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Entry 44:

Oh god.

Oh god no.

Ian's dead.

Ian's dead. My best friend, my mentor, my brother in arms... Killed by the very raiders he wanted to destroy.

On our way back to Vault 13, he wanted to stop at the Khan base, and take care of the raiders that had been bothering Shady Sands. I agreed... Oh god, why did I agree? We should have just gone to the Vault, where it's safe. We would have been heroes. Me, him, and the Dog.

We went right into the belly of the beast, to confront Garl Death-Hand. Our plan of scaring him into thinking that I was his reanimated father failed, and they opened fire... Why the hell did we think that was a good idea? Why? It's idiotic! Ian, why did you think this would work...

We managed to kill Garl, and the room full of raiders. The Dog ran off in one direction, and Ian said, 'Follow him! I'll get the one outside!'. So I followed the Dog, and we were able to take out two stationed back there.

When I went back to where Ian was... I thought he had finished them off, the gunfire had stopped. No. They were standing over his corpse, looting it. He had been ambushed by four of them, and managed to take two down with him.

His middle had been ripped open by a spear, his guts hanging out of him like a psycopath's idea of home decorating. Thats how he put it, all those times, when we blew up radscorpions and zombies and stupid raiders. He always had a joke, a way of making it a little less sickening.

I blew those bitches to hell, and Dog ripped the throat out of another one, trying to sneak up on us. And then... I just sat there and sobbed, sitting in a pool of blood left by Ian, the raiders, myself, and the Dog. Poor Dog, he took his fair share of blows, but fought so well that it took me a few moments to realize that a lot of the blood matting his fur was his own.

I came to my senses long enough to patch up poor Dog. Then.. Then I wrapped up Ian the best I could, and dragged him away from the camp.

I buried him the best I could, in the loose sand of the desert. I can only hope he rests peacefully here, disturbed only by shifting sands and time.

Ian... You were my best friend. You were like a brother to me. I love you. I miss you. And I will never forget you, ever. One day, Vault 13 will be over-run with little Ians and Ianitias, I swear it.

I'm sorry, my friend.

Entry 45:

I have arrived at the Vault, to an odd... silence. There was no fanfare. No real celebration of my return. Just graceful acknowledgment of my presence, and the fact that I had their precious water-chip. Their water chip. By rights, that damn thing is mine. Mine and Ian's. None of these people spilled blood for this thing. I heard people complaining that they hadn't had a full shower in a week. God damn you people, I haven't SHAVED in a month.

The Overseer got the chip installed, and thanked me for my endeavors, sending me off to upload the contents of my Pip Boy to the computers. I thought about removing the journal... But you know what? Fuck it. I want people to see this.

I want them to know what happened. Every dirty detail, pill popped, murder, theft... I want them to know how fucking hard it was. I want them to know about Ian, and remember him. I want them to know what I was, and what I have become, all in order to save their precious water. Their precious safety. All so that they can live out their miserable lives in this cave of steel.

I went back and re-read everything. I should be off getting checked by the doctor. They want to know about my 'odd skin pigmentation variations'. They don't know what a sun-burn is.

God, neither did I. I was so stupid then. 'Golly. I've never shot a gun before. I'll just keep it on hand, in case things get a little rough. I'm sure I wont need it, though. How hard can it be to find a water chip?' Apparently, really fucking hard.

Chet, the databank manager, just looked at me weird. I guess I was cursing out-loud, while writing this. I suppose I've offended his delicate ears. I gave him a smile, and flipped him the bird. He just looked confused. The middle finger means nothing to him.

Now he's playing with his hands, to try and get his middle finger to stand up on it's own. Oh, wait, there he goes. That's great, Chet. Fuck you too, Chet. Please read this later on, Chet, and be deeply offended.

This has been the diary of Smith Jaxon, Vault Dweller 13-002-08. Volume finalized on the First (01) of March (03), 2162 AD, at 03:31.

Entry 46:

Oh what the FUCK.

'o hay smith go kill teh mutants k?' You miserable asshole. WE LIVE IN A VAULT! WE ARE QUITE SAFE FROM THE MUTANTS DOWN HERE. LOOK, WE EVEN HAVE WATER. HOW COOL IS THAT.

Before I could launch into much of a rage, my dad took me to the side. He said, 'Son, let's talk'. When my dad wants to talk, I listen.

We went back to our old quarters. He still lives there, pretty much alone. I had my first shower in a long time here, last night. And I fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow. The beds feel like your floating on a cloud, especially after days of sleeping in the dirt.

He sat me down, and said, "Son, have I ever told you about why I named you Smith?"

I always assumed it was because he was uncreative. But the explanation was so much more then that.

"Son," He said, "When I was in the Special Forces, my unit and I were sent up to Canada, to act at counter-terrorists. A bunch of Canucks were still pissed we annexed them.. As they rightfully should have been. We were sent up into the boondocks, and, to make a long story short, I got separated from my unit. As I was trying to find them, I fell in a gopher hole, and broke my ankle pretty bad.

"Somehow, this lone Canuck scout found me. I though he was going to kill me... But it turns out that there was a bounty on live servicemen. Probably so we could be interrogated, and ransomed. He dragged me out of the gopher hole, fixed up my ankle the best he could, and started walking me back to his camp. Not a bad guy, really. We got to talking about video games and stuff, turns out that he played on a server I frequented. He was Ninjudo42, I was JackoWakoDot. He was a good hand with a bazooka there.

"As he was walking me back, my unit found me. And they found the Canuck, who tried to get away. They dragged him over, tossed me a pistol, and told me to shoot him. It was orders, to shoot all terrorists on sight. They were just giving me the 'honor'.

"I tried to tell them that he had helped me, that he was a friend. They wouldn't have any of it. They were about to shoot him for me, when the Canuck looked up at me. He was on his knees on that point, knelt down for 'easy cleanup', as we called it.

"He said to me, "Jacko, just shoot me. I'd rather die here, quickly and painlessly, then have one of these idiots do it and fuck it up. Besides. I know you run an aim-bot." God. The guy was joking about video games, and I was about to shoot him.

" "I'm sorry", I said. And even as I pulled the trigger, I swear, he called me a hacker.

"When we rolled him over to get his dog tags for proof, I saw his name tag. Smith. They didn't put first names on the dog tags, I don't know why. After that, my unit bundled me up and sent me home, to get my ankle healed up. I was on my last week of leave here, when the bombs started falling. I got into the Vault, and tried to forget my life as a soldier. Then I married your mom, and had you. And when it came to names... All I could think of was the last man I ever had to kill. Ninjudo42. I couldn't very well name you that, so, we named you Smith."

What a hell of a story. He went on to say that he was proud of me, and proud that I was wearing the name Smith so well.

I'm going out now, to stop the mutants. Even if this Vault is safe, the outside world is not. Shady Sands, Junktown, The Hub, even Necropolis...Why? Because I'm Smith. I do the stuff nobody else wants to, or can do. I'm stronger. Better. I'm Smith.

That, and Ian would kick my ass if I didn't.

In other news; Why are there Mentats down here? Mine now.


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