My name is Anita Blake. I was a courier for Mojave Express. I have stolen, I have killed, and I have seen and done things you wish you had never even heard of. I have been through death's door and back. I walk a winding road of thievery, blood, and virtues all struggling like a tangle of vines. This, is my diary, wherein I will record the road as it comes, whether it ends with me in a gutter dying of radiation, or like city folk, in my bed, fast asleep.

My father was one of the people that escaped the Vaults. There had been a structural flaw that caused half of his Vault to cave in. Tossed out into the wasteland, he struggled as a scavenger for years. He never settled down, never stopped pushing the envelope for how much he got. And as I found out later in life, he even scavenged me. I was his biggest prize -- a baby stolen from her family because the fool couldn't bear considering raising a family on his job. No, he didn't want a family, he wanted a successor, someone to outlast the madness of the wars and the radiation. He wanted a cockroach, not a child.

It wouldn't be until many years later, around the time I turned twelve, that I learned what he'd done to my real family. I hate that I still can't stop calling him my father, but that's what he was. He taught me how to steal, how to pick weak locks, how to hack a computer relay... everything he knew. I learned how to shoot off a bug's head, and how to stab man from behind before he saw me. Like I said, for twelve years, that's all I knew really. I'm not sure if he loved me, but it wasn't love that saved me the day we parted, it was his greed. He encounter members of the Legion, and they were looking for slaves. They offered him a fortune for me, plus a guarantee of safe passage for him through their territory. I'm not sure if they wanted something to ***k or someone to shoot for them, but I finally took my life into my own hands. I got a good distance from them, running. He told them to hold off, that he'd "talk" to me.

I bet they came running after the gunshot. Especially since there were no screams after.

It's the moments like that that really define you. I had probably injured and nearly killed people before, but back then, it'd been because my daddy had told me to. Now, I had just killed for my survival. I kept running. I had been the packmule, carrying all the supplies, besides my father's gun. I took that from him and made it a while before I finally met civilization, or as close to it as I could. I got myself a job, after a lot of struggling, working for Mojave Express. I worked nearly a decade for them. I was finally looking at getting my life back together, in this ***ked up world.

Then I got my taste of lead. Except here I am, alive, writing this down. Why? Why am I alive? Why did someone try to kill me? And most importantly...

How many bullets is this job going to take? Because I'm not going out quietly.

                  Anita Blake: The Fallout New Vegas Diaries

Paradigm the Fallen (me, myself, and I), known to many as the ultra-critical reviewer who you wish would stop talking about Uncharted, presents you a new story, this one built from his very experiences in Fallout New Vegas. The story will diverge and twist as it comes, and death may come at any point for any character! With the combination of in-game footage and diary record, experience the life of former thief turned courier turned vigilante in this new blog series. Coming soon to a blog near you!*

Paradigm the Fallen

You take a sip of your Vault 13 can..

*technically near me, but you get the picture!