Life is a [censored].

It's my fault that my son is dead. He was just trying to help me and his brother haul a Yau Guai back home, so we could cut it open, rip it's meat out, and eat it. He grabbed on to it with us, and said 'What can I do to help?'. Since he just got in the way, I told him to 'Leave, and don't come back until we're done.' He left, and got home first. You could imagine my face when I opened the door, to find my son's neck around a noose with a note that said 'Glad I could help.'

My wife left me. My other son turned out to be a massive disappointment, and left to, in his words, 'find new lands'. Some Raiders cut off his head, put it in a box, and ding-dong-ditched it at my house in Arefu. That same night, everyone but me was killed and eaten by cannibals. The day I was packing up to leave Arefu, someone started knocking at the door. I opened it to find a man in a leather-reinforced blue and yellow jumpsuit. The man was big and strong, with a couple of guns, a knife, and a damn sword.

My wife was hanging on his arm, gawking over his perfect body. He asked me what happened, and I told him it was cannibals. All he could say was, "I hope Lucy will still reward me." He said the word 'reward' with a wink and a smirk. His body was found chained to his Megaton bed, with my wife to later be found under the same bed, more or less. There was some of her in the fridge, too. The words, 'you're useless' were written in blood on the bedroom wall. An investigation led to Lucy West being arrested, and executed.

"I didn't like her anyways." Lucas Simms was rumored to say, before he pulled the trigger.

The only loss there was a perfectly good jumpsuit being ruined by blood. Moria brown was pretty disappointed, I guess.

Anyways, here I am, wandering, alone, like a Lone Wanderer of sorts. For some reason, I get asked if my name is James a lot. I've heard over the radio of this guy named James who left a vault, looking for... Something, or something. I don't see why other people think just some guy walking around is special. I mean, it's not my fault they've never left town and lived a little. I guess it's those Raiders that keep people from leaving, though.*

My name is Jerry "Dandy" Twoey. Uh... Hi. I don't have any friends in this unforgiving place. I don't even have money. All I do is walk around and look for some means of survival it's boring and depressing. But... It's life. I'm doing more than anyone else in the world, it seems. I've always wanted to go to New Vegas, but I'd probably just die along the way. Not of some monstrous beast, or psycho serial killer, but I'd probably end up falling off a cliff, or tripping on a rock and hitting my head on a bigger rock.

Or I'd drown. Who drowns in a desert?

Whatever. I'm thirty-six years old. I shouldn't be running around like this. I should be sitting at home, eating a T.V. Dinner, drinking some hooch, listening to that music station with the peaceful violin. Sounds just as boring as what I'm doing now, doesn't it? Well, at least it's relaxing. I normally keep notes of what I do on terminals I find throughout the land. Mostly, I just want people to think I'm cool. And, if they ever meet me, and recognize my name, I could be like: "That's right. I'm awesome."

One can dream, I suppose.


*Take my son, for example.

Very awesome. Nice work Comedian, looking forward to more.

That was great Comedian! And it is good to see you back!

Depressing, but good. More, if you wouldn't mind, would be appreciated.

[This is an automated message brought to you buy: RobCo Industries. Thank you for choosing RobCo Brand Terminals, and have a fantastic day.]

[Subject: The High Road. The Logs of Dandy Twoey]

Congratulations! It would appear as though you've found my first terminal entry. Man. Have I got a story to tell the you, the reader. The reason I ended up writing this here, in the Dunwich Building, is both ridiculous and hilarious. Rain, man. Rain...

I find it unbelievably amazing that, while walking, and it starts to rain just slightly (slightly as in, one raindrop every 30 seconds), and that single drop of rain manages to get in between my lucky sunglasses, and my face. It gets right into my eye. Luck my ass, right? For the record, I just sighed while typing that out. I can still feel the acidic rain on my eye. Maybe I should start wearing glasses? But I'm not sure if that would really clash with my red repairman jumpsuit. I'm also not quite sure how you would go about replying to me. (Side note: My Red Jumpsuit is also reinforced with parts from leather armor. I took the idea from a... Friend.)

Anyways. As you know, it starting to rain. Or, it was raining, just slowly at first like normally. At first it was no big deal, but then I realized it started to rain even harder. And, I'm not a very big fan of cancer. I even more strongly disagree with it, when I'm involved somewhere in the equation. Unless I could give it to the things I come by. But honestly, I probably wouldn't even use that power, because it's such a horrible, horrible disease that no one deserves.

Back to the story. I also liked my clothes, and I didn't want the acidic rain to burn a hole through it, and then to my skin. So, naturally, I ran like a girl looking for cover. I even tried using my 10mm as an umbrella. It didn't work. The building I finally came to was a bit deserted. But you know that, don't you? Because you're in it right now. But I didn't think anything of it. There could have been a small town around the place for all I knew. The hills could have had houses under them, I don't know, and I didn't care; the rain started to hurt.

This is when another drop of water fell in between my shades and my face. Again, unlucky shades seems more fitting. Big parking lot, crashed cars, lights; your average everyday office building with just a hint of nuclear devastation. Nothing special, right? No.... No... Not right. In fact it was the opposite. You, the reader, wouldn't know that though, would you? Because you just walked past a couple dead Ghoul bodies, or so.

The doors were jammed, but I just kicked them through like any man would if he were covered in burning acid. I wonder to this moment why any buildings are still here. It must be some special acid that feeds off of human skin and clothing, but dies when it comes to contact with anything else. Life is a [censored]. Well anyways, I'm through the door now, and see a group of Ghouls standing in front of me, staring. You could tell just be their eyes that they were hungry. So, instantly I pull out my sidea

[Hello, User of RobCo Brand Terminals, Terminal #178349. We are sorry to inform you that a portion of Terminal #178349's memory banks have been corrupted. Please call your local RobCo Help Hotline, and report your problem.]

Panting, I was finally free of those damn zombies. Must have killed everyone of them, I thought. I couldn't wait to tell my friends that I would have done. But then I remembered they wouldn't have believed me. Then I remembered I didn't have friends, and all my family died from a mean case of stupidity. It must have came from my wife's side, because I'm still here aren't I?

After escaping immediate zombitude, or Ghoulification, if that's even how that happens (?), I could hear some whispers coming from the next room over. I was so deep into a building of ghouls, I didn't think someone else could have possibly got through them unnoticed. Of course, I'm not stupid (like my family, which was sick from it), so I knew it must have been a ghoul hissing. Or, maybe even a non-feral. Don't know why one would want to live in this creepy place, though.

So with my 10mm in my right hand, I went to investigate the sound. There was a clothed ghoul - good sign so far - hunched over some terrifying looking sharp rock - bad sign. It just looked like the Washington Monument with some crazy creepy crawling getting ready to devour it. (I'll take this time to tell you, the reader, to never, ever, ever, ever to the power of infinite, look for this obelisk yourself. You'll see it in your sleep, I'm sure of it.) So this Ghoul was talking into a holo tape. Something about his dad, or some book, or something or other.

Creeping up behind him, I said, "Howdy."

He had that usual Ghoul voice. I didn't think it was the best time to tell him to take the cigarette out of his mouth, though, because he hissed. In fairness, the hiss could have been a lot more threatening if the smoker's voice didn't combine with the Ghoul voice. It was kind of a pity.

"Er... Yeah," I replied to his hiss, "My name's Jerry. Friend's call my Dandy. You can call me Mr. Twoey. What's a man like yourself doing down here?"

He paused, thought, got ready to talk, then stopped. "I uh. I'm Jaime. I... Uh. Am looking for my father, and this book. That's really the reason I've become a Ghoul. I'd step back, actually, this big rock here gives off radiation."

"Is that so?" I replied, stepping back, "Well thank you for the warning, Jaime." I then said, "Don't you think you're going through a lot of trouble to find a book and your dad? I mean, you'll never be the same! People won't respect you anymore because of your current state. It's unfortunate there are so many bigots in the world, don't you agree?"

"Well," Jaime said, "I'd do anything for my dad."

"Ah. But would he become a Ghoul for you?"

"You know," He replied, "I never thought of it like that. I don't think he would! He abandoned me and everything! It's his fault I am this way!" Jaime paused, "But. I accept who I am. And I also accept that all Smoothskins are bad people! How dare you put this horrible realization in my head!"

Startled, I said, "Can't we talk this out?"

To which he said, "It would be hard, with all those meaty bits being stuffed in my mouth."

"Should I ask where the meat comes from?"

"No. Probably not, no."

"Ah."

Needless to say, I ran out of there. In a fantastic turn of events, Jaime couldn't bear to leave the obelisk behind. He was naturally drawn to it, like most of the ghouls throughout the building. It kind of saddens me to think I killed all those Ghouls, when really they just wanted to find their obelisk to feed on, and maybe even pray to. Perhaps when they hissed at me, they were really saying "Pardon me sir, but could you possibly give me instructions to the nearest radiation bleeding pointy obelisk?" In Ghoul.

That was great! But I really wanted to know how he got out of the Ghoul situation! Damn Robco Terminals

This is great Com. More, please. It would be great if you followed wasteland scholars example and send PM's to some of your readers about new chapters.

I agree with josh though, I wish you would tell us more about the ghoul situation.

Haven't posted in a while, but I just wanted to say I'm not done yet. This is still alive, and I will post ASAP.

Terminal Main > The High Road > Story Arc: Wolverines! > Circle 1/? .

You would not believe the day I've been having. It was, no pun intended, far from being dandy. When most people think of Wolverines, they probably imagine a wolf, right? Well, I imagine a man-beast wolf... Thing. Whether it was real or not, I can't say. I'm still shocked, I can't even think straight. Damn. Wait until you hear this story, you'll never think the same about dogs...

I wandered, like always. The desert in the northern part of D.C. is a lot more barren then the rest. Like most dehydrated people in the burning hot Sun, I hallucinated, and talked to myself, and so forth. Needless to say, it really wasn't a very good day.

"Damn." I said to myself, "Where are all the buildings?"

"Where are all the trees?" I replied to my own comment.

"Where are all the rocks?" I replied to the reply of my own comment.

While walking to the top of a small hill on the ground, I spotted a tiny little shack under a freeway overpass. It looked like it had a massive pile of junk working as a (useless) wall of sorts. Having nothing better to do, I decided to investigate. I would either be brutally murdered by some crazy sonofa[censored] with a gun, thinking I was a raider. Or, I'd trip on the way there, and probably drown. Like I've said once before, drowning in the desert is ridiculous, but likely for me.

Death was too good for me. I'm too good for suicide. Damn, it svcks.

Anyways, there were two shacks. I managed to miss the second one. I guess I'm going blind. Life is a [censored]. I walked to the first shack I was at, and started to knock on the door. There was no answer, so I knocked even harder. This time, I said, "Hello?! Is anyone home?" Again, no answer. So, like any honest Wastelander, I let myself into the house. It looked like a damned Nuka-Cola Love Shrine.

That, and there was blood splattered walls, and little bits of meat on bed inside. Torn cloth, the works. I tongued the front of my teeth a bit, because it felt like they were fuzzy. Then I walked to the fridge, and opened it. I was excited to find a nice, cold looking Nuka in the fridge. A couple, actually. Thirty, to be exact. Using the bottle opener mounted to the side of the fridge, I popped open a cold one and enjoyed a delicious sip.

"Oh, right." I said to myself, "Dead person..." I wandered over to the bed, and took a sip while examining the strange scene. Someone or something definitely destroyed the person who lived here.

There was a loud bang on the door, and I freaked out and turned around. What the Hell was that? I backed up to the wall, and stared at the door on the other side of the room. I clenched the cola bottle, ready to use it as a weapon. Everyone knows bottle beats gun.

The door flew open, and a man ran in with a hunting rifle. He looked around, and was sweating pretty bad. He had blood coming down his forehead. He dropped to his knees after a brief stare off with the bloody mattress. Maybe he was just mad he lost the staring contest.

"What happened?" I asked, like he'd know.

The man, crying now, said, "Wolves."

"Just wolves?" I replied, "Wolves couldn't do this."

The man hesitated, "Werewolves."

___

For lack of a better word, he said Werewolves. You'll read and understand in Circle 2. For some reason, this Terminal is giving me a limited character cou