The lights are on
Power Member - Level 8
The forty or so of you that actually read the story the first time I posted this will probably want to read again. Basically, this was already up, but the formatting was terrible (lesson learned with Microsoft Word), and I decided to delete the post and start over.
For the people that have not yet read this, this is a fan story based off of one of my favorite universes in gaming, the Fallout universe. Specifically, it is based off of Fallout: New Vegas. I've delved back into the world of New Vegas to put together a fiction story based around one of my favorite games. I thank the Fallout Wiki for providing a reliable source.
This is the first part (the introduction actually) of a multiple-part story that I am still working on. I hope to get enough positive feedback for it being worth to go on, so comment on any and everything you feel the need to. Enjoy!
The Wasteland Wanderer
I haven't done a whole lot in my life.
I was a Mojave Express courier for a couple of months after my mother died. I realized that was a bad idea when I woke up in the New Vegas medical clinic. Doctor Usanagi told me they found me with a few too many bullet holes in me. I couldn't remember anything, so I took her word for it. I later found out that I had been carrying an important package to a Benny in New Vegas. Funny, I've still never met the guy. Anyway, I was fired, but it was okay. After all that, I had basically quit.
Well, after that, I wandered for weeks, surviving off of the bottle caps I got from being a courier and the ten-millimeter in my holster. Eventually, I stumbled upon Goodsprings, a nice little town southwest of New Vegas. There, I met a few good people and got a job hunting Geckos with a girl named Sunny Smiles. It was a nice place. It got me some caps, and honestly, I might have stayed there longer if it wasn't for the Raiders and critters. I left after a couple of weeks.
From there, I wandered again. I headed south and stumbled upon a small town named Primm. It wasn't too far from an NCR outpost called the Mojave Outpost Barracks. I stayed for a little while and then left, finding nothing for me to do.
Oh, why am I telling you all this without telling you who I am? I'm Samson Smith, a wasteland wanderer who hasn't found his place in the world yet. I spent my entire childhood in New Vegas with my mother, Penny Smith.
I know what you're probably thinking right now. Why would you leave New Vegas? Most people are lucky to ever get in, let alone be born in such a city. I know, I know, but let me explain. You see, I was born into a rich family. My father was a high-level NCR soldier who enjoyed the Gomorrah. His name is Jackson Smith. My mother drank and did drugs (mostly Psycho) a lot, mostly after my father left her for a dancer in the Gomorrah. That happened when I was six years old.
After that, my mother drank more and did more drugs (still mostly Psycho). The Psycho would make her angry and stronger than her malnourished physique. The alcohol would even that out, but it wouldn't stop her from beating me. I usually got a beating a week, but on the worst days, I'd get several beatings a day. She bought all of it with the caps my father left and I basically bought for myself. Rumors swirled about what was going on. I endured that for twelve years.
Then, when I was eighteen, my mother ended up overdosing on a mixture of Psycho, alcohol, and Mentats and died. I left then, taking what little we had left, including the ten-millimeter. I stayed in Freeside for a few days, taking pointers from other travelers, and left there.
I had to learn quickly what the world was like out there. Sure, I had been told stories by my father, NCR soldiers, and travelers, but until this point, I had never been outside the Strip. It was okay, though. I didn't have much, so there wasn't much to steal. People saw me and ignored me. It was okay because I was more confused than ever.
I guess I still am that confused now, sitting in a police station on the side of the road, on a smelly cot I found in the back. I'm confused about a lot of things. Who am I? Is there a place, a meaning, for me in this world? I'm asking questions like those all the time.
Also, what was so special about the dancer my father liked? I'd heard the slurred names women were called in the Gomorrah. What was so special about that woman, to be even more special than my mother? Also, why did my mother beat me? I remember her rants about me being such a disgraceful kid, but I never did much. I couldn't. What did I ever do to her that was worth beating me all the time?
But the most burdening, most worrying question rings in my head all the time. Should I have left New Vegas?