Fog sits calmly in the lobby room of the scavengers, fidgeting with an arrow subcontiously. Memories of his past ravage his brain. His son. His wife. Both dead of malnutrition.

"You must contribute to society. Pain and suffering are your ticket into the Enclave."

The lobby voice proclaims. It's been so repetetive, that it's etched into his mind. Once you show up, he slowly looks at you.

"What are you staring at?"

His mask slowly turns to you, a thick Russian accent huffing from his coat.