Friday, 20 November 2015

Layla's Wasteland Journal #4

Catch up with the rest of Layla's Fallout 4 posts here.

Saw a particularly depressing sight today. On the edge of river, by the Graygarden homestead, was four of those dubious looking Pulowski Preservation Shelters, the ones that Nate and I used to laugh at when we saw the advert on the television. How desperate must you be to be to hide in a glorified outhouse? Nate always dismayed at the coin-operated aspect of them too. Well today I got to see the type of people desperate enough for these shelters. Vault 111 was very close to our house, completely within walking distance. A bus had crashed into the podium for these. Suitcases scattered. Bodies clambering on top of each other, just missing the opportunity to slot their coins in before the blast took their lives. A moment in time perfectly preserved.

All this was with Preston. I wanted to try and get to know him better, especially if I'm to be his General. He spoke of another group of people, this time a gang called The Fens, who where based in Back Street Apparel. While I hesitate to say this, it almost felt routine. I even felt satisfied. I defeated this bastards. They set up traps and I disarmed them. I sneaked my way through that trashed shop, and I was happy when I realised they were all dead. The folks we were helping decided to join the Minutemen, but the relief was more in knowing there was fewer raiders out there.

I remember how Nate would talk so fondly about his squadron, and the connection you get with someone that is only possible in warfare. I am starting to feel some of that camaraderie with Preston, who had decided to divulge some of his past with me, specifically how he came to join the Minutemen himself when he was 17, and the disillusionment experienced with the political infighting. I sometimes wish people wouldn't tell me this stuff. I fear letting these people down, and if I'm honest, them letting me down. But in this lawless world I appreciate folks who are trying to uphold some kind of moral code.

One of the most startling things about this new, future world is just how eerily similar it is to my era; just more run down and bloody. One of the biggest differences is the money situation. I remember how much we would panic about money and always complain that we never had enough of it. Well, I managed to find some money, just laying around of course, and I tried to use it to buy some supplies from a trader I'd helped out before. This trader, who calls herself Trashcan Carla, laughed at my money and inspected it like some hilarious curiosity. They buy things with bottlecaps in this world. Metal, jagged bottlecaps. I don't understand the logic, but I've had to sew a bigger pocket into my armour.

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