Scott is in a strange room. Muted primary colors on the wall. A bed. Some shelves. Canned water. A monkey in a space suit, stuffed, thank goodness. A half-disassembled soda machine in the far corner, 'Nuka' brand. And a desk with a computer flashing a message. "STAIRCASE ROOM DWELLER, PRESS ANY BUTTON". Speaking of, the staircase is no longer in sight. Scott presses the Shift button. The text changes. "DON'T JOKE ABOUT THE VAULT NUMBER. They'll kill you for it. Do you think it was a coincidence? The bastards in Vault-Tec chose, from engineering geniuses, the most-tight-ass religious weirdos they could find and the most free-spirited, loving accepting 'I'd like to buy the world a Nuka' hippies they could find and slammed them shut in the same Vault. It took five months before the religious folks revolted. The hippies put up a hell of a fight. Stories are still told about the three bikers and the stand they made in the Reactor room armed with only a .44 pistol and something that launched wrenches. Anywho, it was a religious dictatorship from that point on. Every so often someone cracks and starts screaming about atheism or agnosticism or whatever and they vanish. Nobody believes the stories. They choose the vegan option in the cafeteria for the next week... There's regular clothes under the bed. The Vault-Tec uniforms are too form-fitting and thus banned. And wear the Pip-Boy. It's a computer that snaps over your left wrist. You own an iPod. You'll get it. I've been pretending to be 'Scott' for the past few months. Our plastic surgery technology is far better than you think. So nobody will look twice at you. Your mission...if you choose to accept it is...
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3/16/2016 12:12:07 AM
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