Well, I guess we’d already wiped out most of the ants. Either that or the remaining ones killed each other while I was looking for this ‘package’. Turns out to be a spotty night dress. Then some beefy guy showed up, tried to kill me for the damned thing. More proof that everyone’s gone nuts.
Yeah, I’m hilarious. I’m actually writing this in the Metro station in Grayditch, I’m honestly not trying to put off leaving this place, though. Mostly. I’ve also got to find a room marked by a spinning light before we emerge, at least, I think it’s in here. Okay, look, those ants freak me out. And also they SPIT FIRE. I think it’s okay to be a little nervous, right? The kid should be safe in that shelter for a few more minutes. Yeah, so we headed to Wilhelm’s Wharf this morning to check on Grandma, her boys never seem to be home…
After not one, but two rescue missions, I thought it would be nice to check out the National Archives for Abraham Washington, and the Arlington Library for Moira. Well, nice in a ‘fighting Muties, robots and raiders’ kinda way, I guess. Met a gal called Sydney in the Archives, I guess she’s a little older than me, or maybe she’s just been in the Wasteland longer. Damn good with a gun, though.
Ack, I’m putting ‘titles’ on each page, so I can see at a glance which is which (keeping the pages locked up in my file cabinet, I like the locals but I don’t want them reading my private thoughts) but I feel like a bit of a tool. Might as well go the whole hog with this one. Or maybe I’m just trying to put off the bit where I actually have to write down what I’m thinking about.
That… Wasn’t what I meant to write about. I feel like I should start with an introduction. In the Vault we learned about people in the old days, before the war, who used to write about their lives. Some of them wrote about big things, some of them wrote about ordinary things while big things happened around them. I think I’m quite ordinary, but I sort of think maybe I’d like to write something people will want to read. There’s the book with Moira, of course, but that’s a bit different. Practical stuff. This is just me. So, I may as well say who I am.
So, I feel like I should be keeping some sort of log. The Pip-Boy stores some info, but it’s a bit, well, impersonal. Plus there’s no way to actually write on it. It takes bearable photos, though, since I got Moira to tinker with it a little. Not great, and not a lot of them, but it’s something. And I’m scrounging up any bits of clean paper and pencils I can find. Looking out for a pen, too, though I dunno where I’d find ink. Hopefully this will help me feel a bit less like nothing is real. Ever since I left the Vault, life’s been pretty bizarre. I’ve killed… a lot of things. And some people.