Survivor's Testament: Week One

Day 1: Monday, 18/10/77

New journal finally arrived today, two weeks late. A new record for the postal service. I will be sure to thank them with a grenade through their office window at soonest opportunity. Or maybe send them a package of C4. I don't know. Haven't decided yet. Depends how easily I can find high explosives around here. I bet Tom Baker down the street has some I could borrow. Nora says that I can't keep planning domestic terrorism whenever I get angry; I say anger has nothing to do with it. I will wipe those post office fuckers out with military precision. They've had it coming for a long time.

In other news, I have not yet shot myself in the head to escape the constant squalling of my beloved infant son, whose existence I continue to regret every single day. Everything about this situation is horrible, and his constant shitting, pissing, and crying in the middle of the night makes me pine for my days of freezing my balls off while being shot at by the Chinese. If this keeps up, I might just cave in and go see Hawthorne for some Daytripper. Anything to ease the pain of this nightmare that my life has become.

Day 2: Tuesday, 19/10/77

The new Mr. Handy, Codsworth, continues to address me exclusively as "Mr. Fuckface." I have repeatedly asked him not to, but apparently, there exists no setting to change the designated owner's name once it's been set. This seems like a glaring oversight to me, but hey, what do I know? I'm just an ex-soldier with a highly improbable variety of skills. I'm sure the geniuses at General Atomics had many good reasons why the owner's name had to be carved in fucking stone like this, just like I'm sure I had many good reasons for inputting that name at the time, even if I can't remember them now for the life of me.

Nora finds it funny. She would do. That woman has always delighted in my suffering. I wish she would just murder me for the insurance already and get it over with. The suspense is dreadful.

Day 3: Wednesday, 20/10/77

No matter how much I drink, the pain never really goes away. I can still hear my wife's nagging voice, and my son's constant bawling. Sanctuary is anything but. It is a limbo between this world and the next, an expanse of endless torture and monotony. I lived my life outside the light of God, and so I am damned to this domestic hell. Nora is my jailor, and Shaun is my penance. Forgive me, oh Lord, I knew what I did was wrong, but I could not stop myself.

On the other hand, my new horror novel is going great.

Day 4: Thursday, 21/10/77

Finally quit my job today. Told Mr. De Santa right to his face exactly what I thought of him, and good God was it satisfying. I've wanted to punch that asshole for years, but this was the next best thing, especially when I told him about the ground dogshit I put in his coffee. But that's all water under the bridge now. At last, I can finally pursue my real dream - driving monster trucks.

It'll take some doing, but I'll get there eventually. Cousin Dale said he'd help me. He's coming up with the kids soon anyway for the barbecue, so I'll talk to him about it then. I did try to warn him that he's inviting disaster on us, putting Jean and Nora under the same roof again, but of course nobody listens to me. I guess we'll both just have to live with the chattering for a couple days. If I can find my earplugs, I should be able to manage.

Day 5: Friday, 22/10/77

Those lost dog posters are still there around Concord. It's been a month since the mutt ran off, and still nothing yet. It's a shame; I liked that dog. He was one of the more dependable people in my life, if you can call a dog "people." But he was also probably the smartest of us, because he got out while he still could. That's more than I could ever do, and I envy him for it. Wherever he is now, I hope he's alright.

Got the Veteran's Hall speech tomorrow. I still don't get why those chucklefucks are so honoured to have me. Sure, I killed a whole bunch of commies and got some medals, but you'd think they'd want to distance themselves from me after how many public urination charges I've been brought up on. Once or twice is excusable, but the Boston Bugle described me as a "serial offender" and a "public menace." Don't get me wrong, I'm not at all ashamed of any of it, and I'd do it all again in a heartbeat if I could. I'm just confused why they aren't.

Day 6: Saturday, 23/10/87

So somebody nuked Boston today. That was kind of a downer.

Well, more accurately, they nuked it about two hundred years ago, and I seriously overslept. And then some nice people came by to murder my wife and steal my son while I was asleep, which I didn't entirely appreciate either. So it's been kind of a shitty day.

It started as an ordinary Saturday morning. Nora was bothering me in the bathroom, looming behind me in the mirror like a spectre from my nightmares. Shaun was crying again. Codsworth kept calling me Fuckface. Standard stuff. Then some Vault-Tec fuck came to my door, and wouldn't take no for an answer, so I signed some papers in hopes it would make him go away. But turns out he may have saved my life, because not two minutes later we got the warning that the nukes were inbound. We rushed for Vault 111, and made it inside just as the bomb hit Boston. I actually saw the mushroom cloud.

How in Christ's name we survived, I have no idea. At the very least we should've all been blind with third degree burns. I guess it was a magic nuke. But we did make it inside, along with a few of the neighbours, and the Vault-Tec people gave us these stupid blue jumpsuits and put us through processing. We were led into these pods, which they told us were for decontamination or something. I don't know. I wasn't paying much attention at the time, what with, y'know, the world ending. So before I even thought to question it, Nora took Shaun and went in one pod, and I sat in the one opposite, whereupon we were all promptly frozen.

I woke up a short time later from my perspective, though I don't know how long it actually was, and that's when some bald fuck and his entourage came in, shot Nora, and took Shaun. Fucker looked me right in the eye as I was struggling to get out, and ordered them to put me back on ice. When I finally got out again, they were long gone, and everyone in the vault was dead. All the neighbours died in their pods, and the Vault-Tec staff apparently killed each other in a mutiny over two hundred years ago, making me the sole survivor of Vault 111.

Except Shaun. Fuck. Okay, sole survivor of Vault 111, except Shaun. And maybe those other guys. I don't know if they were Vault-Tec or not. Sole survivor except for Shaun and maybe those other guys.

Actually, screw it. Let's just say I'm the sole survivor. It's catchier.

Anyway, I've since made my way back to the surface and back to my house. It's sure been... interesting. The vault was full of giant mutant cockroaches, and I had to fight my way out past them, but I found a gun, a police baton, and some stimpaks along the way, along with some food and a few other knick knacks. My best find was one of those Pip-Boys. It comes with a GPS, Geiger counter, and an assisted targeting system. Also plays holotapes, and opens Vault-Tec doors, apparently. It even runs Red Menace. As far as consolation prizes for the death of my family goes, it's okay.

Wish I could've gotten the sweet-looking gun I saw in the Overseer's office too, but the cabinet was locked up good. I'm gonna have to practice my lock-picking and come back for it later.

I found the surface air breathable once I escaped, and my Geiger counter didn't immediately go off, so it looked safe to go ahead, despite all the skeletons still hanging around. The forest is still here, and the world's still alive at least, if not in good shape. Most of the animals seem to have mutated, like the bugs in the vault, but... it's life, I guess.

Somehow, Codsworth was still there when I got to the house. He's just been hanging around in Sanctuary for the past two hundred and ten years, slowly going crazy from isolation, though I was able to break through it with some pressing. He even still calls me Mr. Fuckface after all this time, because like war, some things never fucking change. Don't get me wrong, though, I am glad he's here. A little familiarity is good, considering how much else has changed, and the fact that he's maintained his programming all this time is also helpful, because it means he still recognises me and obeys instructions. I'm also pretty sure he's the sole reason the house hasn't collapsed over the past two centuries; some of the others on the street weren't so lucky.

It's a weird feeling, standing in the ruins of my old home. Just yesterday for me it was a perfectly normal neighbourhood. Now it's a rotting corpse. And I guess everyone I ever knew must be dead now, which isn't a fun thought. I mean, I'm not gonna miss most of them, but they weren't all awful. I liked most of my family. A few coworkers. John and Barry from my old squad. And my barber Lucius was alright. The rest of the human race can go fuck itself, though.

But still, to think they're all suddenly gone, just like that. Even Nora. I never even got to serve her the divorce papers.

I'm not completely sure what to do next, so for now, I'm just hanging around. Codsworth helped me clear out some mutant pests from the other houses on the street, and I've since put him to work tidying the place up. All the walls and ceilings are rusted through and full of holes, and the bed's broken besides, so I'm not gonna be staying in the house tonight, but I figured I'd at least get all the leaves, rubble, broken furniture, and mouldy carpet out. If I patch the walls and ceiling up, it might be liveable again one day, but it'll need a lot of work. I might have to pull down some of the other houses on the street for building materials. Could be something to do with my time. Not like I got anything else to do now.

Oh fuck, that's right, my son's still missing. I keep forgetting that.

But those are problems for later. Right now I'm hunkering down in Tom Baker's shelter, since it's the only place around with a bed that's not exposed to the elements, and Codsworth informs me that "radstorms" are a concern around here now. Can't say I'm looking forward to dealing with that, but at least I found some RadAway while scavenging around the neighbourhood. Some drugs, too. Thank you, Hawthorne - I'll shoot one up in your memory.

Still, there's one last thing bothering me about Sanctuary, beyond the obvious. I think somebody was here recently, or maybe several somebodies. I had a walk around the backwoods near Vault 111, and found a crude shelter directly overlooking the vault entrance, with a strange symbol on it I didn't recognise. There wasn't much there, but somebody left some cartons (?) of water there, and more interestingly, some still burning candles.

They weren't the only fires I found either. I also came across a burning campfire and cookpot by Ted Russell's place while I was helping Codsworth clear the neighbourhood. If the cookfire had been dead, I wouldn't have thought much of it. It's only natural that survivors would pass by or camp here at some point in the last two hundred years. In fact, Codsworth told me a lovely story about a survivor who camped here about a decade after the bombs fell, until another completely unrelated survivor came by, shot him, and ate him. But burning fires are evidence of recent occupation, and Codsworth doesn't recall seeing anybody that recently.

Somebody was here just before I was. Maybe somebody watching the vault entrance. Could it have been the kidnappers? I don't know. But it's interesting, isn't it?

Well, all that can wait for tomorrow, I guess. For now, I need to try and sleep, if I still can.

Perhaps then, I might be able to wake from this nightmare.

Day 7: Sunday, 24/10/87

The Sanctuary spring cleaning project has been going well, even if it is technically still autumn. Codsworth worked all through the night clearing out the houses around here. Everything broken and rotten beyond repair he moved into a big pile and burned, and everything else I've been breaking down and trying to salvage. Got a few containers for small parts like screws and gears, some stockpiles of wood, metal, and other general materials, and I was able to find some tools and workbenches around.

I've moved my operations into the Rosas' house for now. That sheltered driveway of theirs makes for a good outdoor workshop where I can work on my guns and such. I set my stockpiles and tools nearby, and moved the workbenches and Hawthorne's old chemistry station there. Also the campfire and cookpot I found by Ted's place, since obviously none of the ovens around here work anymore. Might try and fix one of the electric stoves if I can slap a generator together. I can totally build a generator, I'm sure. I was an electrician for a time.

I've been trying not to rush through my rations too quickly, since I probably got really lucky finding so much preserved pre-war food in the houses around here. I mean, two hundred years is a damn long time; surely most of the Commonwealth will have been picked clean by scavengers after that long. So in the interest of making what I have last, I decided to harvest the meat from those giant mutant cockroaches and cook it up before it spoiled, since they were big enough to have some on them. I can't say it's the most appetising thing I've ever eaten, but I had worse in the army, so I can manage. For post-apocalyptic cuisine, it's passable. And the Pip-Boy seemed to think it was safe to eat, so there's that.

Was thinking I might try some fishing as well, but I didn't see any in the river. Don't know how the radiation would've affected marine life, but I'm sure it must still be around somewhere. I'll have a look next time I'm on the coast.

I found something interesting while walking by the river, though. There was a dead man on the other side of the bridge from Sanctuary. And not a two hundred year old skeleton, like the poor bastards around the vault. A fresh corpse, no more than a couple days dead, apparently killed by some equally dead hairless dog. I guess I found the guy who lit those fires. He didn't look familiar, though. Definitely wasn't the bald fuck. Not sure why he was watching the vault then, unless it was somebody else.

He had some good stuff on him, though. Stimpaks, a shotgun, some shells, and some fresh clothes. Yes, I stole a dead man's clothes; all the cops are dead, so who's gonna stop me? Just needed a quick wash to get the blood off. It's still better than wearing musty old pre-war shit from a suitcase at least, and I really don't want to traverse the wasteland in a bright blue jumpsuit, since that's just begging to get shot. Besides, my new outfit is full leather; aside from being better protection, it just looks sweet. I feel like a real post-apocalyptic survivor in this get-up. Might see if I can add some shoulder pads and under-armour too.

I'm liking the shotgun, too, so I took it back to my new workshop and fixed it up a little. Nothing too spectacular; just sawed off the barrel and repaired the receiver. Optimising it for close quarters, in case some fucking mutant jumps out of a bush and tries to gore me. I have no idea what kind of shit could be out there, so I want to be prepared before venturing out. Did a little work on my 10mm pistol from the vault, too. New sights and such. Had to tear a few bits of junk from around the neighbourhood apart for all the components, but that's alright. Nobody's left to give me shit about it anymore.

Other than that, just continued to clean the place up a little. Toppled a few dead trees and had Codsworth saw them up for planks. Started a compost heap in the backyard with all the dead leaves. Moved some of the salvageable furniture from the other houses into the Rosas' place. Pretty normal stuff. Also collecting up anything I could find with copper in it. I can make wires with copper, which will be essential for getting a generator running. Just need to melt it down. I might need a forge. That's okay. I can totally make a forge. I was a blacksmith for a time.

It's getting late now, so I'll be going to bed after I've finished this entry. Just been re-reading this old Grognak comic before I do. Somehow the thing was still on my kitchen counter after two hundred years; I guess those glossy covers are really waterproof.

I'm doing okay, though, for my second day in the new world. I'm alive, I'm productive, and I've got booze, chems, and a gun. I've been through lower points. This is still better than high school. And prison. And Anchorage. And being married to Nora.

God, I hated that woman so fucking much.

Notes from the author:

Y'all muthafuckas didn't see this one coming, did ya?