Last known date: October 23, 2077
My name is Dorian Mooneyham and I am starting this journal because I have just had the worst day possible. In what feels, to me, like less than 24 hours, I’ve seen the world destroyed by nuclear annihilation between America and China, been frozen in an underground vault for god knows how long, watched my newborn kidnapped and my husband murdered, and woken up to find nothing but giant cockroaches and dead neighbors and a nuclear wasteland.
I exited the empty vault and made my way back to my home, even though it was clearly destroyed. Believe it or not, but Codsworth, our robot butler, was there trimming the hedges for a house nobody had lived in for over 200 years, according to this Pip-Boy I salvaged from a dead body. Poor robot must have been lonely, because they had a breakdown when they finally dropped the helpful butler act and grieved our losses. After clearing the neighborhood of more giant, mutated pests, Codsworth suggested I make my way to Concord to see if I could find out more information about my baby. On my way I met a friendly dog who refused to leave my side at the Red Rocket gas station.
As I got closer to Concord, I heard multiple gunshots and laser blasts. Codsworth had warned me that the residents were “a little rough”. I would have just kept walking and made my way to the next town I could remember, but then I heard a man’s voice call out.
“Fuck,” I said to the dog, “Sounds like they really need help.”
He whimpered up at me, then bared his teeth. I took out the 10mm I’d found in the vault. I’ve only ever shot a gun once. When I was a little girl. And I wasn’t a fan. But I couldn’t take on four armed goons with only my fists. Just think of it like one of those arcade games you loved to play, I told myself. Look down the sights and squeeze the trigger. Can’t be too complicated.
I crept up behind them and put a bullet in the back of the first man’s head. The others instantly focused on me rather than the museum that had been under siege, so I ducked into a nearby building and took cover beneath the windows. Through some miracle, I managed to kill the others while only taking a few stray hits. I shot myself up with a stimpack, and suspected I would have to quickly get used to this level of physical stress.
The man in the museum threw down a laser-gun musket and begged me to continue the fight inside. Call me a ridiculous Gryffindor, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t help them. I picked up the musket but stuck to the 10mm. No way I wanted to fuck around with something that big. I could barely use the pistol effectively.
Inside the museum I heard more men taunting them. I snuck around the exhibits until I found the first man, who I stabbed from behind with a switchblade I’d just picked off of one of his buddies. The other gunner next to him didn’t even hear us, so I slit his throat from behind in the chaos. My adrenaline was pumping and I couldn’t believe what I was doing, but I kept running through the museum, switching to my gun once they noticed me and wasting at least half of my bullets firing in their general direction until I was the last one standing. It’s a miracle I didn’t get killed.
With the all the men dead, the survivors at the top of the museum greeted me with warmth, but also bad news. A man who called himself a “Minuteman”, Preston, told me they’d been traveling for weeks and losing more and more in fights like these. Apparently there were even more “Raiders” here, and unless we pulled something spectacular off, we were probably going to be overwhelmed and murdered.
A mechanic, Sturges, said my best bet was to crack into the generator downstairs, steal a fusion core, use a military power-suit they found on the roof, and rip the minigun off a vertibird to blow them all away. Have these people lost their minds?! Why was I, the woman who has never dealt with anything like this before in her life, the only person assumed to be capable of defending them? To be fair, the married couple was dealing with a panic attack. Which is certainly understandable, given how fucked up everything is now. And Mama Murphy was too old to fight. But why not Preston or Sturges?!
I told them it was suicide, but they argued with me until we started hearing more gunshots and shouting coming our way. “I guess somebody has to protect these people,” I sneered at them, “and I guess that somebody has to be me.” I figured a power suit and minigun against some raiders was better than what I had, so I grabbed the fusion core and went up to the roof. The last report of the soldier who survived the crash during the nuclear blasts 200 years ago played as I stepped into the horrifying contraption.
These “Raiders” look like something out of Mad Max. Is it really necessary to run around half naked with some armor strapped to you? Wouldn’t full clothing protect you better? I was chewing through them pretty easily with the minigun, despite the incredibly confusing and claustrophobic power suit. But suddenly, a giant Rancor looking thing came clawing out of the sewers and throwing them left and right! I look cover on the second story of a blown-out business and had to use every grenade and scrap of ammo for every gun I had scavenged so far, but the goddamn thing finally died. Not before giving me and my canine some nasty wounds as a parting gift, though. I don’t think the stimpaks are going to cure this scar across my face, but I’m grateful we survived.
Limping but alive, I finally told the settlers they should move into my old neighborhood. I mean, it’s abandoned and isolated, and I don’t know that I could ever live there again. It’s just…too raw. Too emotional, to be there. But I still escorted them and helped them get settled. We cleared some rubble, made some beds, got some basic necessities sustaining like food and water. Codsworth was delighted to be able to serve again. I guess that’s just his programming. Of course they welcomed me to live with them, and Preston wanted me to help rebuild the Mintuement even! But I have to find my baby. Even if it means going out into this hellish place. I don’t know how I’ll do it, but if he’s alive, I’m going to find him.
In the emptied out Red Rocket gas station by Santuary, I locked all the metal doors and settled down for the night. The dog and I are feasting tonight on some hard-earned steaks I hacked off that monster before we head out for the “Diamond City” Mama Murphy spoke about while tripping on drugs. Sadly, that’s about the best lead I’ve got so far.