Old World Blues
So as the tale of the Lone Wanderer’s son comes to a close, another tale begins. Across the war torn American wastelands a hidden vault buried deep in the Mojave wasteland opened. Designed to be a sinister social experiment, it warned all vault dwellers that every year it had to vote for an overseer and that overseer would chose someone to send to a sacrificial chamber to die. They where told to do this or else all life support would be shut down and the door locked. But one vault dweller had enough and managed to escape with their life and the basic means and know-how to survive.
As the Vault Dweller stumbled out the vault blinded and confused they walked to a small tribal village. The Vault Dweller struck a deal with the tribe trading their knowledge for armour and a gun that they had found at an abandoned outpost. Sad to leave the new found friends behind, the Vault Dweller trudged on to a place called New Vegas.
The Vault Dweller had only walked ten meters but was already tired of carrying the gun they had dubbed “Bullet Storm”. But not soon after they went over a sand dune that an abandoned gas station loomed in the distance. Unfortunately it was a deathclaw nest. The tribe had told The Vault Dweller that deathclaws are giant 15 foot tall lizards that attack anything that was not a reptile on site. As The Vault Dweller approached the gas station they were attacked by a deathclaw mother devoted to keeping her babies safe. They were hardly fazed by the irradiated reptile gunning it down at a moments notice eager to eat the mother’s eggs. The Vault Dweller entered the gas station to look for a map to the near mythical city of New Vegas.
As the days passed The Vault dweller learned that the helmet they wore picked up radio transmissions and was pipboy compatible. With renewed energy they trudged even harder to make it to New Vegas and meet Mr. House. The Vault Dweller was sick and they knew it. After a fight with raiders and receiving a shot to the chest they knew they had to do something. The armour they wore protected them for the most part but the bullets the raiders used were rusty and jagged. Had they wore no armour they would be lying face down in a ditch and for that The Vault Dweller was grateful. But The Vault Dweller knew as they saw the lights and buildings of New Vegas they were home free. So ends the tale of The Vault Dweller and their quest to experience the lights and sounds that had caused so many people Old World Blues.