I wake up on my knees with my hands tied in front of me, some asshole in a checkered suit pointing a pistol at my head. You've got to be fucking kidding me. I've been trying to cut back on my cussing, it's appalling the language I've picked up since I left the vault. But honestly, there is no other word that can cover the situation right now. Fuck.

I thought I'd left all this behind in the Capital Wasteland. Five years ago I followed my dad's footsteps and broke out of vault 101. I traced his path across the Wasteland, trying to find him, positive he needed my help. He did, desperately, but I still couldn't save him. He died in front of my eyes at Project Purity, another victim of the Enclave.

I could have just said screw it at that point, went my own way, but Dad raised me better than that. I needed to get Project Purity running, the Wasteland needed clean water, and I needed revenge on the Enclave. I guess that makes my motives less than pure. Yes, Dad raised me right but no one in this day and age has completely pure motives. Well, maybe Fawkes, but he's a Super Mutant so not many people would believe that anyway.

So off I went to the Brotherhood of Steel, all in all a good bunch of people. They helped me find the information I needed to get Project Purity running and blow up the East coast headquarters of the Enclave. They even swooped in and scooped me up after I nearly died of radiation poisoning, nursing me back to health.

Around this time I realized there was an unexpected side effect to all my deeds. What I considered being a decent person the rest of the Wasteland considered being a hero. I guess there are few enough people in the wastelands trying to do good where they can that it's become a miraculous occurrence. When Three Dog talked about me on the radio I was no longer the kid from vault 101, I was now the Messiah of the Wasteland. The downside of being a hero is it's a lonely life, at least it was for me. Still, I kept going, determined to make a life for myself there. It wasn't until I traveled to Lookout Point that I decided I just couldn't take it anymore.

To get in good with the local cult and hopefully find the missing Nadine I had to go on a stupid quest, complete with hallucinogenics. During my journey back to the world of the sane it was pointed out to me that I was all alone. My mother- died in childbirth. My father- killed by the Enclave. Hell, I'd even gone back to the vault to save the people there, only to be kicked out by Amata, my supposed best friend, once I was done. I was mocked by every person I was unable to save, accused of being the reason my loved ones died. It got to me. The only thing this horrible vision couldn't touch was my dog, Dogmeat.

When I finally got out of there and was on my way back to the Capital Wasteland I planned to spend a full day with him in my house in Megaton, get my head back on straight before venturing out again. Butch met me at the docks. He said he was really sorry, but he had taken Dogmeat out scavenging and a raider had taken his head off. I shot Butch in the leg. He screamed like a baby, but he's just lucky I didn't shoot to kill.

I was done after that. I closed up my house and sold it back to Lucas Simms. I made sure Elder Lyons of the Brotherhood of Steel agreed to give Fawkes a home. In exchange Fawkes would help them understand the Super Mutant threat better. I sold Charon's contract to Carol in Underworld so that I knew he'd never be forced to act against his conscience again.

In short, I closed up shop and left. I got in contact with one of my Caravan friends and he told me about a buddy of his that was headed out west. I sounded perfect to me, a fresh start. So I signed up and headed out. That was four years ago.

The first thing I leaned upon arriving in the Mojave Desert was that people here were barely aware of what was happening on the East coast, and cared even less about it. No one had even heard of the Lone Wanderer, let alone what I looked like. Which was fine by me. I took a job as a courier for Mojave Express and spent my time running from one settlement to the next. I never stayed longer than it took to deliver the message and resupply. I didn't stick around to see who needed help, I didn't make any friends or any enemies. Easier that way.

Which begs the question, who the hell is this guy with a pistol to my head? The only people I can think of that would want me dead are the Enclave, and this guy is definitely not one of theirs. He looks at me with almost sympathy in his eyes, as if he'd spare me if he could, but oh well, this is the way it has to be.

"This must seem like a run of 18 karat bad luck to you," he says. Who talks like that? "But the truth is the game was rigged from the start." He pulls the trigger and all I see is black.

Fuck.