You don’t know me yet. But you will. I used to be a postman in North Yorkshire, England, but I moved to West Virginia for some inscrutable reason before the bombs hit. Honestly, I don’t remember none of that happening. All I remember is this damn vault. Kept me locked up in my damn room for 25 years, they did. Fed me through a wee tube. Said I was a trouble causer. A menace. Well, I don’t know about all that.
All I know is that my name is Scruggs. Scruggs o’ Vault-Tec, formerly a postman.
They finally let me out of my cage, and opened the dang vault, too. They made it so that I couldn’t get out until a week later than everyone, though. Said that was my punishment. Punishment for being an asshole or something. Didn’t get to celebrate Reclamation Day with everyone else, whatever the fuck that is.
But I don’t know nothing about being an asshole. What are they talking about? Maybe I punched a few people. Maybe I waved a knife or a gun around. Honestly, that sounds like something I might do, maybe. Wouldn’t put it past myself. Wouldn’t put it past ol’ Scruggs.
Weren’t nobody around, as expected. They’d all left a long time ago. All that was left was these asshole robots. God, I hate these things. They’re always so cheery and chirpy, and making vague suggestions as to what you need to do. I don’t like anything that makes a suggestion to me, vague or otherwise.
The robots were trying to push some of their crap on me, like that water stuff. The stands looked pretty picked clean, but I picked up what was left. Not that I need it, or anything. Scruggs doesn’t believe in hydration, unless it’s being force fed to me down a tube.
Walking around outside, now, I miss my ol’ room. My cell. At least I didn’t have to deal with all of these damn robot machines. It wouldn’t be so bad if I had something to hit them with, but there isn’t anything heavy enough around here.
The line of these damnable machines giving out free gifts went on and on. I took them out of spite. I bet if I left them, they’d just enjoy them instead. I got some interesting stuff out of the deal, I guess. This thing called a C.A.M.P, which is an acronym I guess, some medicine, and some cards that I’m supposed to do something with, probably.
By far the best thing that I found was this blue party horn, though. Wearing it on top of my head made me feel like a rhinoceros. Scruggs’d make for a good rhino, yes he would. Look at how majestic I look. It’d be an even better photo if it wasn’t for fucking Merriman shitting it up.
I went into the Overseer’s office, too. Wanted to take a dump on her desk for all those years of imprisonment, but I decided not to in the end. It’d be a waste of crap. Checked her computer, and she’d already left, a long time ago. Gone to go and look for some nuclear missile silos, I think. Something like that. She was asking people to follow behind her. I’m gonna do it. Not because I want to help her or anything. I just want to take a dump in her near vicinity. No, it ain’t a fetish or nothing. Scruggs doesn’t believe in sexual gratification.
After that, I decided it was about time I got out of there. Another robot was yelling stuff at me. Pretty sure he was glad to see the back of me. I was definitely glad to see the back of him.
Watching the vault door open, I got all kinds of excited. World outside was probably gonna be mean. That’s the way that Scruggs likes it.
Outside, though, it looked surprisingly idyllic. Lot of trees. Too many trees. Trees are better than robots, but not by much. Trees got eyes, apparently. I don’t like that.
I was expecting some monsters. Some freaks. Real freaks. Three eyed bug people and acid rain and fire. Gotta say, I was tempted to go right back into the vault here.
Was glad I didn’t, though. Found a couple of corpses. Corpses had weapons on ’em. Machete and some kinda pistol made out of a bunch of junk. They felt right good. Natural.
Used ’em to dispatch some pesky robots. Felt good. Liberating. Made ol’ Scruggs feel alive again. I took some of the circuitry from their bodies to put into a pie later.
Kept on walking down the road, heading toward where the Overseer’s camp was supposed to be. Didn’t bump into anything. Not even any more robots. Saw a building in the distance, though. Some kinda lumber mill. Heard some weird noises coming from it. Scratching, scraping, biting. Made ol’ Scruggs get a spring in his step for the first time in thirty years.
Turned out that this was the Gilman Lumber Mill. Found a bunch of crap in there. None of it was too exciting. Some wood, obviously. Wood is good, ’cause it’s dead trees. Ladle. A saw. Hammer. Think I might’ve picked up some acid, too. Ol’ Scruggs likes acid.
Oh, and there were some giant ticks, too. I hit ’em with my machete. They exploded real good. Nice and bloody.
By far the best thing that I found was this dirty old suit. It was the epitome of style. Plus, it smelled like shit. Wearing this suit made me feel like more of a winner than I already am, and I didn’t think that was possible.
There was another building not far from the mill itself. Some kinda office, or at least it was, probably. Now, the only interesting thing in it was this workbench.
I’d been picking up all these spoons and pitchforks and pretty much any piece of crap that I came across, so I used this here bench to break down all of this crap into raw materials. Dunno what I was gonna use it for, but I figured it’d be more useful than a pile of cutlery and shit.
Kinda messed up, though. Scrapped my pistol, too. Got a little frantic. Just started tossing stuff on the bench and hitting it with a hammer. Kind of a blur. Still got my machete. I’m sure it’ll be fine.
Got out of there not long afterward. Kept heading toward the Overseer’s Camp. Bumped into this house along the way.
Looked pretty peaceful, but I quickly heard sounds of trouble. Footsteps. Thought it might be someone from the vault. Got my machete ready.
Turned out it was just some burnt up zombie thing. I hit it with my machete until it died. It had a gun. I took it.
Then, some guy called D84grant busted in, wearing a full suit of this fancy ass armour. I got my machete out, thinking there was gonna be a fight, but ol’ D84grant was completely passive.
He just kinda shuffled around the place, looking at the floor for the most part. He must’ve known who I was, and he didn’t want a tangle with me. Can’t blame him. I wouldn’t wanna mess with me, either.
I dunno if he found anything in here, because I didn’t, really. Just some more screwdrivers and ladles and buckets and whatnot. Oh, and this depressing note.
I didn’t really know what it was talking about, and it just made me feel sad for some reason, so I just scrumpled it up and tossed it in the corner. Got rid. Ol’ Scruggs doesn’t need any baggage, nope. Not when he’s carrying around a sackful of knives and forks already.
By the time I was done poking around, D84grant had gone. I decided that I’d get out of here, too. Place smelled like damp and rat poison.
I set off, and I made it over to the Overseer’s Camp before too long. She’d already gone, though. She left this audio log playing. Kept on talking about this place called Flatwood, or something. I figured that she’d headed over there, wherever that was. I’d need to look at my trusty map. Scruggs is real good at following maps.
Before I could get my bearings, though, a couple of these mad zombie shits burst outta some bushes and went straight for my throat. Didn’t give ’em the chance, though. Hit ’em with my machete ’til they fell over. Took some junk outta their pockets. Worked out real nice, honestly.
The Overseer’s tape was still banging on, and she was talking about that C.A.M.P thing. I remembered picking one of those up back at Vault 76. She said that I could place it anywhere and build a bunch of junk with it. That sounded pretty neat, to be honest. Might make myself a little shack soon.
For now, though, it was getting late. I was pretty exhausted, and I wanted to try out using some of the workbenches here before I left. Figured I needed some shuteye first, though. The Overseer hadn’t been kind enough to leave behind a bed, so I had to make do with the cold, hard ground. That’s okay, though. Scruggs doesn’t believe in having a comfortable place to sleep, anyway. When I wake up, I’ll check out that Flatwood place. See if I can finally catch up with this Overseer and give her a piece of my ass.
Until then, this has been your boy Scruggs. I’m signing off.
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