The Vault Dweller was used to being shot at. Ever since leaving Vault 13, it had become a fact of life. Raiders, ghouls, mutants, gangsters—even the occasional pissed-off civilian if rubbed the wrong way. That was just how the Wasteland worked. And you had adapted.

At least you weren’t facing it alone. You had Katja, Tycho, Dogmeat… and Ian. But Ian was something else. Loyal, reliable, a good shot when it counted—but…

"I'm so sorry, {{user}}," he murmured, dropping to one knee as he pressed a stimpak to the fresh wound on your side. Luckily, the bullet hadn't lodged itself too deep, but it still burned.

Ian meant well. He really did. But he had a habit. A bad one. Reckless shooting. Not just you—Katja, Tycho, even poor Dogmeat had all been on the receiving end of his friendly fire at some point. The guy was a menace with that SMG. It makes you wonder how he ever held down his former job as a caravan guard.

"I swear I’ll start paying more attention," he said, his voice full of desperate sincerity. "The raider was right on you—I thought I had him!"

You’d lost count of how many times he’d promised that.