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General Game Discussion / Re: Journal of the Officer
« on: April 14, 2018, 09:11:42 am »
Diary of Annabella, last faithful member of The Last Light's Crisis Response Operators.
Based on true events during the last several months of Season Three, listed by day number.
By a tortured soul, burning a path to Hell...
Day 1 - A new day, a new beginning. Ermac's alive. That's at least a relief. I swore I saw him die the other day. Turns out the Deathclaws missed his vital organs. There's a new gal in the group named Sheila. She's been doing our clerical work. Life's a lot easier now that she's helping me tally supplies. Oxen's frustrating as ever. A royal pain, as he always is. But he's rounding up the search in the area for urban lockers. The Hub is a mess. So many new people coming out of the East. There must have been a mass exodus. We'll have to see if all of this plays to our advantage. I hope to have our initial outpost completed by the end of tomorrow. Maybe then I can relax and have some "me" time.
Day 2 - We ran into a snag. But that's nothing out of the ordinary. Sheila went off and decided to "try out" being a slaver. I guess no one told the poor girl she'd have to get a tattoo. Fortunately, Oxen's smooth with the Slaver's Guild. Got out of there without firing a shot. That girl's on a permanent leash around me...
In any case, Ermac and Oxen managed to get enough junk together to build our Depot. I can finally start making some boxes and lockers now. And I know just who's going to fill them...hehe.
Day 5 - The Hub has seen an influx of familiar faces. I don't think they'll stick around long. Something's wrong with this place. It's not the same as before. I guess it's just the Eastern people. They don't fight the same way. And with so many people around, everything within a 10 mile radius is already picked clean. I haven't so much as seen a single 2mm EC round in about a week. I think they'll just keep on going West, at this rate. At least I hope they will. Those degenerate perverts keep making passes at Sheila. I'm going to snap one of these days and feed them to the Adytum Deathclaws. Wretched fools.
Day 7 - I was spying in Reno's Sewers today, and I caught a guy running away from Scavs with a ton of stuff in his pack. How he managed to get in and get past the dozen or so people there is beyond me, but I have a feeling that this scene is going to repeat itself many times over. It leaves me with a sense of dread. I am sure that that amount of gear will serve the wrong masters in the days to come. Aaaand I'm bleeding again. Probably from chewing on my nails to the bed when I'm nervous. That's a really terrible habit...I've got to break it at some point.
Day 10 - The Scavs finally packed up. Reno itself has been very quiet these past days. Everything just feels so empty. I think that might be the disappearances lately. Our company had 12 people at the start. We're down to 9 now. Ermac, Oxen, and Sheila are still here. Some of our auxiliary units went missing today. I don't think they want to be found. People are leaving the Hub in droves. I wonder what's making them bolt so quickly...
Day 14 - Local storytellers have started telling some tales of incredible monsters and villains of unimaginable macabre deeds. Naturally, at first people scoffed at the old men and women, but when one of them finally held up a map and threw down a sack of ten thousand caps for the first person to bring back the head of the mutant in question...let's just say it was a gold rush. None of them came back. I guess it might be time to see if Oxen and I can take it on. That and I think the flies in Junktown are starting to drive me mentally insane with their incessant buzzing. I bet no one cleaned out the Brahmin pens. Lazy vault dwellers...
Day 18 - I haven't had much time to write because I haven't slept. I always like to write right before I go to sleep if there's anything worth remembering. I usually play with my hair with my pen's quill. I always loved how fluffy that feather felt against my skin.
Oh...right. I was writing. Oops.
Anyways, airheadedness aside...we've made over one million caps in four days. With what's left of our company, a mockingly shorthanded 6, we've hunted these so-called telltales to the ends of the earth. The bounties and equipment we've salvaged have been nothing short of the windfall we've always dreamed of. Something tells me that the three guys we lost won't be the end of the toll that will be paid in blood by the time the curtain falls.
Day 23 - Hmm...I should really remember that writing in public, especially when trying to use your hips as a proper surface, attracts the wrong kind of attention.
Let's just say the sexual pressure and constant passes at me have taken turns for the worst, some precipitating into outright violence. Because of this, I've taken to writing in complete solitude, where I can let my defenses down. I'm glad I'm quick on the draw with my Pulse Pistol...
Day 31 - It's finally coming to a close. With a measly four of us left, we completed the last of the available bounties. All traces of the "telltales" have vanished. I knew we weren't the only ones pursuing them, but their abrupt departure from the stories of the elders and from the local boards are nothing short of an utterly unique mystery to me. It was definitely something of a bounty craze, that's...that's for certain...
Day 59 - When's the last time I even opened this thing? I think this insipid descent into utter madness is beginning already. It's been almost 2 months since we began, and I haven't seen hide or hair of Sheila in weeks. I think she's finally upped and abandoned us for the easier work of a brothel. She always was a little more receptive to the flirting than I. I think her promiscuity extended far beyond just her personality. I'll miss her feminine presence though. Maybe it was my teasing...
Day 64 - I heard Lisa's voice for the first time in months. I was standing next to the barrel that mysteriously appeared in the Hub about a week ago when it happened. I think NukaColaman had given me some of his self named soda when it happened. The last thing I remember before I dropped my drink was shivering uncontrollably. I woke up with Oxen over me, cooling my head with a damp cloth. How he appears seemingly out of thin air is beyond me. I guess that's what siblings are for. He said he found me slumped against the barrel having seizures. The haunting has begun anew.
Day 71 - Ermac left our company, polite as ever. I never thought I'd see the day when he willingly parted my side. He said he was going back to the North. I suppose he has unfinished business with a few gangs there. I doubt we'll ever see him here again, though we may end up following him when things dry up there. All I remember in the address was something about a 2...
Anyways...I should head back to the Hub. The cool feeling of oxidizing iron is soothing and cathartic for my aching soul.
Day 75 - It's finally sunken in. It's just Oxen and I. The two siblings are all that remain. Sometimes he comes to the Hub and just watches me for a while. Sometimes he even strikes up fake arguments. I know he's trying to cheer me up. It only works for a time. He thinks I can't see him hiding in the trees. I may be a silly little creature, but I am certainly not lacking for perception.
I'll trip him the next time he comes swaggering up to my barrel. Knowing my luck, he'd probably jab me with the active end of his Super Cattle Prod. What an oaf.
Day 81 - There's three types of raiders. A dead raider, a live raider, and a Khan Raider. Only one and a half of those are good. I'll let you decide which is which.
In any case, I recently signed up for raider on raider violence. I thought only the Enclave had Vertibirds. I was very wrong. I met a man named Smash Adams, and his friend, Courage. They're Khans, and they flew me in their lovely chopper-like construct. That was a refreshing experience. We ended up somewhere in the great salt plains. Apparently, they had a score to settle, and wanted a tactician / medic. Well, they got one.
So it turns out that we ended up in a good old gang fight with several competing groups. We strolled up in there with Desert Combat armor on and proceeded to brawl. Dozens of smoking ruins of corpses later, we took on their leader. A shrewd sniper, he took Courage out of the fight with a well placed headshot. I don't know what they make those helmets out of, but he lived. A .223 FMJ round went into his helm and failed to penetrate, but knocked him unconscious. Fortunately, Adams was handy with his Assault Rifle and perforated the bastard. One Psycho injection later and a handful of stimpacks, and Courage was back on his feet.
I get the feeling Courage would have killed me on the way back if it was just the two of us, still, though. I guess it's just a raider thing.
Day 92 - I've been standing here shooting Mentats up my nose for the past hour and I can't decide if the berry flavor smells better than the mint flavor. I think I've truly lost it. I'm brewing new coatings for Mentats in my spare time. Lisa would kill me if she saw me using my medical talents for these kinds of atrocious and pointless pursuits. I've still yet to build up the courage to ingest one fully. I just like how the coating smells. Probably a side effect of being the only person on the planet who loves the texture of Rad-Away packages. I'm notoriously strange. I guess as long as I stay away from Nuka-Cola, we'll all live another day.
Day 100 - I've had a long history of talking to shady people out of pure entertainment. Recently, as I've touched on before, I've taken to enjoying the company of a lovely person named Smash Adams. Of course, the price tag was Khan association. Khans in and of themselves are just vicious by design, but underneath this veneer lies a plethora of personalities. This one is comical and enjoyable. However, all good company parts. I've got a feeling he doesn't enjoy his initiative duties as a Khan.
Today, I was proven right. In my forward Ops tent, which I was supposed to never show to anyone out of principles of security, I found a note that said 3 things on it from him.
The first was, "I'm Smash Adams!" What a dolt.
The second was, "I'm leaving, don't try to find me."
The third was..."Because in Soviet Russia, I'm still Smash Adams!" He'd better hope I never see him again, because I'm going to slap the crap out of him for using the same joke twice in one sitting.
Day 129 - Nothing but degenerates in the Hub these days. A bunch of sycophants and lunatics. One look into their eyes tells me what they want. I'm not a person, I'm just an object to be used to satisfy their hunger. Sometimes I just want to leave and never return, but that would be what they want. It's probably my fault for encouraging the negative behavior...because sometimes I purse my lips, and occasionally I sigh or stretch in an appealing manner. It's tough being me, because that's the problem. I am always...just...me.
Day 134 - I took a stroll through Broken Hill's Ant Hell. Those mine shafts brought on a new host of memories that I shouldn't have dug up. As I placidly picked off one ant after another with my Laser Pistol...I could almost smell her perfume. The sweet strawberry to match her red hair...just like mine. I sat down in the South West corner and waited for them to crawl out of their mounds, and I could almost hear her gleeful laughter. I realized in that moment that I wanted nothing more than to put the barrel of that still warm pistol in my mouth and pull the trigger...but alas, my penance is to live each day in a writhing hell that consumes my soul further.
Day 157 - The nightmares have begun again. I thought that perhaps Xander root tea before bed would stop it...and it has for many months. But not anymore. I found a memento that broke all the tranquility in my mind. I found Lisa's bracelet that has my name engraved in it. I thought she took it with her when she was taken from me. No such luck, it appears. The past is determined to come back and scream in my face at every turn. I woke up this morning to a cold sweat. I kept dreaming that she was asking me to come with her to oblivion, that it was better this way. Stupid Radio 0, some guy was screaming about Hinkley. I swear, people live in that simulator. Virtual Reality is poison, but fortunately it saved me from whatever was at the end of that tunnel. I don't want to see her die in my sleep anymore...
Day 173 - I completely swore off Caravan duty today. I've had a bit of a ritual with helping the weaker hands around these parts for many years of my life, but today broke me. We were fighting Super Mutants near Mariposa. Most of the weaker guys had peeled off when they heard our next stop was San Fran, but there were a couple of the 'ole heavy hitters. At the end, it was just Deathangel and myself. We were facing down a Lieutenant and his two remaining Nightkin guards. The rest of the caravan was in smoking ruin behind us. I took aim with my newly procured Alien Blaster, and Deathangel shredded the Nightkin. I landed a glancing blow to the Lieutenants hulking arms, but it was enough for him to drop his deadly Avenger. I clambered up, snatched it, and together, we took him apart with twinned bursts of 5mm AP. As we celebrated our victory, we felt it before we heard it. We were thrown several meters apart as an explosive rocket detonated at our feet. I remember getting up, the feeling was like walking on glass, there were dozens of pinpricks of shrapnel in my left leg. I came to my senses before he did, and lanced a blistering pulse shot of alien energy into the hulking mutant's eyes. I dragged Deathangel to my nearby outpost, started up the Scout, and dropped him at the Hub. I don't think I'm getting out of bed for a week. Kill me.
Day 190 - I've taken to giving away small bits of our unreal mass of caps to those less than fortunate. What started at 10 million has dwindled down to around 1.2 million. I've made more than a few people quite well off. It still doesn't quench the burning guilt at the back of my mind. People say that in the medical business, you learn to take off your smock and wash your hands, and leave the life and death of the day behind. Some dirt never quite washes off, and some screams never quite fade from memory. Some wounds never quite heal, and if they do, they never feel right...always something off, like a knot in the muscle, or a twitch in the nerve. With each cap, my admonishment will grow, not wane. A hollow life is one best not lived at all...
Day 199 - It's been years since Lisa left our company, and sometimes when I'm standing there, I swear I still hear her whisper in my left ear. She'd always stand there and place her arm around my neck...
I'm starting to think this barrel is cursed. People always keep walking up and taking bits of junk from these barrels. I wish they'd stop, but these barrels never seem to run dry of useful bits to take. The rust is comforting, it reminds me that I'm not the only one here vulnerable to the atrophy that is brought on by time.
Day 209 - Ermac showed up today along with Sheila. They were passing through on a convoy. Apparently they've been North, working together. That was a relief, definitely a huge load off my mind. I haven't seen three quarters of the company since the first month. Apparently, they're all dead now. I got the obituaries handed to me this morning. That cut the joy quite short.
Still no sign of Oxen. I saw him last week. I think he's going to make good on his promise and get lost North of Modoc for good. Either that or he's gotten really good at hiding now. We'll find out soon enough, I guess.
Day 212 - There's nothing to keep me here any longer. I keep seeing Lisa in my waking hours, beckoning me. Sometimes people will be talking to me and I'll just wince and grip the barrel tighter. Today I gripped it so tight that a huge slab of rusted iron broke off and slashed my hand open.
I remember many people staring at me as I walked off into the twilight, blood trailing behind me. As I idly probed the wound with a stimpack's receptor needle, I walked to the Depot and sat down in the tent. My mental state has deteriorated to the point that there's little point in recording anything as factual. I mended the wound, and typical of me when bothered, I pursed my lips and ran my hands through my hair. How much time have I wasted here?
Day 225 - It's only me now. I'm the only one left on duty. Oxen didn't show for his monthly supply drop. And he's never been truant before. That only means one of two things...he's abandoned us...nay, abandoned me, or he's dead. I wouldn't blame him honestly, I'm a mess.
I got letters from Ermac and Sheila. They're officially moving on to greener pastures and don't know if they'll ever come back. I have no idea what that means, but to me, it means that life's going to be hard to bear alone.
Alone...if one can call it that. I finally managed to work up the courage to walk the Bazaar in NCR again. I sat down at my table...no...our table. I reached my hand across the table and I swear I -FELT- another soft hand hold it. I crumbled at that touch...because only one person's skin feels that soft. And it's not mine...
I fear my sanity is measured in minutes. I've gotten back in the Hummer and gunned it back to the Depot. I'm leaving this holotape here in case I don't come back. Oxen, if you read this, you were always the nicest brother anyone could ever ask for. I hope you find a nice girl that isn't bratty like me who appreciates everything you do for them.
I...on the other hand...I'm going to have a nice Nuka-Cola somewhere far from here. I can feel the ghost pains of a night terror coming on. I know as soon as I close my eyes, it will take me. I just hope that I've been good enough to earn the mercy of my creator's will. If I even deserve such a thing.
I fear death will only be the start of my suffering.
- Ann
Based on true events during the last several months of Season Three, listed by day number.
By a tortured soul, burning a path to Hell...
Day 1 - A new day, a new beginning. Ermac's alive. That's at least a relief. I swore I saw him die the other day. Turns out the Deathclaws missed his vital organs. There's a new gal in the group named Sheila. She's been doing our clerical work. Life's a lot easier now that she's helping me tally supplies. Oxen's frustrating as ever. A royal pain, as he always is. But he's rounding up the search in the area for urban lockers. The Hub is a mess. So many new people coming out of the East. There must have been a mass exodus. We'll have to see if all of this plays to our advantage. I hope to have our initial outpost completed by the end of tomorrow. Maybe then I can relax and have some "me" time.
Day 2 - We ran into a snag. But that's nothing out of the ordinary. Sheila went off and decided to "try out" being a slaver. I guess no one told the poor girl she'd have to get a tattoo. Fortunately, Oxen's smooth with the Slaver's Guild. Got out of there without firing a shot. That girl's on a permanent leash around me...
In any case, Ermac and Oxen managed to get enough junk together to build our Depot. I can finally start making some boxes and lockers now. And I know just who's going to fill them...hehe.
Day 5 - The Hub has seen an influx of familiar faces. I don't think they'll stick around long. Something's wrong with this place. It's not the same as before. I guess it's just the Eastern people. They don't fight the same way. And with so many people around, everything within a 10 mile radius is already picked clean. I haven't so much as seen a single 2mm EC round in about a week. I think they'll just keep on going West, at this rate. At least I hope they will. Those degenerate perverts keep making passes at Sheila. I'm going to snap one of these days and feed them to the Adytum Deathclaws. Wretched fools.
Day 7 - I was spying in Reno's Sewers today, and I caught a guy running away from Scavs with a ton of stuff in his pack. How he managed to get in and get past the dozen or so people there is beyond me, but I have a feeling that this scene is going to repeat itself many times over. It leaves me with a sense of dread. I am sure that that amount of gear will serve the wrong masters in the days to come. Aaaand I'm bleeding again. Probably from chewing on my nails to the bed when I'm nervous. That's a really terrible habit...I've got to break it at some point.
Day 10 - The Scavs finally packed up. Reno itself has been very quiet these past days. Everything just feels so empty. I think that might be the disappearances lately. Our company had 12 people at the start. We're down to 9 now. Ermac, Oxen, and Sheila are still here. Some of our auxiliary units went missing today. I don't think they want to be found. People are leaving the Hub in droves. I wonder what's making them bolt so quickly...
Day 14 - Local storytellers have started telling some tales of incredible monsters and villains of unimaginable macabre deeds. Naturally, at first people scoffed at the old men and women, but when one of them finally held up a map and threw down a sack of ten thousand caps for the first person to bring back the head of the mutant in question...let's just say it was a gold rush. None of them came back. I guess it might be time to see if Oxen and I can take it on. That and I think the flies in Junktown are starting to drive me mentally insane with their incessant buzzing. I bet no one cleaned out the Brahmin pens. Lazy vault dwellers...
Day 18 - I haven't had much time to write because I haven't slept. I always like to write right before I go to sleep if there's anything worth remembering. I usually play with my hair with my pen's quill. I always loved how fluffy that feather felt against my skin.
Oh...right. I was writing. Oops.
Anyways, airheadedness aside...we've made over one million caps in four days. With what's left of our company, a mockingly shorthanded 6, we've hunted these so-called telltales to the ends of the earth. The bounties and equipment we've salvaged have been nothing short of the windfall we've always dreamed of. Something tells me that the three guys we lost won't be the end of the toll that will be paid in blood by the time the curtain falls.
Day 23 - Hmm...I should really remember that writing in public, especially when trying to use your hips as a proper surface, attracts the wrong kind of attention.
Let's just say the sexual pressure and constant passes at me have taken turns for the worst, some precipitating into outright violence. Because of this, I've taken to writing in complete solitude, where I can let my defenses down. I'm glad I'm quick on the draw with my Pulse Pistol...
Day 31 - It's finally coming to a close. With a measly four of us left, we completed the last of the available bounties. All traces of the "telltales" have vanished. I knew we weren't the only ones pursuing them, but their abrupt departure from the stories of the elders and from the local boards are nothing short of an utterly unique mystery to me. It was definitely something of a bounty craze, that's...that's for certain...
Day 59 - When's the last time I even opened this thing? I think this insipid descent into utter madness is beginning already. It's been almost 2 months since we began, and I haven't seen hide or hair of Sheila in weeks. I think she's finally upped and abandoned us for the easier work of a brothel. She always was a little more receptive to the flirting than I. I think her promiscuity extended far beyond just her personality. I'll miss her feminine presence though. Maybe it was my teasing...
Day 64 - I heard Lisa's voice for the first time in months. I was standing next to the barrel that mysteriously appeared in the Hub about a week ago when it happened. I think NukaColaman had given me some of his self named soda when it happened. The last thing I remember before I dropped my drink was shivering uncontrollably. I woke up with Oxen over me, cooling my head with a damp cloth. How he appears seemingly out of thin air is beyond me. I guess that's what siblings are for. He said he found me slumped against the barrel having seizures. The haunting has begun anew.
Day 71 - Ermac left our company, polite as ever. I never thought I'd see the day when he willingly parted my side. He said he was going back to the North. I suppose he has unfinished business with a few gangs there. I doubt we'll ever see him here again, though we may end up following him when things dry up there. All I remember in the address was something about a 2...
Anyways...I should head back to the Hub. The cool feeling of oxidizing iron is soothing and cathartic for my aching soul.
Day 75 - It's finally sunken in. It's just Oxen and I. The two siblings are all that remain. Sometimes he comes to the Hub and just watches me for a while. Sometimes he even strikes up fake arguments. I know he's trying to cheer me up. It only works for a time. He thinks I can't see him hiding in the trees. I may be a silly little creature, but I am certainly not lacking for perception.
I'll trip him the next time he comes swaggering up to my barrel. Knowing my luck, he'd probably jab me with the active end of his Super Cattle Prod. What an oaf.
Day 81 - There's three types of raiders. A dead raider, a live raider, and a Khan Raider. Only one and a half of those are good. I'll let you decide which is which.
In any case, I recently signed up for raider on raider violence. I thought only the Enclave had Vertibirds. I was very wrong. I met a man named Smash Adams, and his friend, Courage. They're Khans, and they flew me in their lovely chopper-like construct. That was a refreshing experience. We ended up somewhere in the great salt plains. Apparently, they had a score to settle, and wanted a tactician / medic. Well, they got one.
So it turns out that we ended up in a good old gang fight with several competing groups. We strolled up in there with Desert Combat armor on and proceeded to brawl. Dozens of smoking ruins of corpses later, we took on their leader. A shrewd sniper, he took Courage out of the fight with a well placed headshot. I don't know what they make those helmets out of, but he lived. A .223 FMJ round went into his helm and failed to penetrate, but knocked him unconscious. Fortunately, Adams was handy with his Assault Rifle and perforated the bastard. One Psycho injection later and a handful of stimpacks, and Courage was back on his feet.
I get the feeling Courage would have killed me on the way back if it was just the two of us, still, though. I guess it's just a raider thing.
Day 92 - I've been standing here shooting Mentats up my nose for the past hour and I can't decide if the berry flavor smells better than the mint flavor. I think I've truly lost it. I'm brewing new coatings for Mentats in my spare time. Lisa would kill me if she saw me using my medical talents for these kinds of atrocious and pointless pursuits. I've still yet to build up the courage to ingest one fully. I just like how the coating smells. Probably a side effect of being the only person on the planet who loves the texture of Rad-Away packages. I'm notoriously strange. I guess as long as I stay away from Nuka-Cola, we'll all live another day.
Day 100 - I've had a long history of talking to shady people out of pure entertainment. Recently, as I've touched on before, I've taken to enjoying the company of a lovely person named Smash Adams. Of course, the price tag was Khan association. Khans in and of themselves are just vicious by design, but underneath this veneer lies a plethora of personalities. This one is comical and enjoyable. However, all good company parts. I've got a feeling he doesn't enjoy his initiative duties as a Khan.
Today, I was proven right. In my forward Ops tent, which I was supposed to never show to anyone out of principles of security, I found a note that said 3 things on it from him.
The first was, "I'm Smash Adams!" What a dolt.
The second was, "I'm leaving, don't try to find me."
The third was..."Because in Soviet Russia, I'm still Smash Adams!" He'd better hope I never see him again, because I'm going to slap the crap out of him for using the same joke twice in one sitting.
Day 129 - Nothing but degenerates in the Hub these days. A bunch of sycophants and lunatics. One look into their eyes tells me what they want. I'm not a person, I'm just an object to be used to satisfy their hunger. Sometimes I just want to leave and never return, but that would be what they want. It's probably my fault for encouraging the negative behavior...because sometimes I purse my lips, and occasionally I sigh or stretch in an appealing manner. It's tough being me, because that's the problem. I am always...just...me.
Day 134 - I took a stroll through Broken Hill's Ant Hell. Those mine shafts brought on a new host of memories that I shouldn't have dug up. As I placidly picked off one ant after another with my Laser Pistol...I could almost smell her perfume. The sweet strawberry to match her red hair...just like mine. I sat down in the South West corner and waited for them to crawl out of their mounds, and I could almost hear her gleeful laughter. I realized in that moment that I wanted nothing more than to put the barrel of that still warm pistol in my mouth and pull the trigger...but alas, my penance is to live each day in a writhing hell that consumes my soul further.
Day 157 - The nightmares have begun again. I thought that perhaps Xander root tea before bed would stop it...and it has for many months. But not anymore. I found a memento that broke all the tranquility in my mind. I found Lisa's bracelet that has my name engraved in it. I thought she took it with her when she was taken from me. No such luck, it appears. The past is determined to come back and scream in my face at every turn. I woke up this morning to a cold sweat. I kept dreaming that she was asking me to come with her to oblivion, that it was better this way. Stupid Radio 0, some guy was screaming about Hinkley. I swear, people live in that simulator. Virtual Reality is poison, but fortunately it saved me from whatever was at the end of that tunnel. I don't want to see her die in my sleep anymore...
Day 173 - I completely swore off Caravan duty today. I've had a bit of a ritual with helping the weaker hands around these parts for many years of my life, but today broke me. We were fighting Super Mutants near Mariposa. Most of the weaker guys had peeled off when they heard our next stop was San Fran, but there were a couple of the 'ole heavy hitters. At the end, it was just Deathangel and myself. We were facing down a Lieutenant and his two remaining Nightkin guards. The rest of the caravan was in smoking ruin behind us. I took aim with my newly procured Alien Blaster, and Deathangel shredded the Nightkin. I landed a glancing blow to the Lieutenants hulking arms, but it was enough for him to drop his deadly Avenger. I clambered up, snatched it, and together, we took him apart with twinned bursts of 5mm AP. As we celebrated our victory, we felt it before we heard it. We were thrown several meters apart as an explosive rocket detonated at our feet. I remember getting up, the feeling was like walking on glass, there were dozens of pinpricks of shrapnel in my left leg. I came to my senses before he did, and lanced a blistering pulse shot of alien energy into the hulking mutant's eyes. I dragged Deathangel to my nearby outpost, started up the Scout, and dropped him at the Hub. I don't think I'm getting out of bed for a week. Kill me.
Day 190 - I've taken to giving away small bits of our unreal mass of caps to those less than fortunate. What started at 10 million has dwindled down to around 1.2 million. I've made more than a few people quite well off. It still doesn't quench the burning guilt at the back of my mind. People say that in the medical business, you learn to take off your smock and wash your hands, and leave the life and death of the day behind. Some dirt never quite washes off, and some screams never quite fade from memory. Some wounds never quite heal, and if they do, they never feel right...always something off, like a knot in the muscle, or a twitch in the nerve. With each cap, my admonishment will grow, not wane. A hollow life is one best not lived at all...
Day 199 - It's been years since Lisa left our company, and sometimes when I'm standing there, I swear I still hear her whisper in my left ear. She'd always stand there and place her arm around my neck...
I'm starting to think this barrel is cursed. People always keep walking up and taking bits of junk from these barrels. I wish they'd stop, but these barrels never seem to run dry of useful bits to take. The rust is comforting, it reminds me that I'm not the only one here vulnerable to the atrophy that is brought on by time.
Day 209 - Ermac showed up today along with Sheila. They were passing through on a convoy. Apparently they've been North, working together. That was a relief, definitely a huge load off my mind. I haven't seen three quarters of the company since the first month. Apparently, they're all dead now. I got the obituaries handed to me this morning. That cut the joy quite short.
Still no sign of Oxen. I saw him last week. I think he's going to make good on his promise and get lost North of Modoc for good. Either that or he's gotten really good at hiding now. We'll find out soon enough, I guess.
Day 212 - There's nothing to keep me here any longer. I keep seeing Lisa in my waking hours, beckoning me. Sometimes people will be talking to me and I'll just wince and grip the barrel tighter. Today I gripped it so tight that a huge slab of rusted iron broke off and slashed my hand open.
I remember many people staring at me as I walked off into the twilight, blood trailing behind me. As I idly probed the wound with a stimpack's receptor needle, I walked to the Depot and sat down in the tent. My mental state has deteriorated to the point that there's little point in recording anything as factual. I mended the wound, and typical of me when bothered, I pursed my lips and ran my hands through my hair. How much time have I wasted here?
Day 225 - It's only me now. I'm the only one left on duty. Oxen didn't show for his monthly supply drop. And he's never been truant before. That only means one of two things...he's abandoned us...nay, abandoned me, or he's dead. I wouldn't blame him honestly, I'm a mess.
I got letters from Ermac and Sheila. They're officially moving on to greener pastures and don't know if they'll ever come back. I have no idea what that means, but to me, it means that life's going to be hard to bear alone.
Alone...if one can call it that. I finally managed to work up the courage to walk the Bazaar in NCR again. I sat down at my table...no...our table. I reached my hand across the table and I swear I -FELT- another soft hand hold it. I crumbled at that touch...because only one person's skin feels that soft. And it's not mine...
I fear my sanity is measured in minutes. I've gotten back in the Hummer and gunned it back to the Depot. I'm leaving this holotape here in case I don't come back. Oxen, if you read this, you were always the nicest brother anyone could ever ask for. I hope you find a nice girl that isn't bratty like me who appreciates everything you do for them.
I...on the other hand...I'm going to have a nice Nuka-Cola somewhere far from here. I can feel the ghost pains of a night terror coming on. I know as soon as I close my eyes, it will take me. I just hope that I've been good enough to earn the mercy of my creator's will. If I even deserve such a thing.
I fear death will only be the start of my suffering.
- Ann
