Hello everyone,

I often lurk the Bethesda forums (ever since my Morrowind days) without contributing much. At first, I blamed the demands of law school and my firm's workload but then I concluded that I didn't have anything unique to share. But today, I do. Copied below is one of my short stories.

If you haven't visited Vault 106 yet, please do NOT read this entry. I'd hate to spoil anything for you. The rest of my F3 short stories are posted on my web site but I will copy and paste them over depending if anyone actually enjoys my writing.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy the writing.

[EDIT: I didn't realize these stories would evolve into continuing episodes, so I edited some things. Some of the comments by my readers may seem archaic and unapplicable now. Thanks for the feedback, everyone!]

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Discovering Vault 106

There is something magical about the world we live in. Everyday, we discover new people, objects, places and experiences.

There are moments of excitement and joy as we find hidden treasures. On the other hand, there are moments of horror and disgust when we unearth things that were never meant to be found. Today's discovery proved to be the latter. It was a Vault entrance.

Vaults, like the one I was raised in, were built underground to endure nuclear attacks. Vaults reopened upon two conditions: 1) World War III's nuclear bombardment ended; and 2) the immediate environment was measured with safe radiation levels for human colonization. From that point, Vault citizens were called upon to rebuild what was left of America. My vault opened several decades after these two conditions were met, but that's a long and different story.

This particular vault door was already open so I assumed radioactive monsters would be inhabiting this seemingly abandoned man-made cave. I noticed dried blood stains smeared across the steel floors and walls. Typical visuals in a post-apocalyptic world. Nevertheless, I was concerned. Perhaps Vault 106 citizens were attacked by raiders when the Vault doors reopened? Little did I know that raiders were going to be the least of my worries.

As I walked down the quiet corridors of the underground structure, I found a computer. The machine was still operable and juiced up by the Vault's self-sustaining generators. Thank goodness Dad disciplined me to study while growing up - I applied my science skills to hack into the active terminal. Education is precious, especially in a world where virtually every school had been reduced to rubble. Dad would be proud how quickly I bypassed the computer's security.

Reading the computer's files, I realized I entered Vault 106. More importantly, I discovered the grim truth why Vault 106 was no longer a refuge for civilization. According to its electronic records, the Overseer initiated an experimental gas release on all Vault 106 citizens. These folks were totally unaware of the experiment and they suffered the ultimate price. The gas prompted the unwilling participants to go berserk. In seconds, they lost their reasonable senses and began murdering all those who were immune to the chemical gas. The records didn't give me much more details but I knew enough. I was in trouble.

I heard movement down the hallway. A survivor? What does an insane citizen look like? Did the effects of the experimental gas wear off? Did someone survive the attack and escape the insane mob? I was determined to find out.

I ran as lightly as I could down the hallway. I detected two distinct voices in the next room. The door was already open and I overheard an ongoing conversation. A male and female were having small talk over the radroaches infesting the place. Sounded friendly and with no taint of insanity. I even detected some flirtatious comments from the male voice.

There was hope and I clung on to that as I turned the corner. I also readied my shotgun. I took to heart a note from a fortune cookie my Dad gave me for my seventh birthday: "Hope for the best, prepare for the worst." Such advice enabled me to experience many more birthdays.

There was a kitchen - full of stocked canned foods. The place was a mess with rust stains on the walls and floors. Rotten food littered across the kitchen counters. Not the best way to maintain a healthy lifestyle but hey, I wasn't here to judge.

I saw a bald-headed man and a blonde woman, each wearing a dirty pair of Vault 106 uniforms. Unwashed clothes are common for any roaming wastelander so I found no indication of an unstable mind. The man seemed to be in his fifties and the woman in her young twenties. In these dangerous times, the age gap between romantic partners was nothing to be concerned about - survival, co-dependency, and companionship are key factors in any modern day relationship.

The couple was sitting across from one another at the dining table. They were holding hands and continued to talk about pesky radroaches. After a few seconds, the young woman noticed my presence. Under all those layers of dirt, I could detect a pretty face. Then the man turned his head towards me.

They both gave me a blank stare. I stared back for what seemed like forever. Awkward, to say the least. Eventually, I lowered my gun.

"Are you okay? Do you need any help?" I asked.

The man stood up and slowly revealed the most wicked smile I have ever seen. I don't think I could forget those yellow jagged teeth stained with blotches of brown.

I continued. "I'm from Vault 101 and I mean you no harm."

Then the young woman stood by his side. She started laughing hysterically.

Finally, the man spoke, "We have another present. Let's open him up!" He took out a lead pipe from his pocket while the woman picked up the baseball bat on the kitchen counter. Her laughter grew louder and began to hurt my ears.

I aimed the gun at the man and spoke, "Don't do it, friend. It doesn't have to be this way."

His smile exposed more yellow, crooked teeth. Some brownish drool began to emerge from his ghastly maw. He raised the lead pipe with his left arm and screamed, "I'm going to enjoy this!"

That was the last thing he said before his right arm exploded in countless bloody pieces of flesh and bone. My shotgun never fails in close corridors. The man's smile disappeared as his bald head turned deathly pale. The lead pipe dropped to the ground, quickly followed by the man's body.

The woman's laughter ceased as she looked at her partner's silent form. The man's right side sprayed blood all over her. She turned towards me, her face drenched red.

I raised my left arm with an open palm facing her.

"Please! Don't come any closer or I will shoot you too."

Blood continued to drip from the woman's face as a familiar disturbing grin began to emerge. Suddenly, she jumped at me and swung the baseball bat at my head. I ducked. The wooden stick crashed against the wall adjacent to me.

I rolled forward avoiding another swing. Dropping my gun, I grabbed the sledge hammer slung to my back. I swung and heard a loud crack from the woman's legs. Her body flew backwards.

The woman stood on one leg, still gripping her baseball bat. The other leg dangled - I must have broken something. The hairs on the back of my neck froze as she didn't seem to even notice her crippled state. Without hesitation, she started to limp towards me. My heart began to beat faster. I couldn't look away from her haunting smile - she was so close I could see her yellow, crooked teeth stained with dark brown spots. As her broken body approached, I realized the layers of dirt and fresh blood covered any semblance of a human being. I didn't see a pretty face anymore. I saw evil.

"Stop it! What's wrong with you, woman!?" I yelled.

"Die! Die! DIE!" She snarled.

I took a deep breath. The psycho [censored] lunged towards me and I struck as hard as I could. My sledge hammer drove straight down on her cranium. I heard a rip and a split-second later, her head bounced off the floor. The woman's body toppled over, showering the kitchen walls with a new coat of dark red.

My jaw dropped as I stared at the woman's severed head. Then I looked at my hammer to see anything that could have decapitated her. There was nothing extraordinary - just a typical wooden stick with a heavy metal block at the end. None of this made sense.

I heard footsteps from below. Several footsteps. They were getting louder. I had two choices. Run away or hold my ground. I checked my ammunition and reloaded my shotgun. I knew what had to be done.

Time to purge Vault 106 from this madness.

While telling a story from the perspective of the Lone Wanderer isn't all that original, you totally did a great job making this horrifying experience come alive for the reader. Well done.

And not to be a pain, but would a human head be lopped off from a sledgehammer swing? It doesn't seem very likely. But whatever, it's your story and your own world to create. I still enjoyed it.

LOL. Thanks for the awesome feedback, Terducken.

Yah, I highly doubt in real-life a LOT of things in the video game would happen. But it seems to me that nearly every character in the F3 universe has a brittle neck where a bullet or sledgehammer will decapitate any head.

Definitely not realistic but I was aiming to be somewhat reflective of my gaming experience.

First off, good story. As he came upon the two insane survivors, I even found myself hoping, or at least deceiving myself into hoping, that they would turn out to be okay and they'd all leave 106 together. That tug on the reader's subconscious is the sign of your good writing talent, but with the sledgehammer and the head, we don't need to associate with your gaming experience. We've all played the game, and heads detaching from blunt force trauma is one of the things we purposefully ignore to increase our enjoyment of the game, in a story where a fellow player is writing, we don't have the rest of the game to give us a reason to ignore that lapse of realism. So even if in the game the head might've detached, it's not only acceptable, but recommended that in your story, the head reacts normally to a sledgehammer impacting it.

Again, very good story, very good writing. :thumbsup:

Well said, Dracth.

I originally wrote the short story to be 'true' to my gaming experience, but like you said, that's not entirely relevant for the readers in general. Great advice. I'll keep that in mind for my upcoming short stories. Thank you.

I've seen a lot of criticism for stories written in first-person lately, and honestly, I don't know why there's all this resistance towards it. You can play the game in the first-person and even if you play in the third, it's still from the point of view of the LW. Why is it bad to write in that style? I admit that I'm not a big fan of first-person and never use it in my own writing, but that doesn't mean I'm automatically against it just because other people use it. If a majority of stories here were written in third-person, would there be as many people saying, "Most stories here are written in third-person; you should do something different!"? If you say that, then you have to allow for any writing style to be unoriginal because people have been using them for a very long time.

It doesn't detract from the story at all and doesn't read like a laundry list of, "I did this, I did that, I saw this, I saw that," so I really fail to see the problem. If Mewick didn't have a good grasp on the point of view, then I could see grounds for saying that, perhaps, he should be writing it in third-person, but the writing seems fine to me. Quite frankly, in cases of stories like this one, I kind of like seeing more first-person views. It makes it creepier.

Kikai offers criticism for critics!

I think the natural resistance to it is from a long history of video game fanfics being written in first person. Now, this alone would not be a problem, but most of those fics include excrutiating attention to details that only the person writing it cares about, and this style also lends itself to showing us the omniscient, action-hero mind of the protagonist, which is, invariably, the writer's character in the game. Not to mention Fallout 3's ability to let a character roam around finding Raiders and Enclave troops and so forth in different terrain and equipment lends itself freely to the hero using inventive, unorthodox, and sometimes entirely impossible ways of defeating their enemies as long as it fits the writer's ideals of badassery. So people, I assume, began naturally associating first person with poor writing coupled with using their story as an excuse to extoll the utter badassness of their character.

If anything, our good friend Mewick is actually helping to fight this notion by writing a good story within the first person. I myself prefer writing in the third, or some hybrid of first and third, but I can appreciate a good first person, assuming it's just that, good.

He is fighting.. the Good Fight!

Seriously though, I see what you mean. That hadn't occurred to me. I think the few times I have used first-person in my own writing were either when I was going for a specific feel or to show just how much of a bad-*** my character isn't.

Granted, I like to torture my characters, so..

Here is a post I made earlier regarding this.



In addition to that, I'm so used to reading on Fanfiction.net, that I'm used to so many bad or inexperianced writers make their start with the fpp, which has, over time, ruined that perspective. I write, and prefer to read, solely in tpp. Now don't get me wrong, many of writers here are not bad and don't misuse the fpp, but just as many do, and it's tiresome for me to try and sort through it all.

On the topic of this particular story, it really isn't bad at all. Indeed, it's quite good. Please do continue. :thumbsup:

Thank you for the very encouraging feedback.

Here is the sequel to 'Discovering Vault 106'....

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Surviving Vault 106

Time is precious, especially when you don't have much left.

Every fiber of my being wanted to leave Vault 106. But what I discovered must be destroyed. This evil had claimed too many innocent lives. The footsteps of Vault 106's insane citizens grew louder. Any minute this room will be filled with blood. Hopefully not mine.

I stood by the vault's kitchen door and poked my head out in the hallway. I cursed as I saw over a dozen individuals in grimy stained clothes rushing from the opposite end. They were carrying lead pipes, baseball bats and knives. I was armed with my shotgun but I knew that alone wasn't going to stop a fanatical mob in these tight corridors. I shut the kitchen's door and looked for a lock. My heart sank - no lock.

Beyond the door, one of the freaks yelled, "More fun for everyone!"

A female voice shrieked, "Rip out the prize from his corpse!" I didn't have the luxury of pondering what that prize may be.

I scanned my immediate surroundings. There was another door that led to an empty bedroom. Perfect. I reached into my backpack and activated five frag mines. These babies had electronic motion detectors. Once powered up, any sudden movement would trigger its explosive effects. I planted them on the kitchen floor and closed the metal door behind me.

I saw a bed at the end of the room and sat on it. I closed my eyes and whispered a quick prayer. "God, please protect me."

The kitchen door opened and psychotic laughter echoed throughout the vault's hallways. Like music to my ears, I heard a series of instant beepings followed by powerful sound blasts. The bedroom's metallic door shook but held firm. Silence reigned the vault. Thank you, Jesus.

I opened the door with my gun ready. I've never been so happy to see severed human limbs sprawled across the kitchen floors. The insane Vault 106 citizens would never harm another innocent soul again.

I traveled deeper into Vault 106, as I needed to replenish my food, supplies and ammunition. The rusty stains and dried bones of murdered citizens were a common decorative theme for each room. Every skeleton I came across justified my actions for ridding the world of these lunatics. The problem was solved.

I knew I was wrong the moment my vision temporarily blurred. Suddenly, my perception of the world literally turned blue. I thought I walked in a room with blue-tinted light bulbs but something horrible was happening. This old-bloody splattered vault instantly revealed itself as a spotlessly clean and functioning vault. Even the old ragged furniture looked brand new. Impossible!

My heart thumped faster. Sweat trickled down my right cheek. My mouth felt dry and my breathing became more difficult. What happened to the air - that's it! There was something in the air! Gas!

The vault's computer archives I accessed earlier explained the release of an experimental gas that prompted Vault 106 citizens to create havoc. How could I be so blind? The vault citizens were not the problem. It was the gas. The same gas that I breathed into my lungs!

I didn't know if I was too late and too exposed to the chemical agent but I knew I needed to get out. Holding my breath for as long as I can, I bolted towards the exit. Unfortunately, my current position was two floors below ground level. Running without breathing that long of a distance would incapacitate me. I had no choice but to inhale the tainted air as I fled for the surface.

After reaching Vault 106's ground floor, I thought I might be less exposed to the experimental gas. After all, it's been decades since this gas was released throughout the vault. But then I saw something in my way. No someone. I raised my gun to fire but the figure stepped out into the light.

My legs froze. My jaw dropped as I recognized this familiar person. "Dad?"

He replied, "Where do you think you are going, son?"

Strangely, I also heard his voice from behind me. "Breathe in the Blue, son."

I turned and saw Dad. Again. Behind him was another man... who looked exactly like Dad. And another behind that man. I knew I was going crazy. That damn gas was affecting me!

"You're not real!" I yelled.

My Dad(s) stared at me with glazed eyes. In unison, they said, "Of course I am..." After a few seconds of silence, all of them shrieked, "And you will stay here with me!"

These things that resembled Dad sprinted towards my position with that familiar menacing laughter. I panicked and fired. Once the bullets appeared to make contact, these creatures would instantly dissipate into nothingness. The projectiles bounced off the vault's metal walls. More and more images - ghosts - of Dad came out of the shadows. His many faces showed nothing but rage and hatred as I ran towards the exit.

My legs started aching and I began coughing uncontrollably. The mob of Dads were close. I felt their chilling breath upon my neck. These phantoms screamed at me to stop. I saw a faint yellow light down the hallway and realized it was the Vault's only entrance. Freedom was in sight.

Someone or something pushed a series of buttons on the exit's control panel. The door started to slowly close. The light from the outside world began to fade as the vault's gigantic metallic door nearly covered the entrance. My legs felt sluggish but I kept running. My life depended on this.

In three seconds, the vault would be permanently sealed from the outside. I used every last bit of strength to dive forward. I shut my eyes and screamed. I heard the giant metal door shut. I felt a phantom grab my left ankle with an overwhelmingly icy firm grip.

I continued to scream, thinking that I failed to escape - imagining myself as the latest prisoner to Vault 106. But the ghosts' screams ceased. I felt a jagged rock against my chest and the gritty sand under my palms. My blue vision faded as I perceived a red but shallow gash on my left ankle. Miraculously, my coughing stopped as I svcked in fresh air. With a new sense of hope, I found myself staring at the exterior steps of the rusty entrance door. I survived Vault 106.

But nothing good came out of this cursed location. Whatever I breathed into my lungs was still there. I could taste its subtle acidic taint. This foreign substance lingered within me. Perhaps there was nothing to fear. But what if this chemical agent was designed to remain dormant? What if I was a walking time bomb, just moments away from unleashing destructive madness unto others?

These questions I could not answer but I knew someone who would.

Very good. 5/5, no doubt. This is the first thing ive seen written by you. Do you write? And is your character going to go too other vaults? Places? Or is it going to be another character.

As I say with every person that uses the Lone Wanderer, THANK YOU for not following the storyline.

Thank you, Pwnzar6464!

I'm a writer in the professional services industry. However, my published content is not relevant or exciting for F3 fans - my articles and white papers involve legal and accounting regulations (cough cough boring cough cough).

When I'm not working or gaming, I'm quite busy drafting my science-fiction fantasy novel that I plan to publish within the next few years. On occassion, when I feel like writing something completely different, I compose short stories about my favorite video games.

I can see. Maybe when more stories are written for this someone would make a mod or possibly a DLC. MIght have to put a topic on Fanfics coming from DLCs in Fallout 3 DLC- General Discussions. :thumbsup:


And the comment about the writing. YEA didn't read the caption under the story. Thanx for not being smart about that.

l like it. The story is descriptive and emotional, you really put some after thought on your story after playing the game

Thank you for that observation, rezlav.

Most of my friends and colleagues, especially at work do not fully appreciate the time and energy spent in generating content. Writing is an art form and requires several drafts, edits and tweaks. In fact, I never consider writing as a finalized product but more of a compromise just so such content can be read by a certain deadline.

Fortunately, with these F3 short stories, there is no critical deadline. Rather, positive feedback from this forum's readership motivates me to produce something meaningful and fun.

Looking forward to composing the next entry, but this may require quite a few days since work is getting busier these days. (Freaking recession!)

happy to give my opinion, espciailly if it's a good one. I look forward to more when you can post it

Finally found enough creative energy and time to post this short story. Enjoy! It opens up to a whole new set of short stories I have planned to write in the near future.

Note: I inserted a bunch of swear words - if you want the uncensored version, feel free to visit my blog (located in my signature).

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Sagacious Prognosis

"How bad is it, Doc?"

"Sorry, son. You only have one day left to live."

"What!?"

"Just kidding!" The doctor laughed. I didn't.

I wanted to punch this joker in the face but that would be unwise. Besides guns, doctors are the most valuable assets in the capital wasteland. The entire city of Megaton would unleash their wrath upon me if I even threatened their only physician. And he knew it too. [censored].

"Son, whatever you breathed into your lungs, it's not killing you." The doctor sat down in the office chair and raised a foot to rest on his desk. "In fact, you're healthier than you ever been."

"You gotta be joking." I said.

He looked straight into my eyes. "Not this time."

He threw me a folder of documents. "Compare last year's medical charts to today's lab results - I won't bore you with the details, but your physical conditioning and even radiation resistance have radically changed - for the better."

I began rummaging through the medical files. What I read was unbelievable - no, impossible. "There's something wrong with your equipment."

A digital voice shrieked from the corner of the doctor's office. "How dare you! I am not a piece of equipment!"

The doctor and I turned our heads to the source as it propelled itself with power ducted fans. Everyone in Megaton referred this six-armed motor robot as Gizmo, which often assisted the doctor in medical surgeries and procedures - including my physical and psychological examinations. Its voice was inspired by some British actor from the pre-war days. Charming but I never felt comfortable with artificial intelligence.

Gizmo hovered near me and I could detect its one-eye camera staring me down. Thankfully, this floating piece of junk had no defensive measures as its programming was purely for medical purposes.

The doctor raised his hand. "Easy there, Gizmo. The young gentleman didn't mean to offend."

I rolled my eyes. "Sorry, Gizmo. I just think your sensors are flawed."

The robot raised all six of its multi-jointed steel arms. "Blasphemy! I've never been wrong in my life! That's 200 years, 129 days, 13 hours, 46 minutes, and counting, you damn Yankee!"

I ignored the talking tin can and handed back my medical file to the doc. "This chemical agent is responsible for the deaths of countless wastelanders and Vault 106 citizens. Countless! How can you say this chemical is not harmful?"

The doctor bit his lip. "I don't know. My only guess is that when this gas was initially released, it was too potent for the human body and thereby produced disastrous results. However, after decades of dilution, perhaps exposure to this gas is harmless - if not, beneficial."

I spat. "Beneficial!? I hallucinated about my dad attempting to trap me in that [censored] vault!"

Gizmo interjected. "Sir, there are no indications that the patient is suffering from any drug abuse that would typically produce hallucinations. The patient's testimony is very peculiar. Perhaps he is just an idiot who has family issues?"

The doctor leaned back into his chair. "How do you know you were hallucinating? Didn't you tell me that the Vault door was manually operated to seal you inside? That doesn't make sense if you were the only person left alive in Vault 106?"

I slammed my palm on the doctor's desk. "I don't know how that door closed!" I glared at the doctor - for a moment, his face turned pale. "And I'm not going back there to find out."

The doctor raised his hands in a surrendering gesture. "Son, I'm not asking you to. I'm just saying that whatever is in your body is not hurting you. [censored], just look at that bandage you wasted!"

I looked down expecting to see a red-soaked bandage on my ankle. Only a few hours ago it was bleeding profusely so I requested Gizmo to replace the bandage after cleaning. But it was dry. I ripped it off and my heart skipped a beat. No blood. Not even a hint of a scratch.

"What the hell is going on?" I murmured.

The doctor picked up a pen and began scribbling something on his clipboard. "Your prognosis gets better. Let's talk about reflexes."

Without warning, he threw the pen at my face from point-blank range. Instinctively, I raised an arm. After two seconds, I realized that the pen rested on the palm of my hand.

"What the f - "

The doctor stood up. "Young man, you have no idea what you are capable of. I have a good feeling you will change our world as we know it."

"I think you over-estimate me."

He placed a hand on my right shoulder. "Remember, Vault 106 was cursed. But you're not. You're blessed."

I stepped back as the doctor's hand dropped off my shoulder. "What do you know about blessings, old man? We live in a rotting world where people kill each other over a bottle of water. And if we're not killing each other, something inhuman out there will finish us off."

"Son, we're still alive. That's a blessing. Don't tell me you'd rather be dead. That would be a waste of my time."

"And mine!" Gizmo yelled as it propelled itself to another room.

The man was right. I needed to focus on what I have as opposed to what I don't have. And at this very moment, I had something I'm just beginning to understand.

I had one more question that begged for an answer. "How do I know this chemical won't kill me later on?"

"You won't." The doctor shrugged. "By that time, who cares? You'll be dead."

I slowly nodded. I heard exactly what I needed to hear. And it was enough to move forward. Life is short, after all.

He extended an open palm. "Now pay up some bottle caps and let me help others who don't heal as miraculously as you."

I shook the physician's hand with a firm grip. "Thanks, Doc."

"No problem. Come back when you inhale something else."

This time, we both laughed.

Man... Well done, I like it. It's not impossible to impress me but it's hard. It's long, it's got very few mistakes, banking on none and it's a great base story. Good work, keep it up, .

Thank you, Francois!

As for those "very few mistakes," please let me know what I can improve/edit (private message me if constructive criticism isn't something you like to do publicly). I would totally appreciate it as I'm always looking to grow in my writing skills.

I wrote this short story within a span of 6 hours and I probably should have proofread it nine times over before posting it to this thread. Obviously, eight times isn't enough! hah.

Your realism in action scenes needs a little work, as does your descriptions of things...not that they aren't good, but you seem to focus more on character development than environment development. It is essential to build both of these things well. Your dialog also seems a little...happy ? Detatched ? Sitcom-like ? I don't know. I only say these things because the wasteland is a grim place, a character in itself, and should influence the behavior of its inhabitants. When writing about this topic, it is realism, realism, realism. If characters are evil, yes, that's good. Your heroes should be corrupted as well. Just my two cents.

You have extremely good potential, so keep at it. The only way to become very good at writing is to write. I do not beleive in offering positive reviews of other people's work, because it inflates heads. If i think someone's writing is flawless, I say nothing.

I am flawed too. Sometimes, i get a little dramatic with my expression of scenes, and my wording of speech. This does not make me a bad writer. It makes me a writer.

Edit: Also, you give your characters religion, I see. This is a flaw. If the person who is reading is an atheist, and your hero is a christian, this makes that person dislike your hero. There is a good way, and a bad way, to make your hero seem flawed.

Thanks for the candid feedback, BulletScratch.

As for religion, I disagree that inserting this subject matter on its own is a flaw. I love reading about atheistic and faith-based protagonists - it all depends on how that character is built and how he faces his/her challenges. The reader does not have to 100% fully agree with the character's beliefs, but must at least relate and understand why the character thinks the way he does - something I need to radically improve upon.

And yes, for environmental descriptions, I could definitely focus on this element of writing. Naturally, I tend to 'skim' environmental descriptions as I find them predictable, repetitive and irrelevant compared to character development. But we all know we need balance b/w the two. Another area to practice. Thanks for the reminder.

Of course, I am speaking in the extremes of things. If a person WERE to get truly offended by the aspect of god in a character he has previously related to, which is unlikely, but i leave nothing unsaid. In my eyes, characters should be a blank slate, and dialog should dictate their personality. Your character is a christian, this is alright. I myself am a Zen Buddist. If your character had related to my "faith", I would not have related to him any more, if the man was a [censored] character. When you build upon a stylized source of personality, keep the guy cool and graceful but not so much, and make him changed by his universe but still keeping a foot in modern times, people will not care about what god or gods he beleives in. This is what makes a good character good even after he, let's say, kills an innocent. There is a balance to these things.

Also, would christianity still exist in the wastelands ? Are you an expert in lore ? Read up on every plot, beat every game, etc...then write about the subject. It is best to be versed in all things of a subject when writing about it. Forgive me if I am being too technical. I feel like "Once more, but with feeeeeeling".

Religion is really a mute point in Fallout, besides cults and such religion isn't really mentioned either way.

Though Christianity still exists, it has scattered into even more splinter groups. Mormans are still around, not many nukes hit Utah, Hindus and Buddhists still exsists. While the tribals are Native American like, worshipping ancestors and such. You could even say the brotherhood worships technology.

I think this is where creative writing prioritizes in works of fan fiction. There are so many possibilities that any religious matter could exist in the wastelands. Specifically, there are several partially-destroyed churches across the capital wasteland. Was every Bible burned by the nuclear warfare? What if the Gospel was preserved in a basemant, a Vault, or any other well-protected structure? What if foreigners came to U.S. soil with their evangelistic materials?

I am by no means, an expert in Fallout 3 lore (and yes, I have beaten every Fallout game and the majority of the subplots) - but I thought the Lone Wanderer's mother was by default, Christian. At least it is implied based on her favorite bible verse, which I assumed meant that she's read the entire book.

In the end, I believe there is a very good chance Christian beliefs survived. That may have not been the intent of the game developers, but I don't think they would destroy a certain set of beliefs either. Good discussion.

I'm sure it definitely would have survived in the Vaults, at least. And since your mom in Fallout 3 was working on Project Purity and whatnot, I would assume that it is in the Wastes to some degree. Because really, there's no way a religion that big could be wiped out as long as there were survivors of any amount.

Honestly, the inclusion of religion in any piece of writing doesn't bother me, so long as it isn't the point of the story. I mean, I'm an agnostic. How often do you see agnostic heroes? I haven't. The vast majority of novels express religion in one way or another. It's a great character development device, having someone be religious and then testing their faith in some way or another. It shows what kind of... Well... Character a character has. Devotion to religion has oftentimes been described as the greatest devotion, so testing that is a much used technique by writers. Almost cliche. But you can't write without including cliches, you have to embrace them, otherwise you'll just be skirting disaster, trying to avoid problem after problem.

Now as to the matter of the environment, I've never been a particular fan of heavy environment descriptions in fanfiction. Anyone that takes the time to read a fanfic already knows what the surroundings will be like, unless you're not at an in-game location, where you do have to describe. But anyway, describing a place everyone's been to just gets tedious, I think. Just my opinions.

On a completely unrelated note, Mewick, your avatar looks exactly like someone on my friends list.