As a Man of the Wastes, I seek a certain refinement to daily routine. I desire the comforts of old–music, culture, and a place to sleep without giant mutated ticks. I have my basic needs fulfilled, so naturally I turn to the aesthetic and artistic. I want to live, not just avoid death. So let those young bucks suit up in power armor and run foolhardily into the irradiated desolation. It may be they who eradicate the violent abominations of the land’s fringes, but it shall be I who will restore the quality of life.
My earlier hours in Fallout 76 left me somewhat unimpressed with the world I was given, plus a certain lack of urgency. If everyone who lived here before the vault was opened are dead, exactly who am I saving? The premise now is not to be a hero, because there’s no one to laud my accomplishments. So instead, I will collect salvage and build an abode.
Then it occurred to me: I’m alone, and I built what is essentially a studio apartment bachelor pad. What good is that if I can’t entertain? It was time to make a friend!
The trouble with an isolated cabin in the woods is it’s rather…isolated. There weren’t exactly a steady supply of weary travelers with which to exchange booze and stories. On occasion, one would pass nearby and I would invite them over. The individual would typically peruse my layout, give an approving thumbs up, use my workstation equipment, dump their junk off in the stash, and run off (never bothering to close the door on their way out, I might add). Fine, I would instead stalk random people and force good will upon them.
And so, armed with purified water and stimpacks, I set off. An unexpected benefactor of medical supplies I would be.
My first victim was busy scrapping items at the beginning camp. I initiated trade, he accepted, and I offered free water. He readily grabbed the freebie, and then I ran off before he could respond with any form of emote. Ha! Goodwill ninja!
I realized then that the problem with trading was that it required mutual consent. I decided to change plans. I would drop bags of goodies at peoples’ feet! Take that!
I initiated this bold plan upon another newbie coming down the main road leading to the vault. I ran up to her and waved! She shot me. Jumpy–that one. No matter, I ignored the slight and dropped a stimpack and bottle of water. She stared, quizzically, so I encouraged her with a thumbs up, stepped back, and fired a harmless round at the bag, then ran around it, then backed off. She approached, inspected the bag, took the goodies, gave me a heart sign, and…I ran off! Huzzah! Goodwill ninja strikes again!
I considered, goodwill ninjaing is fun and all, but it’s not a very good way to meet ladies if I run away immediately. Next time would be different. I would give the wasteland equivalent of my phone number–a creepy beckon to follow me all the way back to my cabin.
The next fellow I encountered was locked in combat and seemed to be struggling. I lent a hand, and he thanked me by repeatedly punching me. I guess that’s how people say hello in these parts. I gestured my peaceful thumbs up, and he responded with more punching. I guess he didn’t want company. I left without offering anything. Coldshoulder ninja!
Consulting my map for more prey, I noticed a conglomeration in the area where I used to have my cabin–before the game rudely supplanted it for the umpteenth time and I decided to move. It was a nice spot, so it wouldn’t surprise me if someone else had moved in. I set off in the general direction, still loaded down with water and medicine. Water that would go in someone’s gullet before I was through, mua ha ha ha!
I climbed the rocky crags until at last, I reached the exact spot upon which my own cabin used to reside. And there, in its place, sat another cabin–properly furnished (though not as well as mine), with a campfire surrounded by instruments. Naturally, I sat down to play, and in short order, and as the universal cultural constant dictates, other joined.
One, two, three women! I had found ladies at last! And we had formed an impromptu quartet!
Sadly, the game mechanics randomize the servers, so I don’t have any way of guaranteeing a second house-call. But if I ever find myself in their neck of the irradiated wastes again, I’ll be sure to bring something stronger than water.