Day 10, Capitol

A storm was brewing in the horizon and the streets were barren in anticipation for the rain to come. The rain - it used to be fun, and it used to be soothing. But ever since the war the rain only brought a downfall of radiated droplets.

And here I am, alone in the ruins of somebody's house, holding up to wait the rain away.

I don't know what I did to deserve getting stuck in this place. All I know is I want to get the hell out. And back to vault 101. Warm, safe, and SIMPLE. At least I didn't had to carry a f***ing rifle and duck between covers with bullets chewing up my ass in the capi-f***ing-tol ruins. At least they had clean water there.

So my father left. I thought it was only right for me to go after him. What a f***ing daddy's boy! Vault 101 made sense. The overseer's words, as tyrannical as it seemed at that time, made sense now. I shouldn't have left. I hope they would let me back.

But hell, who am I kidding... I'm nothing without dad. Jonas' been telling me that I needed focus, needed to follow in my father's footsteps and soak up all the medical knowledge that he had. I didn't understand the urgency then. But after my dad left, and with Jonas dead, the truth was pretty clear. They knew one day they would be gone, and by anchoring me down as the vault's only doctor left they would have a damned good reason for me to NOT leave the vault. They knew that my sense of responsibility would override my need to follow them. I bet they didn't factored in the fact that dogs chase after cars for no reasons too.

They wanted a doctor, but instead they got a soldier. Rebellious, stubborn and... well, stupid. Blame it on the BB gun and the makeshift shooting range. Heck, blame it on the tunnel snakes. I had to be strong, tough and intimidating to protect Amata. At least that was what I thought. Dad never approved of it. "You're too hot headed and careless," he used to say. "Patience is something that you'll need to learn, not only as a process of growing up but also for survival."

Survival? In the vault? I never was concerned with survival in the vault, but out here in the wasteland, those were golden words of wisdom. As if he knew his schemes would fail and I would come running after him.

The irony.

The rain began, and for a moment I was brought back to my youth. Those days I spent hiding in the showers, crying and feeling sorry for myself as Burke and his gang ruled the vault corridors. Well eventually I did shut them up and made all the bullying stop, but the sound of running water gently caressing my body had always been a surefire way to put all my despairs to rest.

I miss the vault. I really do. How could my dad had left all those behind? He was crazy to have left, regardless of what reasons he might have. I don't care if it was...

Wait.

I hear something.

A shuffling of... feet? Something mechanical. Metal. Cocking of weapons... a rifle maybe? No, too many movements to be a rifle... wait, sounds more like a minigun. Or a rocket launcher. Holy shit, muties in the house?

I clutched my assault rifle tight to my chest, and slowly pulled the cocking level to make sure I have a round in the chamber. Check. Flipping the safety switch down to full auto, I slowly turned so that I was aiming at the stairways in a prone position. And then I waited.

Dad was right. Patience was key now. If a head pops up the stairs, I'm giving it a f***ing lead dinner. But if nothing shows up, no point getting into a firefight for no reasons at all.

Wait it out. They'll leave, I'm sure.

"Ah f***ing rain." Okay, not muties. People. Raiders maybe.

"See? I told 'ya it'd come down hard. Should've stayed at the outpost. At least we had booze there."

"Shuddup you two. Let's just wait it out. Not like we get this kind of break everyday right?" said the third guy. "Besides, I've had enough of that b****'s push-up drills. The only push-up we need is in her boobies."

"Hell don't get me started. I mean, powered armor? Push-ups? Isn't that a little f***ing retarded? I mean this shit's supposed to be power assisted or something right?" said the first.

"Beats me. Push-ups in the outpost sure beats soaking in radioactive rain," grumbled the second.

"Ah will you just quit whining! f***ing hell, who's the one who got us into this patrol in the first place?"

"Oh now you're blaming me? You're the one who couldn't be bothered to fix that whacked servo of yours, which was the whole reason we got a hundred pumps in the first place."

"Shuddup. I hear something."

What? Oh shit, my finger moved from the trigger guard to lightly rest on the trigger. Please don't come up, please don't come up, please don't... wait, what was that?

First it sounded like an indistinct moan, and then as the rain withered away it became clearer. Feral ghouls. f***ing zombies from hell.

"Incoming!" yelled the first guy, and what followed was a series of loud screeches and the winding up of a minigun. And then all hell broke loose.

"Three o'clock! Pin 'em down!"

I raised myself up to my elbows, and peeped over the broken wall that I'm hiding behind. Ghouls, dozens of them, swarming from a nearby Metro station like roaches flooding out of the sewers. Lines of traces and red beams of lasers struck forth to cut them down, but they were numerous and hell they were fast.

I would be an idiot to wait out the battle.

Taking advantage of the chaos, I quickly grabbed my backpack and jumped down the other side of the building, landing in a roll and then breaking into a run. After a dozen paces I turned around to check if anybody noticed my departure, and to my relief my passing had gone undetected.

If there's one thing I'm good at, that's running the f*** away from trouble.

Day 11

I'm lost. Dropped my PIPBOY somewhere in the tunnels, and now I'm f***ing lost. Here's a tip if you're reading this (which I hope not) - double scotch tape that f***ing piece of rubbish on your arm or risk losing it when you're being chased by them f***ing zombies.

There are helpful signs in the tunnels that would tell me where I am, if it was before the great war. Now there're more graffiti and blood stains on them than sugar in sugar bombs. Ha, that was clever. Not.

My rifle's breaking down, and nobody care to lend me a spare one to tear apart. Once that fails, all I'm left is this stupid commie sword, and is so rusty that it probably can't even dent a piece of pudding. Yeah, I'm officially f***ed here.

I'm following this tunnel, and hopefully it'll take me to somewhere ABOVE ground. I don't care if the streets are overrun by muties. I just can't take another ghoul anymore. Not to mention those that glow in the dark... I mean c'mon, what the hell? Heck if I were the enclave or the brotherhood of brahmin dung I'd grab one of those dudes and put him into a transparent radioactive container. See, free light. Oh make it sound proof too - the moaning and screeching will definitely get to you sooner than you'd think.

So far so good. Uneventful - just the way life should be.

Heh, but we all know life sucks right?

Turned a corner, and two ghouls jumped right at me. Got a good bite off my left arm too. Popped one's head with a burst, and hammered the other with the butt of my rifle. And then pop his head too while he's down.

Pulled the trigger, and the whole f***ing chamber exploded in my face on the second shot. Thank GOD it decided to break on the second shot.

I stared at that useless piece of junk in disbelief, debating for a moment whether should I keep it or not. Not that I expect to find a match quality rifle in the wasteland, but these Chinese junk definitely need more quality control.

Well, not like our own assault rifles are any better though.

Sigh. Ok fine, melee it is then. Looting the ghouls for bottle caps (the hell they need that for???), I continued my journey; I'm pretty sure the next encounter would be the end of my pathetic existence on this f***ed up planet.

Well whaddaya know, an exit sign! I hope this leads to the surface... I don't believe in luck but I do hope this would be god's salvation for a poor soul like me. f*** that. I don't believe in god. You know, the whole alpha and omega bullshit. It meant a lot for mom, but since I never got to see her, I never got to know god. My reasoning is simple. If there were a god, I'd be wearing a powered armor now. And carrying a minigun with infinite bullets of righteousness.

The fact that I'm swinging a 30 year old rusty sword pretty much takes god out of the picture.

Nevertheless, it's still my best chance. I approached the door slowly and leaned upon it, straining to hear any suspicious sound that...

BANG and I crashed right into somebody who yanked open the door. Can't you at least knock?

I brought my sword up blindly, cutting a deadly path upwards, only to have it slam into the door knob. The blade decided that hitting a door knob wasn't what it was born to do and promptly committed harakiri. And as a gesture of thanks, the broken end of the sword snapped upwards and left a gaping gash across the bridge of my nose.

I lifted my face up in disbelieve. They say when you're about to die, your life flashes before you. Don't believe that shit. The only thing that flashes before my mind at that moment is the pathetic fact that I'm going to die a f***ing virgin. Should have at least humped a dead ghoul just now.

Standing before me is the embodiment of the word irony. A ghoul - complete with flaking skin and exposed sinews - wearing a top hat and a gentleman's suit, holding a tommy and chewing on a cigar.

Holy f***ing hell. Am I in hell now?

"Who the f*** are you?" said the ghoul in a rasping voice.

"What the f*** are you?" I couldn't help it. The irony was too overwhelming. And then it hit me.

SINCE WHEN DID GHOULS TALK???

"What the f*** are you?" I repeated again, my mouth agape, eyes wide open. This is just... too much.

"Name's Mr. Ron. Now you got three seconds to tell me who the f*** are you," the ghoul replied, mafia style. All that and still keeping the cigar between his teeth.

Classic.

"Err, well, I'm err... wait, do ghouls talk?"

"Two."

"Alright, alright! I'm Eddy. I'm unarmed. I didn't kill your pals down those tunnels. I swear."

"Ok boy. First, those ferals you see? They 'aint my pals. They're prey, and that's what this baby is here for. Second, I do talk. But I can shoot better, so it's your call - lead or spit."

I stared at him like an idiot, and in response he cocked the tommy.

"OKAY! Alright, alright, cool down. I'm sorry. I just... I didn't know... I mean," I stammered, the surprise still clouding my judgement. 10 days in the wasteland and I've thought I've seen everything. This one takes the cake.

"And the next question that naturally follows in situations like this is, what the f*** you doing in my turf?"

"Your turf? Sorry pal, I got lost..."

"That's MISTER Ron for you, 'pal'."

Surprise immediately replaced by the overwhelming urge to strangle and kill.

"Mr. Ron. I got lost in the tunnels."

"You're doing a great job at that. Keep it up," said the ghoul, and two of its pals laughed on cue. "Get going. This is not a place for smooth skins like you."

"Smooth skin?" Now that was new.

"Yeah. Squishy, soft and horrendous smooth skin. You know, the kind that can't take a little dose of radiation?"

Sonnavab****. I hope half a sword is still a lethal weapon... nope, probably not good enough. Can't reach him from this distance. Patience. Words of wisdom. Dad probably should have started me on anger management first.

"Mr. Ron right? I really need to get top side. I've been wandering around for hours in these tunnels and can't find my way out."

"Then keep finding. What's stopping you?" again his gang laughed in unison, and I suddenly had a deja vu. Tunnel snakes all over again, only with skins peeling off. Good, at least now I know how to handle people like these. I mean ghouls. Or whatever.

"Cut the mafia crap Ron. I need to get topside," I spoke, with a menancing tone. As long as he don't pull the trigger, I'm winning this game.

"Oh yeah? I'm the one holding the guns here punk. And last I checked, you're outnumbered three to one."

"You sure?" I grinned. I raised the broken half of the sword and threw it aside, and then took a step forward, bringing my face inches before him. Thank god I am half a foot taller than the f***er. "How about this. You pull the trigger, and see what happens. Oh I'm gonna love this, Ronnie boy."

Two seconds later, the fire's gone from his eyes. I can't believe it worked. No wait... something's moving in the corner of my eye and...

WHOOP.

World spinning...

THUMP.