night vision on and turning my world bright green.
I raised the chainsaw up, the spinning blade held to the side, ready to hurt and maim when the time came. Coming to a stop, I slammed my right foot onto the plated floor, causing a sharp clang noise. I was directly situated behind the raider, gazing down upon her crouched form as she continued carving what would be horrific future scars into the face of her defenseless victim.
The pink haired women jolted a bit at the noise I caused, causing the knife she held to cut a bit more deeply into the girl. She let out an annoyed sound, apparently I had caused an imperfection in her "work".
The girl didn't even react.
Am I too late?
Is she broken?
THIS BITCH IS GOING TO PAY.
"Oh, what is it this time, Phillip, I'm busy here-"
With utmost glee, I kicked her. Hard. She fell over to the side, nearly landing on top of her victim. Absolutely livid, she turned around swearing at me.
"Phillip, you fuck, what the fuckin hel-"
Her pupils dilated and the words coming out of her mouth tapered off. I must have been a sight to see, covered in the blood and holding such a weapon as crude as a chainsaw.
Someone else might have made a speech. How she was a monster and that she needed to die in the name of justice.
I just stared silently at her and lifted the chainsaw up slightly, my fingers gripping the handles tightly.
"…"
The woman whose name I didn't even know, reached for a plasma rifle propped up on a nearby wall. Eddy, who had been completely forgotten by everyone in the heat of the moment, shot her hand. Screaming, she withdrew it and cursed, holding her injured hand with her other. I took a step forward, wrapping my index finger around a red trigger on the steel behemoth I held. She looked up and attempted to crawl backwards.
"N- no, please…"
Good, she knew what was coming.
Someone else might have asked why. Why would you do such a horrible thing? To do something so despicable?
"Please! I'll do anything!"
The reasons mattered not. Even if she spilled her entire life story to me, what was the point? She was still going to die at the end. This isn't justice. This is vengeance, pure and simple. The bloodthirst of one person, to end another's. Violence only breeds more violence and yet…
"Do you want money?! I can pay you!"
…I found myself caring little about the fact that killing her would solve nothing in the long run, and only cause me future grief when the reality of what I'd done would eventually hit me.
I turned the rotating blade to face her. It was technically the chain that would do the work, but I couldn't really care less about what the proper term was at this point.
"I'll give you anything! My body, my, my-"
"Shut your damn mouth."
My voice was devoid of emotion. Had I not been wearing a helmet that covered my mouth, the women would have seen my face resembling granite in a neutral, apathetic expression.
The next words I spoke came out in a bored tone, as if I were discussing the weather.
"There's only one thing I want from you."
She looked at me hopefully. It's always the ones who've committed the worst crimes that want mercy from the pain of death. I looked directly into her eyes, wide and terrified with hints of desperation in the pupils.
"I want you to die a painful, bloody death."
It was morbidly comical how quickly her face went from hopeful to terrified. I raise the chainsaw over my head. She spouts nonsensical pleas falling on ears that refuse- rather didn't care- to hear.
Don't hesitate. I pull the red finger trigger, and the blade begins to vibrate violently.
rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
My intent was clear. No words were needed for what was to come next.
I swung the roaring metal monster in my hands down, sealing the woman's fate.
The spinning blade descends upon the woman, her choked pleas turning to gurgled screams as the leather armor she wears did little to save her. Shredding the leather armor like it didn't exist, the chainsaw eats her stomach greedily without a hint of mercy. The ravenous hunger of the metal beast turns flesh and organs alike into mincemeat.
It's the farthest thing from a clean death. Blood paints the world in dark green spots, the red muted by the green-tinted-lenses of my night vision.
The women's blood splatters the floor, covers the walls, the ceiling, everything in sight including myself and the girl. Some of the blood splatters my face through the opening in my helm.
A truly fitting end for a wretched existence. She got what she deserved. She-
The strangest sensation washes over me, it feels like… catharsis? An urge to smile is making itself known.
What? No. No, why-
I'm enjoying this?
I'm enjoying this.
This is wrong. This is so wrong. Why… why am I enjoying this?
This… no… I can't be en- enjoying- I refuse to-
It's so satisfying. The look her face made as her entire petty empire crumbled around her. The face she made as she was robbed of her life, getting what she deserved.
-accept-
She deserves this. She's a monster. She deserves no remorse. None of them do. Those who choose to harm have made their choice. Now it's up to you to make sure they get their reward. Death. You're strong. You have the ability to make a difference. You could save the innocent.
…this…
You hate, hate, and hate. You hate so much, it's driven a wedge between you and your faith, widening the crack every time you feel that sickening bittersweet feel of satisfactory hatred.
You revel in hatred. You love the shivers it brings down your spine, the warm hunger it spreads throughout your brain. You hate yourself for it, you know it's wrong, but you can't bring yourself to stop indulging the feeling.
Why not put that hatred to good use, and kill those who deserve it? No one will miss them, no one worthwhile, and you'll be able to quench that feeling, even if it's only temporary.
I…
Above all else, you've always felt pride at being honest to yourself. No matter how uncomfortable the truth is.
Deep down, you know exactly what you are.
A bloodthirsty maniac.
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
…
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrr
…
*Squelch*
…
So that's how it is. Everything makes sense now.
I'm not a sociopath. I'm capable of emotions that don't consist of hatred.
I just don't feel guilt killing in self-defense or those who I see as a danger to others.
But why no guilt? Perhaps Rick's personality… no, I shouldn't use that as an excuse. Not anymore.
Is this… who I really am?
…How frightful. What possible steps could I take to amend this situation?
Suppressing it wouldn't work. It'll just come back to haunt me eventually. I'll snap at some point and things will really go downhill from there.
You could merely accept it.
Accept it? But that would mean I would become…
Well, not exactly. There's a difference in killing innocents and killing raiders. Killing raiders would be doing the world a favor, and you would likely be praised for it, not that you really care for such acknowledgment.
…But I would enjoy it. The killing.
*They are the scum of society. Nobody who matters would care.*
*In fact, the citizens of New Vegas would probably be happy that someone is cleaning them up.*
*Regardless of your thoughts on whether or not bloodlust is a good thing, could we really live with ourselves knowing that innocent people would die for your selfish desire of preserving a non-existent mindset? One that we don't truly believe in?*
*Face reality.*
*You want the unjust to die.*
*This post-apocalyptic society wants the unjust to die.*
*Both interests coincide.*
*So, why don't you use those irrational feelings of hatred, that antipathy of yours and make yourself useful?*
…
I remember. Every single scrap of information about the raiders and neer do wells in fallout.
The cages that would dangle from ceilings, often covered in blood.
The slaves of the capital wasteland.
The bloodied corpses of innocent people scattered in raider dungeons.
The Pitt.
Nuka World.
Everything here is a reality.
It is in human nature to be violent. It is human nature to be cruel. It is human nature to place yourself before others.
Society serves as the tool to mask our destructive tendencies. It dangles a reward as incentive to treat your fellow humans with dignity and respect, and to not stab them in the neck as a result of a petty disagreement.
Pacifists truly are a gift from above. For no such human could occur naturally like that. A freak of nature.
We are too violent for our own good. Perhaps we deserve to go extinct.
But the wasteland is lawless. Raiders can do whatever they please.
Just like this girl who sits in front of me, shackled to wall, staring up at me with unseeing eyes.
I reach a bloodied gauntlet out to her cheek to brush a strand of what little hair remains on her head. She doesn't react to my touch, just continues to look at me with a thousand yard stare.
She's not dead, still alive in body, but dead in spirit. To escape the pain, she's stopped thinking. Stopped feeling. Right now she's… just a shell of a human being. A broken doll. Fragile.
Unresponsive.
Not alive.
That's another thing about society. Fear of repercussions. Fear of being punished. Being surrounded by peers in society instills a feeling of needing to fit in in order to prevent being ostracized. Society suppresses the primal, self-destructive instincts of humanity. We need society to improve and progress as a species.
I could say more, much more, but I've got the point across in my head.
My logic is flawed, no doubt. I'm no philosopher. I don't sit on my ass all day, pondering the universe and how we all fit into the bigger picture. I'm sure, if anyone is reading my thoughts, there are numerous holes that can be poked into my perspective of the true nature of human beings and the role society plays.
I am a jaded individual, unable to see the bigger picture because I am unable to let go of my hatred for those who harm.
But that's alright. As long as I do what I think is right, that's enough for me.
This isn't a civilized world. People here don't care about philosophy, they care only for survival.
What a pity.
So… I'll make that my focus. A light that shines bright in the darkness, guiding me as I drift amongst my path of violence.
A future for mankind. So that we may restore the construct of civilization, and bring about a world similar to the one I originated from. Where arguments are settled with words, and the sword is the last resort.
Then… I might have something to redeem myself with, when this is all said and done.
I reach for a cloth on my person and wipe some of the blood off the girl's face with the unbloodied side. Those cuts are going to need treatment.
They'll likely scar.
Yes… being part of a brighter future sounds nice, for someone as disgusting as myself.
If the human species refuses to be civilized, then I'll just have to drag them into society, kicking and screaming if I must. But for now, raiders and their like need a boogeyman to remind them that they can't just do as they please. If they need a reason to behave, well…
They'll get one.
A quiet chuckling breaks the silence of the subway tunnel. It gets progressively louder and eventually breaks into full blown laughter.
It is not a kind laugh. It is one that promises bloodshed and atrocity, one that strikes fear into the hearts of mortal men.
The laugh of a madman.
This continues for a minute. Then, it slowly tapers down as the man regains control of his errant emotions.
"Ahhhhh…"
"I'll kill all of them."
The man's grin widens, turning into an insane-worthy smile. The green light emitted from his eyes reflects ominously of the blood.
"Every last one."
Reaching down, he grabs the still-warm corpse of the pink haired women with both hands by the neck and hoists her up, as if choking her.
"No matter how long it takes, or even if it's achievable."
He brings the mutilated raider close to his face at eye level, staring into the blank eyes of the newly dead. The man sneers at her corpse, cursing it to damnation. Something more is needed. An oath.
"For the greater good, let's make a monster worth fearing."
He will slaughter all of them. A crusade of vengeful fury. Men and women, old and young, anyone who falls under the jurisdiction of "raider" will suffer greatly by his own two hands.
He swears it.
Satisfied with his message, the man drops the body unceremoniously and turns to attend to the needs of the raider's victim. Smashing the chains, he reaches for the broken shell of the teenage girl that sits before him. Silently, he apologizes he wasn't quick enough to save her. But for now, he promises to make sure the rest of her time spent on earth will be free of pain.
It's the most he can do.
The eyebot stares incomprehensibly. For all the emotion and personality it possesses, it lacks the ability to morally evaluate the situation, and is henceforth unable to pass judgement on what has just transpired.
And thus, "Ricksaw" was born that night, amid a grisly scene of blood and violence.
Elsewhere…
It was a full moon. The moonlight washed over the desert, giving it an almost tranquil look. In the far off distance, the lights of New Vegas glittered, serving as a light shining in the darkness amongst a sea of sand and dirt. At that moment, New Vegas looked every part the jewel in the desert it promised itself to be, a place of good fortunes and civilized society.
But alas, appearances can be deceiving, as not everything was as peaceful as the night promised itself to be. On a hill near the town of what was known as Goodsprings, an unfortunate courier would be getting a stroke of bad luck in a delivery gone wrong.
A person lay on the dirt, hands and feet bound by rope. She lay comatose, until stirred by the sounds of dirt being shoveled and angry voices.
"You got what you were after, so pay up!"
Her vision slowly faded from black as she reflexively struggled with the binds on her hands to no avail.
"You're crying in the rain, pally."
Slowly, she looked up. There were six men. One was digging what appeared to be some kind of hole with a shovel, the other five standing around waiting for something. Five of them looked like they were part of a gang due to their matching vests, with the last one dressed up in a suit. A checkered suit, just like that incredibly vague note had warned her. One of the thugs holding a shovel noticed her return to the realm of consciousness. He smirked at her.
"Guess who's waking up over here?"
The women swore under her breath, cursing herself for not taking the note more seriously. If she survived this, she would find out whoever wrote that-
The apparent leader of the men who ambushed her gave her a brief glance. He sighed, blowing a final trail of smoke from the cigarette in his mouth before dropping it and putting it out with his foot. He turned from the action and began to walk towards her.
"Time to cash out."
This apparently wasn't fast enough for the man who had spoken earlier, his ethnicity black. He exaggeratedly stuck out his arms and complained to the suited man.
"Would you get it over with?"
A hint of annoyance crossed the checkered man's face and he stuck a hand with his pointer finger up in a "hold on" gesture, shaking it side-to-side for emphasis as he spoke.
"Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain't a fink, dig?"
He put his hand down and reached into his vest, pulling out the platinum chip she had been tasked with carrying. He held it up like a prize, the light from the nearby lantern reflecting off the shiny surface of the chip.
"You've made your last delivery kid." The woman scowled at the man, but remained silent.
Jewel of the Desert…
New Vegas. This guy's from New Vegas.
Part of a gang? No, too well dressed…
The woman's eyes flashed with realization. The forced accent, the garish suit, the smug attitude. It could only be…
Chairman. What would one of the casinos want with-?
"Sorry you got twisted up in this scene." The man put the chip back in his vest and when he pulled his hand back out, a pistol was in his hand, flourished in an overdramatic fashion. The gun itself looked ornamental, more like it belonged on a wall rather than be used as a weapon.
"From where you're kneeling it must seem like an 18-carat run of bad luck." The checkered man looked at the gun as he spoke. An ominous click signified the hammer of the gun being pulled back. The man looked up from the gun and at her directly, not breaking eye contact.
Ba-bump. Ba-bump.
The women's breaths became labored, realization at what was about to happen. Her eyes darted to the hole the man with the shovel dug earlier.
It's not a hole, it's a grave.
My grave.
"Truth is...the game was rigged from the start." He pointed the gun at her face.
NONONONONONONO-
BANG
The gun barrel flashed, and darkness claimed the woman's vision.
[Make sure you read all the text below this message closely, it's important…]
And thus, the self-insert's gradual descent into madness can finally begin. What, you thought this would be a "normal" goody-two-shoes si? Sorry to crush your hopes and dreams. Not really. I'd be lying if said I was.
There's too many "good guy/girl" self inserts out there. Most self inserts have at worst extremely minor faults such as being slightly narcissistic or inconsiderate of others, or certain character flaws that aren't really that big of a deal in hindsight.
What better way than to give a middle finger to that trope by making our protagonist have the teeny-tiny issue of becoming utterly psychotic at the drop of a hat?
Before commenting, please remember that this is fiction and the self-insert, while based off my personality and life experiences, is extremely exaggerated. Emphasis on exaggerated. I am nowhere near that homicidal in real life.
If things like this are too much for you too bad, it's here to stay. That being said however, moments like this aren't going to come out of the blue and you'll have plenty of warning to stomach yourself for a proper shitshow. If you're rather uncomfortable with the turn this fic has just taken, lay your fears to rest. These… segments will pop up now and again, but they won't take over the whole fanfic.
Don't worry, I'm not about to go full edgelord on you, there'll still be plenty of shits and giggles moments. There was a humor tag on this last I checked…
So, let me be perfectly clear. This fic will have its dark moments. The self-insert is an antihero, expect horrific atrocities committed in the future. No promises at a happy ending for everyone.
Now, time to justify the violence to come in the future to my dear audience so I don't scare them away…
Taking away all the sparkles and rainbows and just the absurdity of some aspects of the fallout-verse, the world of Fallout is a rather cruel place. Death, murders, and similar things are so commonplace, yet most of us just brush it off and ignore it because of how desensitized we are due to how much of it there is. We come to associate it as the "norm".
Well guess what audience. It isn't normal or the "norm", it's actually rather horrifying once you strip back that protective layer of gamer apathy. So strap yourselves in tight for a realistic and brutal interpretation of Fallout-verse, it's going to be a bumpy ride…
Profile
Name: Rick[saw]
Level: 15
Title: Vegas Legend
Karma: Good
Perks
Adamantium Skeleton
Animal Control (Rank 2)
Bionic Eyes
Bug Stomper (Rank 2)
Built to Destroy
Comprehension
Day Tripper
Fast Metabolism
Finesse
Hot Blooded
Intensive Training (Rank 4)
Life Giver
Lord Death (Rank 1)
Mad Bomber
Melee Hacker (Rank 1)
Stonewall
Super Slam
Toughness (Rank 2)
S.P.E.C.I.A.L
Strength – 8
Perception – 7
Endurance – 8
Charisma – 1
Intelligence – 10
Agility – 5
Luck – 5
Skills
Barter - 11
Energy Weapons - 25
Explosives - 45
Guns - 23
Lockpick - 75
Medicine - 36
Melee Weapons - 65
Repair - 60
Science - 45
Sneak - 45
Speech - 35
Survival - 40
Unarmed - 45
Faction Reputations
Brotherhood of Steel (NVC): Fugitive
Goodsprings: Liked
NCR: Neutral
Novac: Neutral
Primm: Accepted
Powder Gangers: Vilified
Edited 8/13/2019.
