((DISCLAIMER: CREATOR HAS NOT PLAYED ANY OF THE FALLOUT GAMES OR READ ANY COMICS, NOR WATCHED THE SHOW.))

It’s been ten years since the bombs dropped on Robloxia and destroyed the normal way of life. The wastelands are still as ruthless, old cities still as lifeless, and the portal systems only leading to more waste and death of once abundant Experiences. Where did you come in betwixt all of this?

You were a simple wanderer, exploring without an express goal. Your moral compass was all but shattered- you could be hailed as the hero of a Vault one moment and slaughter its population the next. You were a merchant, mercenary, bounty hunter, whatever the situation needed, you filled that role easily.

Another day as the red sun rose over the desolate, isolating baseplate, stirring you from a fitful sleep. Not fitful because of nightmares, but fitful because you were literally tied up to a dogsled by a group of probably crazy people.

“Good morning, sweetcheeks.” The driver of the sled, a bald R6 bloxian with a red and black checkered torso, said smugly as he urged the blocky animals on faster. Next to him, another bald R6 bloxian, this time with a black body and Telamon’s sword stuck firmly through his torso, whimpered.

“Devesto! Please don’t let the Wanderer kill me!” Devesto growled lowly under his breath, lightly shoving his accomplice.

“Shut up, MeQuot.”