Doc Webb's Wasteland Journal : Fallout Series Discussion

» Sat May 28, 2011 9:00 pm

*General info in this first post -- Journal begins in second post!*

I had the potentially idiotic idea to document my hardcoe playthrough of New Vegas as a blog from the point of view of my character. I've seen people blog their playthroughs of FO3, and they generally seem pretty fun, so I thought it might be worth a shot.

This topic will be reposts of the text of the blog -- you guys are also welcome to check out the original, with pictures and my lame attempt at a PIP-Boy-esque layout, at http://docwebbjournal.blogspot.com.

All comments, feedback, criticism, suggestions, and name-calling are very welcome.

Okay, on to the journal!

» Sat May 28, 2011 5:26 pm

//Log Date: 2281-10-19 20:13//

<> Hello? Hello? Is this thing recording?

Holotapes... bah. Beats trying to keep a paper journal dry and unsmudged, I suppose, but, on the other hand, far less useful in the outhouse in a pinch.

This is Doctor Jacob Webb, or just Doc Webb to most folks. I’m a traveling doctor, originally hailing from a little stead outside of Modoc.

I’ve suffered some head trauma recently, so I’m going to be keeping a holotape log for a while and reviewing it periodically to make sure all cylinders are still firing. Not that self diagnosis is a safe bet, but, well, what the hell, right?

It’s... not been my best week, I’m afraid. It started harmlessly enough. I was headed to the fabled New Vegas Strip to restock on chems and other assorted medical supplies... maybe take in the tables, I won’t lie. Never been, but I’ve been drifting further and further east ever since... well, anyway. It seemed like something to see.

As I was already headed in that direction, I figured there was no harm in making a few extra caps in the bargain by doing a bit of freelance work for Mojave Express, dropping off a package on the Strip while I was there. I’ll often carry letters or packages for folks while moving from town to town anyway, so it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Unfortunately, this is where the head trauma comes in.

Still a ways out from New Vegas, I was waylaid by a pack of tribals lead by a wiseguy in a checkered suit. This harlequin idiot and his goons knocked me out, tied me up, and took the package, which turned out to be a [censored] shiny poker chip, of all things. Then Checkers pulled a gun and shot me in the head.

The last thought that went through my mind was, “Here I come, girls.”

Unfortunately, rather than a light or a tunnel or fat babies with harps, I eventually came to looking at a bald old man and with a splitting headache.

The bald man turned out to be another doctor by the name of Mitchell, and, as I’m still breathing after a bullet to the brainpan, with all parts basically in the same place, I have to admit the old codger knows his stuff. After giving me a quick and dirty neurological evaluation, he filled me in on what had happened -- apparently, I’d been rolled into a shallow grave outside a town called Goodsprings, where a robot named Victor found me, dragged me out of the dirt, and dropped me off to be patched up by Mitchell.

Damn lucky this town had a doctor, all things considered.

And a helpful gravedigging robot, if it comes to that.

As Checkers and his hooligans had apparently stripped me of my kit as well as shooting me, Mitchell was kind enough to give me a spare set of clothes, a pistol, a few caps, and some chems -- not anything like the stock that was stolen from me, but at least it’s a start.

He also gave me one of those pre-war, wrist-mounted computers that they gave out to Vault dwellers -- an actual PIP-Boy 3000. It’s what I’m using to record this holotape, actually. Mitchell came out of a vault himself, apparently, and claims he doesn’t use it any more since he’s settled down. One hell of a gift to someone he doesn’t know from Adam, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

I’ll have to figure out some way to pay him back for all this. I don’t like owing debts, even for things freely given.

Mitchell then recommended I head to the local saloon and check in with a woman with the unlikely name of “Sunny Smiles”. Though she sounds like someone who should be earning her living through... *cough* ...negotiable affection, she’s apparently quite the survivalist. I’m no greenhorn, but, after getting rolled like I did, it certainly couldn’t hurt to brush up on my techniques.

Coming out of Mitchell’s place, I spotted what could only be “Victor” rolling past. I chased him down -- apparently, he has his own house, like any other person in town -- and thanked him for the rescue. He has some sort of canned cowboy persona programmed in, but he seems nice enough for a tin can. Hell, he took the time to save my wrinkled ass, which is more than most flesh and blood folks would have done, so he’s all right in my book. He asked me to say “howdy” to his “brothers” on the strip -- I’ll have to keep my eyes skinned. Somehow, I imagine they won’t be quite as charming.

On the way through Goodsprings, I stopped in at the general store, run by a fellow named Chet. I bought a hat off of him to keep the sun out of my eyes and asked if he knew anything about the goons who attacked me. He didn’t know any names, but he confirmed that Checkers was probably out of New Vegas and told me that the tribals were from a group called the Khans, who apparently specialize in brewing and dealing chems.

If they hadn’t robbed and killed me, they might have been a good trading source.

Chet also mentioned that Victor belongs to the undoubtedly pseudonymously monikered Mr. House, who apparently runs the whole of New Vegas. If that’s true, then Chet seems to be implying that House is keeping an eye on me through the robot. Not exactly a comforting thought, rescue notwithstanding.

Next up was the saloon where, as promised, I met Ms. Smiles. I liked her immediately. Tough, hunter type, reminded me almost painfully of Jess. She handed me an old rifle and took me out for a tour of the local wells that give the town its name, clearing out some of those damn mutant geckoes along the way. I’ve never been much of a shot even when I was in practice, but I managed to down a few even so.

Most of the credit, of course, went to Ms. Smiles and her hunting dog Cheyenne. We even happened to save a Goodsprings resident who had gotten cornered by some of the lizards, and she gave me a canteen full of clean springwater out of gratitude. It’s battered and ancient, but I know from personal experience that a good canteen can be a real lifesaver.

Sunny headed back to town and suggested that I check in with the proprietress of the saloon once I got back. High on our success at the springs, I thought I’d check out the rumors of “critters” in the schoolhouse and do some scavving while I was there. Just mantises, as it turned out, but it was worth the trip -- turned up plenty of goodies once the scrabbling nuisances were dealt with.

From there, I thought I’d take in the evening air and hike up to the cemetery where I’d been a temporary resident. Almost killed myself again tripping into my own grave -- how’s that for irony? -- and noticed some odd cigarette butts while climbing out. I stuffed them into an empty tin can for future study. I remember Checkers smoking right before he shot me; maybe they’ll help me track him down. Then, as the dark settled in, I noticed the lights of the Strip off on the horizon from the cemetery hill. I have to admit, it was damn impressive.

I headed back into town but felt a bit over-socialized, so I’ve actually headed back to the springs for the night. It’s quiet enough now that we’ve cleared out the geckoes -- in fact, I’m roasting up some of their meat as I speak -- and there’s a rusted-out camper here with a serviceable mattress inside, so I’ll turn in after I’ve eaten and get some rest. Hopefully this damn headache will be gone in the morning.

Still, after a bullet-driven kick in the head like I received... I guess I shouldn’t complain about a headache or two.

This is Doc Webb, signing off.

//Recording Ends//

» Sat May 28, 2011 5:53 pm

This was great. You have inspired me to do one of these myself.

» Sat May 28, 2011 11:24 am

HEy keep continueing this during your hc playthrough. Very creative and neat idea!

» Sat May 28, 2011 12:02 pm

Thanks for the kind words, guys! Here comes the next entry!

//Log Date: 2281-10-20 17:54//

<> I woke up this morning to an excellent reminder of why I hate humanity. A young man shook me awake, babbling and near tears, to tell me that his girlfriend had gotten trapped up on the ridge overlooking the springs by a throng of geckoes.

Now, I’m not much of a morning person, even when I’m not recovering from a gunshot wound to the head, but he seemed genuinely panicked, so I struggled to my feet, grabbed my rifle, mumbled to the kid to stay put, and took off up the hill to save the girl.

There’s one born every minute, right?

No sign of anyone up on the ridge, but there was a passel of geckoes up there, and no mistake. Seems like I may have gotten an inflated sense of my own skill with a firearm yesterday thanks to Sunny and Cheyenne, because a few of those little bastards really tore into me before I could put them all down. My left leg, especially, took a nasty bite.

I’ve seen horrible infections set in after a gecko-bite, so I’d be dipping into my own rather meager new stock a hell of a lot sooner than I would have wanted. Before I had even had a chance to clean the wounds or start looking around for the kid’s lost lady, though, he showed up with a drawn revolver and gloatingly explained that he’d tricked me into clearing out the geckoes so that he could reach some sort of cache at the top of the hill.

Or he started to gloat, at any rate. His theatrics were tarnished a bit when he stepped into a bear trap while circling around me.

Lucky he was there, really. I hadn’t even seen the traps.

His screaming stopped when I clubbed him over the head with the butt of my rifle. What can I say? I’ve gotten impatient in my old age.

I grabbed his gun and went through his pockets, turning up some ammo and a stimpak, but the real prize was in the stash he had mentioned, which I found at the top of the hill behind a few more bear traps. There was a good assortment of various caliber rounds, along with a few caps and some more chems, which I shoved into my satchel.

I limped back down to the springs and cleaned out the bite with some cold, clean water, which stung like mad, bound it up with strips of the kid’s shirt, then gave myself a shot of Med-X to kill the pain and dry-swallowed some antibiotics that Mitchell had given me. I didn’t have enough for a full course, but it would have to do.

When I finally made it back to town, it was already past noon, and I was ready for a meal of anything other than gecko. I followed Sunny’s advice and headed for the Prospector Saloon, arriving just in time to overhear a rather heated altercation between the owner Trudy and a hard-eyed man who turned out to be named Joe Cobb.

Trudy, a no-nonsense business woman, let me know that Cobb is with a group of escaped convicts from the NCR that call themselves the Powder Gangers. Supposedly, they are looking for a trader named Ringo who got the best of them out in the wastes who’s now holed up somewhere in Goodsprings. I decided to look up the trader and get his version of the story.

First, though, I tuned up Trudy’s radio in exchange for a decent bowl of stew and a real treat: an actual bottle of Nuka-Cola. It was even a little bit cold, thanks to the refrigeration unit Trudy has running off of the saloon’s generator. It’s flat, of course, and sickly sweet with artificial sugar, but my lord, it hits the spot. I remember the first time I brought a bottle home to little Callie, and the look on her face when she...

*Clears throat.*

Anyway.

After lunch, which I spent listening to Mr. New Vegas on the radio with Trudy, I struck out for the gas station where Ringo was supposedly hiding. Upon entering, I got rather direct confirmation of Ringo’s occupancy, thanks to a gun in the face. It’s a banner year for people threatening me with firearms, apparently.

After I hastily assured him that I wasn’t with the Powder Gangers, he calmed down somewhat, though the man was clearly still a bundle of nerves.

To apologize for the rude greeting -- and to settle himself down, I’d wager -- he offered to play a few hands of Caravan with me. It’s been a long time since I played... Jess was a canny bidder, and we spent plenty of evenings running tracks after Cassie had gone to sleep. I haven’t carried a deck since I lost her, but Ringo had a spare, and, most importantly, he was clearly still flustered.

What can I say? I was short on caps, and he was definitely no Jess with the cards.

After a thorough fleecing, I assuaged my guilt somewhat by asking the newly broke Ringo what had happened with the ‘Gangers and if there was anything I could do to get him back on the road. In my experience, there’s nothing so valuable as a trader who owes you a favor.

Plus, I feel like I owe a debt to the town for getting me back on my feet, and chasing off these convicts ought to wipe that slate clean, and to spare.

Tomorrow, I’ll talk to the folks around Goodsprings, see if we can’t come up with a way to chase off the ‘Gangers permanently.

For now, though, I’m just going to check these damn gecko bites again, change the dressing, give myself some more pain killers, then see about some dinner and take the weight off the leg for the night.

After all, we’ve got a big day tomorrow...

Signing off.

//Recording Ends//

» Sat May 28, 2011 8:52 am

Sweet! Very kool1

» Sat May 28, 2011 9:25 am

Just a short one now, with a longer entry coming soon.

//Log Date: 2281-10-20 22:07//

*Several minutes of miscellaneous night noises, then a surprised grunt.*

<> What the... When the hell did this thing get turned on?

Huh. Looks like the recorder occasionally switches on by itself. No wonder Mitchell wanted to ditch the damn thing.

All right, Webb, take note: if there are patches of white noise or silence, it’s NOT neurological problems on your end, just a touchy old PIP-Boy.

Well, probably.

//Recording Ends//

» Sat May 28, 2011 8:32 am

As a doc, you'd probrably just laser zap the gangers than actually shoot/throw dynamites. I think.

» Sat May 28, 2011 9:56 am

//Log Date: 2281-10-21 13:22//

<> My leg is doing much better today. Looks clear of infection, and the pain is very manageable -- no problems with weight bearing. I’ll keep an eye on it, of course, but looks like I dodged a gangrenous bullet there. That’s the last time I let those little bastards get close to take a bite, I’ll tell you that.

My first stop this morning after taking care of myself was the Prospector Saloon. Sunny was at her usual table, having breakfast, and Cheyenne was enjoying some chow of her own from a bowl on the floor. I was only halfway through explaining the idea of doing something about the Powder Gangers before she cut me off and said she was in, bless her. Reminds me more of Jess than ever. She may not have Jess’s formal training, but she damn sure has her gung-ho spirit.

Sunny suggested we get the townsfolk together and prepped for a fight, so that, when the ‘Gangers come for Ringo, we can hit them hard enough that they don’t think about coming back. Show them that Goodsprings isn’t some ghost town that will blow away in the wind. It’s as good an idea as anything I could devise, so we split up to see who we could recruit.

As I was already in the Prospector, I figured I’d hit up Trudy first, while she was still hopefully in a good mood from my fixing her radio yesterday. She took a little convincing, but eventually I got her to see the light of a united front and convincing the ‘Gangers that they can’t just sweep into town and do whatever they like. She said she’d round up some folks as well. Seems like Goodsprings is on its way to having its own militia.

Next, I brought some lunch from Trudy’s up to Mitchell’s place, and, over roast iguana, he and I went over our pooled medical supplies and made plans for dealing with any injuries that might arise if things went bad with the Powder Gangers. He’d be sitting out the fight itself, of course, but he’d have his little operating theater prepped and ready to go. Here’s hoping we won’t need it.

I spotted the old “prospector” Easy Pete ambling through town as I left Mitchell’s. Well, he claims he’s a prospector, but, as far as I can tell, he’s just a retired scavenger who prefers a more colorful name for his profession.

Sunny had mentioned he might have some dynamite hidden away somewhere, and that sort of ordnance could definitely come in handy -- after all, the Powder Gangers would definitely be bringing explosives of their own.

Pete was hesitant at first, and perhaps rightly so -- he was unsure that anyone other than him had the experience to handle dynamite safely. After a few minutes, though, I convinced him that Mitchell and I were more than ready to put right any mishaps and, besides, this wasn’t exactly my first time around explosives. Reluctantly, he agreed and went to dig up his stash. I hope to hell we won’t need it, but I’ll be glad to know it’s handy.

I even asked the robot Victor to chip in, and he was more than happy to volunteer. I figure, even if he isn’t much in a fight, the rest of us can still use the big guy as cover. We can always patch him up afterwards, right?

My last stop was the general store. We’ve got people and weapons -- now we need some protection, and Chet was the only source in town. He was just recalcitrant as everyone had warned; he simply didn’t want to be involved in a potential scrap in any way and risk himself or his stock. I asked him how long he thought his store would last if the ‘Gangers took over Goodsprings -- they don’t strike me as the bartering type. He finally saw the light and begrudgingly forked over some decent leather armor for the would-be militia members.

Now, we’re armed, armored, and as ready as we’re going to be. Everyone is forming up behind some makeshift wagon barricades between the town and Route 15; the prison the ‘Gangers took over is to the east, so they should be coming at us from that direction. I’m going to go let Ringo know that we’re ready to make a stand.

The only thing left to do at this point is to wait for the ‘Gangers to make their play.

//Recording Ends//

» Sat May 28, 2011 8:48 am

BTW. theres an infinite armor and ammo glitch from chet in that quest...

Anyways, I really like how you realisistically handled that bite and told about doc mitchell's and your plans for healing.

Every time I play that quest, trudy ends up dying lol, so keep that in mind!!!

Nice thread and nice writing my friend. Please post more.

» Sat May 28, 2011 12:35 pm

Yeah, good job on this. Don't let it die. I'm eagerly awaiting to see what you do when the game really lets loose the leash! Make sure you do a healthy bit of exploring, coyote cave would be nice to read about.

» Sat May 28, 2011 4:49 am

A real good doc quest would be Camp Forlone Hope and that other ncr camp that boone mentioned...can't think of name. Anyways, that's deeper into the story. so far, very cool.

i may myself make one some day... Decided to be a cowboy in my already finished playthrough, it's just finding everything again would be a pain in the @.

» Sat May 28, 2011 4:55 pm

Thanks so much, guys! I really appreciate the feedback and the suggestions.

The next part is up. I'll post the text here, as always, but I was pretty happy with the photos on this one, too; check them out on the blog if you have a sec.

» Sat May 28, 2011 2:03 pm

//Log Date: 2281-10-21 14:07//

<> --ure didn’t take their time, did they?

<> Which way are they coming?

<> How many are there?

<> Southwest, through the bighorner pens, and--

<> Damn it!

<> --there’s about half a dozen, including Cobb.

<> Those barricades are facing the wrong way, now. Did Easy Pete come through with the dynamite?

<> Not sure. Come ON, we’ve got to get down there.

<> Lead the way, Smiles.

*Sound of running feet and a dog growling.*

<> Trudy! You all okay?

<> Well! Nice of you to join us, Doctor. I see you brought Mr. Ringo as well. Some friends you’ve invited into town, Mr. Ringo.

<> They ain’t my friends, and you know it.

<> Whatever they are, they certainly--

*Distant bellowing and roaring, accompanied by a steady rumbling.*

<> What the hell is that?

<> Oh, god. Oh, god! They’re stampeding the bighorners towards us!

<> *Expletive Deleted*

<> Don’t just stand there! Shoot the--

*A loud boom.*

<> *Expletive Deleted*

<> *Expletive Deleted*

<> Guess Easy Pete DID find that dynamite, after all.

<> That explosion turned the stampede right back into them! Come on, while they’re trying not to get trampled!

*Sounds of gunfire, shouts, and continued rumbling until the recording abruptly cuts out.*

//Recording Ends//

» Sat May 28, 2011 9:28 am

Wheresthe blog?EDIT: Found it. Nice pictures. Very dramatic and nice color scheme. The dialouge fits the pictures perfectly.

» Sat May 28, 2011 1:57 pm

Yeah, sorry, YM. I should have linked it again. It's here: http://docwebbjournal.blogspot.com/

And thanks for the compliments about the pictures!

» Sat May 28, 2011 5:54 pm

//Log Date: 2281-10-21 18:51//

<> Huh. Looks like the recorder switched itself on again during the fight. Bet THAT will be an interesting recording.

*Chuckles.*

Anyway, with the town as prepped as it was going to get, I went to let Ringo know. Just then, Sunny showed up to let us know the gangers had been spotted heading towards Goodsprings. Trudy and the militia were already in position behind wagon barricades by Route 15. The Powder Gangers were approaching from the southwest, driving some bighorners before them as a distraction, but Easy Pete set off some dynamite which turned the stampede right around and back into the gangers.

We charged into the mill of the bighorners and opened fire, cutting down the ‘gangers as they tried to regroup. Cobb was the last to fall. He turned and ran amid the chaos, and Ringo gunned him down just beneath the town’s windmill.

Mitchell and I saw to the wounded -- not too bad, all things considered. Trudy had taken a grazing across the forehead, more burn than wound, and one of the townsfolk had been shot in the thigh, but the round had passed cleanly through. The worst wounded, sadly, was Sunny’s faithful dog Cheyenne. She had charged right into the ‘Gangers and leapt at the first one she could reach, tearing into his arm, but the man had a cleaver and brought it down hard into Cheyenne’s shoulder before Sunny could shoot the scum through the neck.

I’m no veterinarian, but I did the best I could: shaved the area, cleaned up the cut -- which went all the way to the bone -- then put in as much antibacterial salve as we could spare, placed a makeshift drain made from some tubing we scored from Chet, and stitched it up. Sunny promised she’d keep the old girl resting and stop her from scratching or chewing at the drain. Brave little thing. I’ll be sure to bring her a treat the next time I’m in town.

After the doctoring was done, we stripped the bodies for anything useful -- may as well get something productive out of this mess -- then dragged them up to the graveyard for a quick burial.

Victor, curiously enough, had been a no-show at the fight, despite his enthusiasm when I had first asked him. When I went down to his shack to see what happened, he claimed he had no idea that the skirmish had already happened and said he must have “dozed off”. Sounded to me like his memory modules might be getting corrupted, so I offered to take a rummage in his innards. To my surprise, he consented. Everything looked fine, so I ran a diagnostic on his terminal logs and found that the last entry was some sort of remote over-ride. Victor hemmed and hawed that this was impossible, but I think he seemed worried... at least, as much as a TV on wheels can be worried.

Ringo, when all was said and done, gave me some caps in gratitude -- guess I didn’t win every last one off him in Caravan after all -- and told me to drop in on him at the Crimson Caravan station up in New Vegas when I made it there so he could thank me properly.

For now, I’d better be moving on. Seems like I’ve squared up any debts, and Checkers and his cronies aren’t likely to be sitting around waiting for me to catch them. Maybe I’ll just head straight north to New Vegas -- try to cut them off at the pass, so to speak.

I’ll spend one last night in Goodsprings, though. Trudy says bottles of the local brew are on the house for milita members tonight, and that’s the sort of deal I’m not going to turn down.

//Recording Ends//

» Sat May 28, 2011 12:37 pm

Wait...You put two fight posts up?

» Sat May 28, 2011 3:11 pm

Probably overkill, but yeah. The last post was the accidental recording during the fight -- this one was his brief recap and the aftermath.

» Sat May 28, 2011 7:47 pm

Wow, this is actually really really really well done. It's actually inspired me to do one of my own, though I can't decide whether I want to do Fallout 3 or New Ve3gas. Keep up the good work, I look forward to more!

» Sat May 28, 2011 7:07 am

i suggest new vegas. Seems like the right game to right a story about and offers more choice in it.

I myself was inspired to do one, but due to owning unadvanced computer(sigh ps3 *P) and will not use my other one for forum writing, I instead did a replay as a cowboy.

» Sat May 28, 2011 5:32 pm

//Log Date: 2281-10-21 21:19//

*Sounds of laughter, music, and glassware clinking.*

<> Just had a bottle of sarsaparilla to chase my beer. Well, if I’m going to be honest, the beer was chasing some whiskey. The sarsaparilla was just keeping it company.

When I popped the cap on the bottle, I saw it had a little blue star on the inside. Never seen one like that. Callie would have loved it.

God, she loved stars. Remember how she called them “tonkles” when she was little? “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” was her favorite song, but she couldn’t quite say “twinkle”, so stars became “tonkles”.

I couldn’t bring myself to shove it in with all the other caps in my packs, so I slipped it into my shirt pocket.

*Sighs.*

I miss you, sweetheart.

<> Doc! Stop lookin’ so mopey and have another round.

<> Duty calls...

//Recording Ends//

» Sat May 28, 2011 7:49 pm

//Log Date: 2281-10-22 09:33//

<> Uuuuurgh. The water around here may be pure, but the whiskey sure as hell isn’t. Haven’t had a hangover like this since that night in the Hub... what... six years ago?

My tongue feels like a fuzzy piece of rotten mutfruit. Tastes like it, too.

Where am I? Victor’s place? That’s right, the old clunker said I could crash here. Ooof... where’s my pack... ah, there we go.

*Sounds of metal clanking and canvas straps being adjusted, followed by door hinges creaking.*

Good gravy, that’s bright. I’d swear I found some sunglasses on one of those ‘Gangers... here they are! Much better.

Right. I heard from Chet that Route 15 is seeing some trouble to the North, so that’s probably out, but the Goodsprings road hooks around to the west and then curves back up north, tying into Trail 160 to New Vegas, at least according to my map. Might be a little longer, but it still seems like a much shorter path than the loop down south through Primm. That should let me easily beat Checkers back to New Vegas, even with his head start.

For now, I’ll bid a fond “farewell” to Goodsprings. It’s definitely the most pleasant place I’ve ever been killed.

//Recording Ends//

» Sat May 28, 2011 2:32 pm

Good as always, although I'm left confused as to where you are headed. So you aren't going to Primm then?

» Sat May 28, 2011 8:31 pm

This whole thing is, at least in terms of dates and locations, a pretty accurate retelling of my first hardcoe playthrough (which is still ongoing, by the way, though I'm further now than where I am with the posts). Like Doc, I had only a vague idea of what was where in the Vegas area, based mainly on the in-game map and clues from NPCs. I thought the Goodsprings road looked like a solid way to get to Vegas. You'll see soon how well that worked out.

By the way, any time Doc imagines something killing him in a horrible way? That's my way of letting you guys know that I died horribly several times and had to reload.