Well, I decided that with some free time on my hands, i'd try and snag some more experience writing in the first person. I usually make some form of interactive fiction on the Elder Scrolls forums, which are often quite fun to do. But since I have yet to do anything over in this yonder Fallout forum, I might as well broaden my horizons.

So, I will write the story of a man, his first person account of some adventure or what-not. While writing, I will usually prompt you, the reader, at the end of each entry or sequence, in which anyone may offer suggestions on what the character should do. I will pick which suggestion to follow randomly, so long as it isnt anything too ridiculous or utterly out of character. Questions, comments, critique, suggestions, and requests are welcome.

But enough of that, to the story!

---

Chapter 1: Setting Off


I guess it all started the day I woke up in what was left of that dingy motel. Yes, that was when all of my troubles finally caught up to me. I remember that morning well- in fact; I remember the entire thing very well. Too well, honestly. I was summoned forth from my unconscious slumber by a throbbing headache, forced to face an unforgiving fate.

I lifted myself up from the half fetal position on the floor, and stretched my limbs. The muscles and joints in my body screamed with painful delight as I worked out the built up tension in them, though a sensation of light-headedness washed over me, and I almost collapsed back onto the floor. After stumbling over to the dirty sink in the bathroom and splashing cold water over my face, followed by a groggy inspection of my battered body, which turned out to be in good enough condition, I retreated from the bathroom.

The hotel room I was camping out in was an utter mess. Well, the room, and entire building for that matter, was an utter mess before I had arrived to occupy it, but my presence seemed to send it spiraling further into disarray. The wallpaper was rotten and peeling due to its old age, as well as a lack of maintenance in the past two-hundred years. The shag carpet was dirty and patchy, to say the least, and the furniture, while useable, was coated in a thick layer of dust and desert sand. Normally, I wouldnt degrade myself by using such pitiful shelter, but when you have multiple pursuers all vying to slit your throat, you become just a little less picky about where to bunk down.

My mess lay in the midst of the crappy room, which included my backpack full or essential supplies, discarded food wrappers, a few weapons, overturned furniture, and to top it all off, a dead body. The sight of the corpse made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, reminding me of the predicament I was in. The man- the assassin, who was now laying on the floor, blood drained from his body and dead as a rock, had come to me late yesterday evening. Unlike most assassins, he didn’t wait for the sun to fully set, or sneak into my hideout, trying to catch me off guard. No, he was a Regulator, and sneaking isn’t so much their style. He literally just walked up to me, said a few words, and pulled out a revolver. The scuffle that followed was brief, ending with me knocked unconscious, and with my combat knife lodged into his throat.

The Regulators have been chasing me for years, even over here, out west, where civilization was beginning to blossom and need for such “good-natured” vigilantes was minimal. But hey- if I were to burn down a village, steal or destroy everything in your armory, and then proceed to kill members of your group for over the past several years, you’d be chasing me across the continent too, eh? Yeah, it’s easy to say the Regulators and I got off on the wrong foot. Hell, a lot of people and I have gotten off on the wrong foot.

I cross the room, the not-so-pleasing aroma of copper and human excrement assailing my senses. With the shove of my foot, I roll the stiff body over, and pull my knife out from the Regulator’s throat. My eyes, full of life lock onto his vacant ones, and I cannot help but feel sorry for the man. He was only doing his job, right? Even said job was to kill me without remorse.

I move away from the corpse. Now is definitely not the time for compassion, now is the time for packing up and hauling ass. Regulators don’t tend to move around by themselves, and often hunt in packs. I can’t face a pack of those bastards, not right now. No, I needed to get the hell away from this motel as soon as possible.

After cleaning off my knife, I take a quick inventory of my supplies: two MRI packaged meals in my backpack, a plastic bottle of mostly purified water, a small satchel of roughly seventy caps, and a box of matches. It isn’t much, but I have scraqed by on less before. I move over to a desk where I kept my weapons, the tools that have been preserving my life in the Nevada Wasteland for the past five years.

I immediately go for my laser rifle first- it’s a beautiful weapon, cleaned, polished, and professionally maintained by yours truly. It stands out like a sore thumb amongst the dingy room, but I don’t care much for balancing contrast. I count out my Microfusion cells, energy based mutations for the laser rifle. I have nine of them, each carrying roughly twelve shots each. I take the belt of the energy cells, and loop it around my torso for easy access. I love me some energy weapons, been using them since I was a boy.

Next up is my sword. I learned how to fight hand to hand and with melee weapons from a young age, my father insisting that it was a vital skill. Oh, how right he was. The blade was a fine weapon; traditionally called a Gladius by the Legion, I obtained it from one of their commanding officers. Its hilt was wrapped in rough leather, though it had weathered over the years, and was now soft and stained with sweat and dirt. The blade itself was composed of powerful steel, reaching a full twenty-five inches in length. It was a great weapon, and had saved my life on numerous occasions.

I slid the sword, along with my knife, into their corresponding sheaths, and searched around the fragmented room for my duster. Upon finding it, I slid it onto my body loosely, and strapped my laser rifle onto my back. The duster was a large coat- very similar to those worn by the Regulators, but more refined, like a trench coat, with a dark grey- almost black color. Yes, I know, black isn’t the best color to be wearing out in the desert, but the thing reeks of class. And I can’t resist classy things.

With all of my supplies and weapons in check, I turn towards the door, which is slightly ajar, allowing the Mojave sun to filter inside, giving the room sparse illumination. I assumed that it was probably mid-morning, which means I had a few hours before the sun would reach its highest point. I needed to get the hell out of the motel, and find food, due to the fact that two packaged military meals wouldn’t carry me far, and I was already becoming a bit peckish. Should I head towards the strip? To the river? Or maybe see if there is a nearby town occupied by good hearted folk? My thoughts raced, unsure of what to do. I wasn’t too familiar with this part of the Mojave, but a sign I saw yesterday mentioned a nearby “Novac”, and that sounds better than this damn Motel. After a moment of consideration, I know what to do, and head outside into the harsh, unforgiving Mojave wasteland.

Hmm... I'm going to say that he should head for Novac, then after staying there for a little while he should head up to the Strip.

Just as another suggestion, he could help the McBrides with their Nightkin problem in exchange for a few Brahmin Steaks to tide his hunger.

Meh, sounds good.
As a note, this does not take place during the events of FO: NV, but before. I wont be including too many game elements.

I would head over to the strip and lay low for a couple of days.....maybe I get attacked going there in Freeside? Maybe I don't have enough caps to enter. OR MAYBE I FIND A TIME MACHINE AND TRANSPORT TO LIEUTENANT AND THE VAULT DWELLER DIES! AND THEN THE CORE REGION IS A BATTLE GROUND BETWEEN MUTANTS AND THE ENCLAVE!

Kidding....

Try not to include more then one quest from FNV. Why would these problems be there for the Courier is someone else already solved it?

Oh wow, I really love your writing style. Very tight and well done. I know first person can be pretty difficult. I prefer 3rd POV limited myself. You are doing a great job.
Also, even so these events happen before NV, the towns should all still be there. You could head to Nelson and run into the Legion. I mean they are around and you do have a Gladius.

Haha! I wont include any quests from New Vegas, but I will probably bring in some characters.

Why thank you! *bows*. I enjoy 3rd person as well, but I find that first person is all about the character, which I need more experience in. 3rd person allows dramatic irony, which is something I love to incorporate in my stories. I'm trying to write my novel in first person, so I need more experience in it haha.

He will head north, towards the Strip.

Sorry i took so long getting this next chapter out, guys. I am a busy man, and this was a long 'un. Also, bonus points to whoever identifies the song.


Chapter 2: Viper's Venom

I step outside, and the sun bores down on me like an angry wasp, its intense heat and brightness blinding my eyes momentarily. Trudging on, I stride into the Motel’s parking lot. The Motel was an old building, built in the pre-war era roughly two-hundred years ago. Like most pre-war motels, the rooms were built in a simple U shape, with the main office located somewhere on the end or middle of said U. I already picked around inside the office, and found little of value. The pack I had relieved from the dead regulator, however, rewarded me with two cans of food, and some sparse .357 and .556 ammunition, which I would sell when I got to the next town. If I got to the next town.

I left the parking lot, and walked onto a weathered concrete highway that a nearby sign told me was called Highway 95. I truly wasn’t familiar with all of the Mojave Wasteland, even though I have been surviving there for several years, but I knew that Highway 95 traveled north, through the desert, and into Boulder City, and then finally into New Vegas. That meant that I was in the southern area of the Mojave, near Cottonwood Cove, a pre-war vacation spot turned military base by Caesar’s Legion.

I considered heading south towards the cove, since I have friends in the Legion, but the Regulators were probably coming from south, so my best bet was to obviously head north. So north I went! On the distant horizon, I could just make out a tall, gleaming spire on the horizon- The Lucky Thirty-Eight Casino. The Lucky Thirty Eight was a massive structure, and one of the most exclusive casinos on the New Vegas Strip.

The sight of the spire gave me an idea. If I were to shelter in New Vegas, the Regulators probably wouldn’t be allowed to enter, and if they would be able to find a way in, they couldn’t make a move without being torn to pieces by security. I immediately quickened my pace, hope driving me forward. My mouth begins to move, quietly singing an old song my mother used to sing me.

Holding hands,
Skipping like a stone,
On our way,
To see what we have done.
The first to speak,
Is the first to lie.
The children cross,
Their hearts and hope to die.

I traveled for about two hours when I began to feel the troublesome pangs on hunger in my stomach, and the parched dryness of thirst creeping into my throat. Unshouldering my backpack, I sit down on a nearby rock and drink a bit of my water before consuming my packaged meal quickly. I don’t throw the trash on the ground, for that would be a sure sign to the Regulators that I have been here.

After another sip of water, I am on my way once again. The thought of the Regulators breathing down my neck once again infiltrates my mind, and I get a bit nervous. The nervousness soon mutates to anxiety, and my psyche keeps whispering things such as “they could be right behind you, not even a mile away from your tail”, or “Maybe they’re just up ahead, right around this bend?”.

I am eventually able to force the thoughts out of my head by throwing up a wall- yes, a wall. I throw up walls when I am hurt, sad, or afraid. Walls that don’t allow emotion in or out. They help a lot when I’m in tight places. Sometimes, when I throw up these walls, they don’t come down for a while. I guess that’s not such a bad thing in this world, right?

The landscape begins to turn from sparsely urbanized badlands to a shallow, craggy canyon. I see a sign on the side of the road, its paint nearly chipped away from the abrasive sands of the Mojave. Regardless of its condition, I can read “Novac, ten miles”. If Novac was still an inhabited place, I could sell off my loot, rest, and resupply on water. The sign, even in its weathered condition, gave me hope. Enough hope to gently break down the wall I had set up, enough hope to quicken my pace.

Too bad the hope didn’t allow him to see that trap I had walked into. If anything, the hope caused me to walk into it, for I’m usually more perceptive. A blur of motion caught my eye- a person leaping out from behind a pile of rocks. It took my mind a moment to catch up, but when it did, I had the whole scene taken in.

To my right, there is a main- gruff dirty, haggard, barreling towards be with a knife. In my peripheries, I see another man to my left, holding a rifle. From here, I could see what kind it was, but I knew I needed to get to cover, while nullifying the threat from the man with the knife. I leapt towards the blade-wielding Raider, a maneuver that the gunman wouldn’t be expecting. The Raider slashed at me, releasing a savage giggle as he did so. I feinted from the attack ever so slightly, as to avoid the actual blade from striking me, but I remained close enough to wrap my hand around his wrist, and pull him off balance.

Now, I’m a big guy. Tall big, about six-foot-two, but I’m not stocky or buff. I’m thin as a pole, and can be described as wiry. With my agile build, it was quite simple to grab this malnourished bandit, pull him off balance, disarm him, and throw him onto the ground. So, I did just that. He cursed violently as his body impacted with the ground, and I heard the crack of a rifle as I slid behind the pile of rocks that the Raider once hid behind, safe from the gunman’s attacks.

The man with the knife cursed once more, and grunted something uncomprehendible to the gunman. My sword was already in my hands as the outlaw, rounded my hiding place, and was prepared to lunge forward when I was struck on the back of the head. Hard. I didn’t even realize what had happened until I was on the ground, my head screaming in agony. Then, darkness.

---

When I finally came to, I found my hands bound, and leaning up against a concrete wall. By vision was blurry, but after a moment of adjustment, I was able to survey my surroundings. I was still outdoors, though the sun was much lower in the sky, painting the atmosphere with brilliant hues of lavender and orange. I was in a makeshift camp, on the edge of the canyon I was once traveling in. The camp had four of those dirty, ragged Raiders, who I quickly realized were members of the Viper Gang, savage cannibalistic ruffians who enjoyed indulging in Jet, and murdering travelers. I was yet to be murdered, but I didn’t yet know if that was a good thing, or a bad thing.

I spotted my gear- duster, laser rifle, sword, and everything else, setting at a small pile of supplies, just as one of the gang members noticed I was awake. I immediately recognized him as the man with the knife. He grinned maliciously and rose from his position from around the fire, and swaggered over to me. The other gang members quietly laughed among themselves before turning back to their conversation.

“Howdy” hissed the man as his approached. His face was covered in a layer of grime, and his teeth were a nasty yellow color.

“Salutations” I said sarcastically.

“The [censored]’s your name?”

“Daren” I replied truthfully. Might as well tell him my real name, I doubt he has heard of me.

“Eh?” he grunted. “What ya’ doin’ with all that good stuff with ya, out here in the desert?”

“Oh, you know” I said. “Just traveling to the Strip, looking for a new start.”

The man growled and spat on me. If my hands were not bound, I would have broken his neck. But there’s always a time for vengeance. “You know anyting’ about the Legion?” he asked, an evil smile taking control of his features.

“Oh, I know them quite well” I reply, and I find myself smiling back at him. Looks like they plan on selling me as a slave, which could be a blessing. Do you remember how I said I have friends in the Legion? That’s a bit of an exaggeration. I was once a member of the Legion, and fought many battles against the NCR, but those days are behind me. Long story short, I revaluated myself, and deserted the Legion. I’m still in good standing with a few high ranking officers. Regulators wont attack the Legion just to kill me, and there’s a small chance I’ll be freed, due to my connections. There’s also a small chance I’ll be burned on a pile of tires.

He looks at me suspiciously, not understanding my claim, before he strikes me. His blow catches me across the face, spreading pain throughout my skull, my cranium bellowing in pain. I fall backwards into the dirt, unable to support myself. “That’s fer’ earlier” he hisses.

“Ay! Don’t damage him too much!” shouts a gang member over by the fire. From my position on the ground, I can see that he is a tall, strong man, outfitted it some sort of reinforced leather and scrap metal armor, and a greasy Mohawk adorns his skull. “Put him in with the others, and get the [censored] back over here.”

I identify the man as their leader as the gang member simply grumbles, lifting me up, and dragging me into the concrete structure, which I discover is an abandoned metro tunnel. The gang member opens up a door, and throws me into the darkness beyond. I smash into the ground as the door slams shut, yelping in pain as my battered body receives even more pain.

Light filters in through the latticed grate that seals the metro tunnel from the outside world, and my eyes slowly adjust to the abstract lighting. It took a while for me to get off the floor- my body just wanted me to lay there and let some sort of death, sleep, or unconsciousness to take me. Robbed of all of these, I slowly rose from the floor after what seemed like several hours, picking the chunks of shattered stone and pieces of sharp refuse from my flesh. I checked my body, which seemed to be fine despite the several small cuts and bruises, and my increasingly irritating head ache. People need to stop hitting me in the [censored] head.

I looked around the room, my vision swimming. The tunnel was not long, and truly couldn’t even be considered a tunnel anymore, for a pile of collapsed steel reinforcements and miscellaneous rubble barring any hope of escape. Memories slowly come back to me, and I recall the dirty gang leader mentioning “others”. I manage to choke out a weak “hello?”, my eyes searching the shadows for someone else.

At first, only silence. “Hello?” I ask once more, hoping to provoke a response from one of these others. Outside, I can just barely hear the Viper Gang laughing and shouting around their fire.

I sigh in exasperation and begin to rub my temples as a response echoes from the darkness. “Hi”.

I froze. “Who’s there?”

There was a shuffle of movement near a slab of fallen concrete, and small girl crawled into my field of view. She looked small and fragile, probably standing only at five foot four, and covered in a layer of dirt. Her shoulder length hair was tangled and messy, but I thought I saw a tint of red in its depths. She was young, probably in her early twenties, and gently toned with powerful muscles. “I’m here. Who are you?” she asked. Her voice was harsh, rough, angry, and afraid.

“I’m Daren” I said immediately, holding up my hands to show I meant no harm.

She stands up, and I notice she is holding a shard of sharpened metal in her hand. “Looks like they got you too.”

“Yea, they did.”

It was quiet once again, except for the jubilance from the Viper’s camp outside. She awkwardly pulled her eyes away from mine, and looked down at her feet, as if they were particularly interesting. “So” I said. “What’s your name?”

“Ryiah” she replied, not looking up from her feet.

“Well, pleased to meet you, I guess.”

She smirked, still staring at her feet. “Not the best circumstances though.”

“Aye” I agreed. I walked over to a nearby hunk of rubble, and sat down, the motion causing her to snap out of her trance, putting her on alert. It wasn’t a comfortable seat, but it worked.

Silence once again. I didn’t want to provoke the girl to attack me with her shard of metal, for she seemed to be in quite an unstable state of mind. Nor did I want to question her, because who the hell knows what those gang members have been doing to her? Outside, I watched the sun slowly sink down to the horizon from the holes inside the grate. It wasn’t until dusk’s zenith that she spoke up again.

“I used to watch the sun set every evening in Novac” she blurted out sadly.

I would have jumped at the sound of her voice, but I could tell that she had wanted to say something for quite a while. “Where is Novac?” I ask, trying my best to avoid a personal question.

“Just a bit north of here. I used to have a place in the motel there.”

Oh great, more motels. Pushing that thought aside, I looked out towards the setting sun, and saw that darkness was beginning to take the land. “How would you like to go back to Novac?”

She was silent for a moment. “I really wouldn’t, but it beats being stuck in here, or being sold into slavery…”
I could tell she was trying to keep her spirits up and inject humor into our conversation, but she couldn’t do it. I remained quiet for a moment, before creeping over towards the grate that separated us from the Viper’s camp. “What are you doing?!” she whispered harshly, before following, carrying a lot of noise in her wake. I was always known to be rather silent in my movements.

The gang members didn’t seem to hear the racket. One was already sleeping in a ragged bedroll, and one sitting by the fire drinking what looked like whiskey. The other two were off a little ways, acting as sentries. In the middle of it all, the pile of supplies gleamed in the firelight. My weapons were there, along with a crate of food, water, and explosives. Explosives. I could blow the whole [censored] camp apart, or kill them all in their sleep, or even poison them. Or maybe I should just not do anything and wait until they went to remove us from our prison to make a move.

I turned back to Ryiah. “How would you like to get the hell out of here?” I whispered.

She looked stunned, unsure of what to say. I opened my mouth to say something else, but she began to speak. “I force open the lock on those doors with this” said Ryiah, indicating the shard of metal. “I would have done this earlier, but I was so afraid that…”

“You don’t need to be afraid anymore” I said, an angry fire creeping into my voice, my eyes locked onto the Viper’s small pile of supplies. “I have a plan.”

Excellent 2nd Chapter. Your story really comes alive and I can picture everything that happens very well! I like the added conflict and that he found a "traveling" companion. I always feel that dialogue enhances the story, instead of just focusing on one person and his inner monologue. Although, I do love that about books, that you can see inside a person and know what they feel, think etc. Movies can never really grasp that concept.

Daren's mother sang Queens of the Stone Age songs to him? LOL (yay for google, I wouldn't have guessed it by just looking at the lyrics haha, cool song though, I love it)

Here are a few observations I've picked up, while reading your 2nd chapter.


You reverted to 3rd person POV here.


You said your hands were bound. Are they still bound in the tunnel? I couldn't see where you said that they un-bound your hands when they threw you in there. Just a "continuation" observation. Yes, yes, I'm a very observant reader! LOL

Oh thanks! I am becoming rather fond of this work m'self.
You are not supposed to use google, you fiend! But yes, amazing song.

I noticed the POV slip when writing, but I recall changing it as soon as I wrote it? Oops xD

I also noticed the bound hand thing as I was posting, but decided to see if anyone would catch it

Thanks for the input, advice, and feedback much appreciated.

Oh you are a tricky one. Now, since I noticed the bound hand thing, do I get a cookie?

Hey now, calling me a Fiend is a bit harsh. I don't use Jet or Psycho! =p

I'm glad that my input is helpful. I guess i miss my writers groups. I always gained a lot of great insights when other's read over my writing, plus I like to brain storm and talk about writing.

I'm fare more tricky than you know. No cookies, but you can tell Daren how to escape ze Vipery-Diperies.

Oh ho! I see what ya did thar with the Fiend thang!

Me too, man. I love discussing writing and fiction, and a friend and I run a review blog that reviews books (mainly some sort of fantasy, horror, or sci-fi), as well as video games. I love it when people help me improve and brainstorm

I really liked this chapter; Daren and Ryiah really come alive and your descriptions are great.

Other than what Argona mentioned, the only errors that I found in this chapter were grammatical ones, which, as I've said about other people's fan-fics, don't take away from a good writing style and an engaging story (you have both of these.) So here are a few things I noticed:

Uncomprehendable isn't a word; use incomprehensible instead. Also, "headache" is one word.


I do this all the time when I'm writing and I take a break to think about something halfway through a sentence, so just watch out for repetition when you proofread.


The second "once again" is unnecessary since it echos the first "once again" in the first sentence.


This paragraph was great, really great. Your writing style really comes out in this paragraph, and it shows its strength in both descriptive language and in sentence structure. Very nice.

I hope I didn't sound too nit-picky; I'm a bit of a grammar nazi, and sometimes I come off that way, but I hope my input is helpful in some way.

Haha thanks, Tycho. I'm not quoting you becase *wall of text*. I didnt even notice those mistakes when editing haha. I do pause when writing and get back into it, which causes said mistakes. Thank you greatly *tips hat*

Now someone tell Daren what to do!

I do the same thing all the time and make the same mistakes, so I guess I shouldn't be the one to talk.


How sneaky is Daren? If he and Ryiah can remain undetected, then I would suggest they wait for the whiskey drinker to fall asleep or pass out, then they could break the lock and sneak out of the tunnel, take Daren's stuff back, and then sneak out of the camp without the sentries noticing. Or they could take his stuff back, silently kill the sleeping Vipers, then use the element of surprise to attack the sentries and overpower them.

No no, iz all good. I need to fix that haha

Sneaky Daren be sneaky. Unsneaky Ryiah be unsneaky.

Ah, very nice how you included that in the descriptions of Daren and Ryiah walking. I didn't catch that when I first read through the story, but now it occurred to me when you mentioned it.

You can have Daren do the sneaking and silent killing, then when he's ready to attack the sentries, Ryiah could come out of the tunnel and help him.

Yea what Tycho/Ulysses (hehe) said! Now, question though. Is the train tunnel locked? Does it make noise when Daren tries to open it? Sure, in the game you just get a black screen, but in reality, how hard is it to open? Are they going through a door or the tunnel entrance? Maybe he can lift it up a bit and crawl under it?

And yea, definitely wait until the raiders are drunk/asleep, and have the girl wait in the tunnel, while Daren takes care of them.