[Fallout 4] A Wastelanders Perspective, Part Six: Riots and Regrets

This chapter focuses on the Wastelander in terms of his choices in coming to the Commonwealth and his reasons in doing so. It also covers the Riots in Vegas, when the Second Battle of Hoover Dam is occurring. Which is a footnote i've always wanted to expand upon.

This chapter is a bit longer than most of the others, but, I needed it to explain the characters motivations (which is in a dream sequence) in one chapter, rather than dragging it out and hamstringing it across two chapters. Also, the Riots are more bloodier than the Dam. So, if I offend anyone with the violence and such, i'm sorry for that.


Previous Parts

Part One: https://www.reddit.com/r/LifeasanNPC/comments/6oxj44/fallout_4_perspective_of_a_wastelander_part_one/

Part Two: https://www.reddit.com/r/LifeasanNPC/comments/6pc40s/fallout_4_a_wastelanders_perspective_part_two/

Part Three: https://www.reddit.com/r/LifeasanNPC/comments/6pvz1y/fallout_4_a_wastelanders_perspective_part_three/  

Part Four: https://www.reddit.com/r/LifeasanNPC/comments/6qkwaj/fallout_4_a_wastelanders_perspective_part_four_a/

Part Five: https://www.reddit.com/r/LifeasanNPC/comments/6rc8r0/fallout_4_a_wastelanders_perspective_part_five_a/

I don't own the Fallout series, this is a fan work. Respective rights belong to Bethesda and Zenimax.


Shit, shit, shit! The Legion shouldn’t have mounted an assault this quickly! I quickly bolted upright, off the bed I was sleeping on, hitting my head against the top bunk. I'd reenlisted in the NCR. Thing where getting bad at home, droughts, the occasional famine. We needed New Vegas. I knew some of the area, so I joined up again

The Trooper who warned me ran out of the barracks, his Service Rifle held at the ready.

I threw open a nearby weapons locker and grabbed an Assault Carbine. It had a collapsable stock, a polymer pistol grip with a black metal forged receiver, as well as a utilitarian sight which doubled as a carry handle.

I also checked my side arm, withdrawing it from the battered Brahmin leather holster I kept on my belt. It had a dark grey finish, the grips made of worn, chequered wood. The magazines had a dull steel finish to them. I only had two, but the magazines each had thirteen rounds.

Normally, our weapons would’ve been confiscated. But, the guy who enforced that law, Mr House, was ‘taken care’ of by a patriotic benefactor. We’d been smuggling weapons into the Strip in case the Legion would make a move. Todays that day, i guess.

I grabbed a few spare magazines for the Carbine and my bulky hand held radio and sprinted out the door of the barracks.


September 26th, 2282: The New Vegas Riots


I ran as fast as I could out of the barracks, my footfalls echoing off the empty corridor.

I heard muffled shouting, followed by two loud bangs and a heavy thump coming from the reception area. I ran down the corridor as fast as I could. I need to get out of the Embassy and help the troops outside! The sounds of fighting were becoming clearer as the haze of sleep wears off.


September 26th: Carnage and Chaos


I carefully opened the door to the Embassy's reception, I moved slowly across the floor scanning the area with my Carbine, I crouched along the floor, trying to minimize my noise levels. The place was a mess, some of the lights were off, shrouding the place in darkness.

One light flickered on, above the receptionists circular desk. The Receptionist was dead, buckshot was sent through his stomach, his body was slumped forward, his mouth was open in a silent scream, the terminals green haze lit up his last expression. His clean white shirt was stained with droplets of crimson.

Other bodies where here to. Metres away from the receptionist was a dead NCR Trooper, his head was reduced to a pulpy mush. In his hand was a Service Rifle, it’s wooden furniture was splayed with gore.

Then I saw someone, dressed in a pinstripe suit and a battered black fedora, armed with a Hunting Shotgun. He was a part of the Omertas, a local, heavily armed casino that emulated something called the “Mafia”. He calmly pulled the shotguns forearm back twice, ejecting the spent shells, which clattered to the floor. He thumbed two more shells into his shotgun.

My emergency radio crackled to life: “Deploy Battalion 14 to the southwestern flank!”

Fucks sake! I threw myself into nearest cover, that being the wall partition beside me.


September 26th: Gunfights and Gangs


The Mafioso turned on his heels, throwing himself towards Receptionist's desk, he pulled the shotgun's trigger, sending buckshot my way.

The walls shook as centuries old dust flittered around. I just kept my head down and hoped I wouldn’t die.

He cycled each round as fast as he could. Empty shells clattering to the ground in seconds. There was a click and a harsh, grating mumble.

I rolled out of my cover and fired in short bursts. The rounds struck true, striking him in his left shoulder and chest, sending him reeling to the ground. He tried to get up again, but I quickly vaulted over the receptionists desk and unholstered my sidearm.

I put four rounds through him, his body convulsed with each shot. I quickly checked my weapons and ran outside, into the harsh sun of the Mojave. With a click, I turned off my Emergency radio.

It can’t be that bad, right?


September 26th: It’s all gone to shit


The whole Strip is in chaos. People are fighting amongst themselves. Looters have got free reign of the streets.

The wide pavilion of the embassy is dotted with bodies, both of NCR and the Mafiosos. The pink and white floor tiles gave way to a slow trickle of crimson. There’s a chest high sandbag wall a metre away from me.

The Military Police officers and Troopers who guarded the exterior of the Embassy are dead. There weren’t that many of the Mafiosos, they herded us all into a killzone. There’s so many dead here. We were caught completely off guard.

Four of the Mafiosos still live.

Wait, I see people! NCR Troopers making a last stand at the Monorail Station! I’ve got to fight my way there! For the Republic!


September 26th: All in


I rushed into the pavilion, the carbine ejected spent shells at a record pace. I quickly rolled forward, into a chest high sandbag wall. The Mafiosos where running to find cover. I’ve pegged two of them in the back.


September 26th: The best laid plans…


Shit, shit, shit! My carbines ran dry! I’ve switched to my pistol.

I whirled around, bringing my pistol to bear I fired it rapidly seven times. That sent them scurrying for cover. I’ve changed mags on my carbine. There closing in fast!

I hear a whirring noise in the distance.

The ground practically shattered as grenades slammed home, throwing up sharp concrete shards, reducing the ganger to mush. I wasn’t unharmed either. Blood pooled down my face, one of my legs was slashed open and my body armour was hanging by a thread.


September 26th: I guess House is good for something


I noticed husk of a Securitron, shoved against one of the Embassy walls. It was one of Mr House's security robots, it’s screen flickering in and out of life. Most soldiers referred to it as a “tv on wheels”. Only, if tv’s could talk to you and kill entire squads in seconds.

I ran to the gate separating the different sides of the strip and keyed in a code. With a hiss, the massive gates began to trundle aside. There was a massive void, just a pure, black abyss. What the fuck is going on?

Holy shit!? There’s a massive four engined bomber! Passing low over the Strip! It’s bomb bay doors are open, it’s definitely bringing some heavy ordnance to the Dam. It banking sharply upward to the right.

Holy Saint, no! There’s a downwash! No, I don’t want to go into the fucking void of doom! It’s become harder to get a surefooted grip here.

Ah, shit! No, no, no! I didn’t come this far to fuckin’ fall!

My body whipped around in the void, air screaming past me. I screamed as well, although the air was sucked from my lungs.


Where the fuck am I?


I slammed into the ground with a thump. The sky here is green…and the grass is blue. Ever so often, thunder flashes. This isn’t a Radstorm it’s something else. It’s odd, my wounds don’t hurt.

There’s some sort of bar a few metres away. It’s built pretty well. It’s got red bricked walls, stained glass windows and even working electricity. There’s music coming from it.

Perhaps i’ll see if I can get the NCR some help.


The Bar of Broken Dreams


That's what it said on the sign, it occasionally flickers in and out of life. I can’t shake the feeling like i’m being watched.

I opened the door. The interior of the bar was smoky. The pinstripe wallpaper was flaking off and the structure looked rotted from the inside. The only thing that was in good maintenance was the bar counter. Even then, it looked aged. There was a single barman, dressed in a faded blue shirt and a black stained waist apron.

His face looked gaunt, he had a scar across his left eye, a trimmed beard and was balding. I think i’ve seen him before…

He waved at me and bade me over. I approached the bar counter. He was using a semi clean rag to polish a glass.


A familiar face


“So, what’s your poison?”

His voice was rough, it had a distinct quality to it, like he was different than the average Waster.

“You got any Sunset Sarsaparilla?”

He just looked at me blankly. He told me I shouldn’t be here, that this bar was for a ‘different’ kind of people.

Soon enough, with those words, the doors opened and NCR Troopers came into the bar, alongside Legionnaires. They all joked and laughed…as if they were friends. I had another look. Most of them had fatal wounds. Bullet holes, machete slashes and burns.

Then, more people walked in, chatting amongst themselves. Raiders, Gunners and even a Brotherhood Knight, who was wearing patched up Recon Armour.

Each of them had a defining mark. A knife scar across the throat, a laser burn to the head, bullet holes to the chest.

The Barman turned to me, a threatening tone in his voice. He stopping polishing the glass and set it down with a thump.

“You aren’t exactly like our patrons here, are you!?”

I stammered. The Barman's angered expression turned into a smile; then, into a laugh.

“Don’t worry about it, kid. I’m just messing with you.”

I told him I was twenty seven. He laughed at that. I asked him why he was manning a bar in the middle of nowhere. He told me we was “making up for lost time”. Whatever that meant.

As soon as I moved away from the bar, it became swamped in orders for drinks.

I thought i’d never see this. Legionnaires, Raiders and Troopers, all acting as friends. We’ve all been trying to kill each other for years. If this was a different situation, it would have devolved into a brutal fight. I walked quickly out of the bar.


Present Regrets


Yet, when I closed the door behind me, I was back home. Not in the Commonwealth, but back in Shady Sands. The radio was blaring about President Kimball being voted out of office. I looked around, the sand coloured walls had turned a dusky brown. The area was just as how I remembered it.

I looked around for my family. There wasn’t anyone home.

Then, echoes shouted around the house.

“You don’t get it Art! Scavenging is suicide! You come back home and what do you do? You’re out all of the time. We barely see each other…”

Then, I spoke up.

“I’ll make it big! I promise! One day, you won’t have to work in the NCR Senate as a lawyer and we’ll both be rich! I’ve just got to travel to the lesser known regions. They’ll have tons of stuff there. Pre War artifacts ripe for the taking!”

“God damn it, Art! We’ve both got kids to take care of! What if you get killed while scavving? What if you never come home again? What am I going to tell them?”

I fell silent at that. But, inside I was angry, I was fuming. So, the next day, at the crack of dawn, I took my service pistol, brushed my teeth and bought a duffle bag with enough supplies to last me a couple of months and left.

I left. I left the three of them back home to help themselves. I wonder what if I go back? Is that the right thing to do? Christ, what does she think of me?! The world broke around me, pieces of my home fading into a bright light.


November 9th, 2287: I just don’t know


Well, the suns up now. I feel like crap. I remember arguing. Arguing with my wife? Goddamn it! I brought it on myself! Where do I go from here? I mean, will they allow me back? Will they be angry at me? It’s just…I don’t know.

There’s something out there. It’s loud. It’s a…HOLY SHIT! A Zeppelin! Wait, that insigna. It’s the Brotherhood! This isn’t good!

God damn it! I made too much noise! Some Raiders are coming my way! Oh, Hell! They’ve noticed me. This day just keeps getting better and fuckin’ better.


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