FREMONT PERSONAL MEMOIRS.

GREETINGS FREMONT. HAVE A PLEASENT DAY

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Hello. I am Fremont. I have recorded this, as a way of reliving monotony. More than that I'm not quite at liberty to say. Let's begin, shall we?

I was born in Freeside, the oldest of three children. I dislike my siblings intensely. I decided on my eighth birthday that I, quote, "live in a smelly dump off rat meat and so help me god I am getting myself out of here if it literally kills me." It didn't. I left three months later, hiding in some trader's supply brahmin. He carried me all across the Mohave. He discovered me, and became my teacher, surrogate father, and friend. He was killed by raiders.

I wandered around for a while, after having fended off the raiders with a pointy stick

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ACTUALLY I DIDNT. I USED A PLAMA PISTOL. GOOD THING THE PLEBS ARE NEVER GOING TO KNOW THAT I'M TELLING A BOLDFACED LIE

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until I came to a wonderful place. The New California Republic. They didn't let me in. I didn't want to go in. It was wonderful. After a long period of time, I became a Courier.

You don't care about any of this. You want me to explain that whole fiasco with Arden and Calabasas and the Decanus. I'm getting to that. Hush.

I was one day contracted, under mysterious circumstances, to deliver a platinum playing chip to somebody on the outskirts of Vegas. I poked around for a bit, trying to figure out why someone would pay me for such a little job. Because, you see, a dangerous job has all of it's complications lain out in front of you. An innocuous job is much, much worse. No job is innocuous, really.

After some digging around, I discover, to my complete lack of surprise, that the other guy who was to take the job turned it down. Obviously, someone knew more about it than I did. He turned out to have totally vanished right after that. He had probably died, for all I knew.

I decided to take it, but not without any help. I set out across the river, to Legion land, and

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PROGRAM ABORTED FOR CRYOCYCLE. HAVE A NICE NAP.