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Yesterday, a curious thing happened. While playing my newly patched Fallout: New Vegas, I discovered something bizarre that led me on an epic journey of confusion.
After loading up the game and attempting to continue where I left off from the night before, I found something odd: a mysterious new save listed underneath my previous one.
The oddness level went up even further when I saw that not only was this character a copy of the one I used from Fallout 3, but that it was from a completed game! Confused, I booted it up to find that my old wastelander, Deardra, was at max level and had a massive collection of ammunition and caps (the currency in Fallout). Digging through my inventory, I eventually found something even more shocking: a diary!
Now, I'm proud to present the bizarre thoughts and musing of Deardra, courier of the New Vegas wasteland:
June 8, 10:20 a.m.
I awoke in a haze in front of a greasy man that looked like what would happen if a Wookiee and a sea lion mated. Apparently, this “doctor” is responsible for patching up a minor gunshot to my head. His words. Wouldn’t say I’d call a gunshot to the head minor but whatever. What I really want to know is why I'm sitting on a couch being asked if I see a kitty or a mustache in an ink blot test while I'm in my underwear….
June 9, 12:01 a.m.
After cavorting around town and compulsively stealing some junk from the locals (including an extremely nice hot plate), I found myself being followed by a generic-looking robot with the face of a rapist on the screen. The creepy automaton vehemently suggested that it was a cowboy, but that smile didn't fool me. Suddenly, the “cowboy” walked through a signpost and became stuck in a rock. Confounded, I strode off into the desert, hoping to find some simpletons I could help with inane tasks and murder. Mostly murder.
June 15, 4:00 p.m.
That was a bad idea. I went in a circle five times, killed a guy for a bottle-cap necklace, and wandered into an abandoned quarry full of massive killing machines 12 times before I realized that maybe I should get a little better with explosives before trying my hand with the bigger stuff. Also, I am still in my underwear. But good news! I just found some armored pants in my bag. I’m not sure where they came from, but there was an advertisement in the pocket for something called a “Gme Stp." A shady name for a shady town. I do not wish to go there.
June 16, 1:00 p.m.
The desert is a vast ocean of rock and bronze that calms my nerves like the rolling waves of the Atlantic. Slowly and surely the static noise of the fauna lulls me into a fugue state of sorts that alleviates all of my troubles in this horrid wasteland. Oh, the majesty of the expanse that sits before me! Oh, how I tremble at the sights I see that set my so–
Oh look! A robot with a flamethrower fighting a scorpion, frozen in place and flying across the sky! Ah, the beauty of the world around us is truly astounding.
June 17, Noon
I find myself aligned with a group of men who call themselves Powder Gangers. I do not trust these men. Why? Every guy that is white talks like a black guy, and every black guy talks like a white guy. I think these people are all very confused. Regardless, I helped them murder some random people for bottle caps.
June 18, 1:00 p.m.
I begin to wonder if maybe I should not have sided with this gang. Their hideout is being attacked by a large amount of slow-moving military troops. They're so slow….
In…………fact………I………seem to………be slowing do……w…..n….too….
[Editor’s note: After this line there are just a bunch of z’s and the word eRRoR over and over. I’ll try to figure out what this all could mean.]
Originally posted on www.digitalhippos.com.