Trippin' Balls and Taking Names: A Junkie's Guide to the Wasteland [FO3:FWE] *cancled*

[Santini]

... and that was that! I had barely the time to kiss my beezy, grab my stash and cram my iron down my pants, and then they had set about shoving me out the bloody vault door!

And so my journey began...

I had a fist full of pills, a pocket full of shells, and a duffle crammed with goodies.

248 injections of morphine, 28 snorts of coke, more E than you could shake a stick at, some narly mushies, thousands of 5.56, 9 and 10mm, and two handfuls of Clonazepam, jet, methadone and dmt later, I stood before her: the mighty city of rivet, that rusty ol' shitebucket on the sea.

But somewhere in there, there lies a story...

[C-Rob]

... could that have been a more bad-ass title!?

awesome.

[Santini]

Survey sez.... not one chance in hell! :-D

Anyhow, should have a video intro up in the next 10 minutes or so

[Santini]

Aaaaand now, for yur viewin' pleasure, a 2 minute sample of the PURE AWESOME that TBnTN is gonna contain!

Note: Not fully processed by Youtube yet, so not at full quality.
Note 2: Processed. Watch it in bloody HQ, or not at all.

[Santini]

Fear and Loathing in Vault 101:
Lemmie tell you something about living in an enclosed space:
It sucks. Unless it just so happens you abide by the Dr. Strangelove golden rule of Ratio, life within a vault will quickly deteriorate into a collection of cliques all happily punching eachother rioght in the noots at any given opportunity, all the while consuming inordinate amounts of stimulants and anti depressants, and mostly just partaking in the sole daily entertainment ritual: B&M. No, not that thing with the leather. bichin’ and moaning, my friends. bichin’. And moaning. Rinse, wash, repeat, throw in some rivalry and perhaps some expert chemistry, and chew yer bloody nails to the nub worrying about what Sally’s sayin’ to Kim when she’s not on your nob, or whether Bobby bloody plumber is stickin’ it to her as well, and is that a rash? IS THAT A RASH?

Gods.

I see you’ve noticed the occasional British phrase-ism slippin’ out of my pure east coast mouf like a surprise turd from a bedsheet. Well, chaps… my bad. Just how many times can you drop Lucy and watch marathon Blackadder before the damned lingo comes spewing out yer gob the instant you dunna take the time to think, eh?

248 times.

But yeah, how’d I end up out here, in this gobshite disgusting little refuge town clustered round a bomb like bloody penguins watchin’ murder?

Well…

You see, my pa was the Chief Chemist of Vault 101. He made things tick, things go boom, your prick get hard, your dopamine run free, and your shank wounds stay clean. So, it twas only natural that I should follow in his stead.

See, I started with a still, making ‘shine fit to blast first your face, then your arse, then your face again, clean off the body. Good stuff. A smile crosses my faces and a dry heave clutches my chest just thinking of the stuff. I weren’t one to stop there, however… see, we also cultivated a good deal of poppies, from which our pain killers were derived. Hardened collect sap from the world’s most beautiful poppies made opium, and an extraction later, one had morphine. Toss in some nasty boggy chems, and viola! Heroine, or, if you fudged that one good and proper, methadone.

So, I had the opiates and barbiturates well covered. MDA, and MDMA, came letter, after long hours with the chem set, and another royal wankup made us beautiful amphetamine. Cough suppressant and some truly wicked sniffles later, we even made methamphetamines.

Now, one must be wondering, wouldn’t the overseer and his bloody thugs be stepping on my neck by now? But, you see, I had also figured out the synthesis of benzoylmethylecgonine- that’s coke for you dense blokes- and that nose powered kept the biggie wiggies well and truly sucked and flucked all they needed.

The world was perfect… women rolled off the needle and right into bed, and I soon had a veritable colony of dead heads at my beck and call. But then… LSA, then LSD.

See, the synthesis and distro was no real issue, and we all loved tripping balls with the best of ‘em.

But, one bright and shiney day in our dank little hole, ol’ pop decided to wear my lab coat while checking out the oxygen plant. See, nestled lovingly in them pockets was nearly a hundred hits of mother’s best acid. When some dumb shite from maintenance left a wrench in the overheads, his dropping utility sparked a fire, which set off the suppressors, which soaked da… which demonstrated the soluble nature of LSD.

Anyhow, at some godawful hour these beezy shook me awake, gave me the sitrep, and I ran like a chimp with his ass alight.

See, only 2 hours previous, da had cranked open the Vault and scrambled free… evidently, to “Save the World.”

Bully boys, being thick as lugs, naturally assumed that I had summat to do widit, so I tossed my shite in a bag, and gtfo.

And that was the story of my life in 101.

[Santini]

Alright, new video in a bit, still perfecting my play style... taking every chem in my pockets DOES give me some crazy stats... but it also makes it rather difficult to tell what's going on.

[Santini]

SHAZAM!

[ronm100]

Nice looking AAR, ut this game is so ing long this AAR will be somthing like 200 pages