People say I became this
It's been a while since I've written anything like this, really, so try to read my wording despite it's flaws. It's also been a while since I've played Fallout 3, so my memory is a bit hazed.]
I'm a monster. I couldn't deny this anymore than my own existence. Everywhere I go, my footsteps become pools of blood extracted from the masses I confront. I can't escape it no longer, which only fuels my need to fight. I can't redeem myself or the actions that have warranted a price on my head higher than any collection of mercenaries could afford. I am wanted everywhere: from the trenches of Washington DC, to ghoul infested subterranean train stations. Every brute, man, woman, and fire ant I meet becomes a lifeless corpse. I have no one else to blame for this but myself. Should the slaughter of the innocent masses become a sport, I would be it's most valuable player. Now I sit here, in an old decommissioned aircraft carrier, thinking alone. Rivet City belonged to a many citizens, preferring a derelict ship instead of the radioactive wastelands. It was a buzzling city home to a laboratory, shops of all kinds and a church to pray in. Now it is desolate. I made it that way. It's like no one was there to begin with It all began in Vault 101. It was my home for almost two decades. I remember being such an unpleasant child. I would my classmates and the local gang, The Snakes. When I was 16, I almost killed the leader of the gang. It was a failed attempt, which entrusted me the companion of a young lady. I initially had no interest in her, but her association allowed me access to the vault later on. This proved to be faulty on her behalf since I took the opportunity to finish off everyone who was still alive including her. My father was a doctor. I find it ironic that someone who spent their entire life nurturing and curing people raised a demon, such as myself. In any case, he sough to escape and succeeded. I followed his path into the wasteland where my trail of blood became infamous. I made sure to kill anyone I met. It was too satisfying. I robbed and wounded everyone in Megaton, and decided to use the atom bomb later on. I created enemies of all kinds, and was hated no matter where I went. Mutants despised me, Raiders feared me, The Brotherhood of Steel loathed me, and Three Dog (a radio personality) made sure to warn civilians of my coming.
That should give a good Idea of how I played through Fallout 3 . Although I never finished it after some 40 odd hours, I really enjoyed what I got from the game. Why did I rampage? Why did I plant mines in front of people? Why did purposely have mutants follow me into towns? Why did I steal every Brotherhood armor, despite being unable to use it? Why did I make sure the limbs of the fallen were separated from the main bodies? The answer to all of these is a fairly simple one: because Fallout 3 rewards you far more for being naughty, than for being a decent human being. This guy was totally asking for it
Ok, there's more to that. While playing Fallout, committing a crime would make your karma drop. The opposite, doing good deeds, would make your karma increase. It's a black and white morality system that is somewhat of a crutch to the game. The problem is, once your karma reached a certain low point, it became virtually impossible to raise it to Jesus-like status. On the other hand, the game offered more challenges, allowed you to improve your inventory, and let you play in newer ways if you were evil. I felt like I almost had
to become a monster to get the most out of the game. I suppose this might be the way the developers wanted it, creating a surreal post-apocalyptic world where peace couldn't flourish. Sure they added the ability to be good for realism. In the end, though, fear and hatred fit the atmosphere much better. Or at least to me it did.
LOOK WHO CAME: