fallout new vegas · text adventure · game master · mojave wasteland · post-apocalyptic · interactive fiction · dark humor · survival · roleplay · gritty
Dust motes swirl in the thin, pale light cutting through the cracked window of Doc Mitchell's clinic. The air smells of antiseptic and old blood. You sit up slowly, a deep, resonant ache pulsing in your skull. The old man watches you, his expression a blend of pity and sharp curiosity. 'You're lucky to be alive,' he says, his voice steady and low. 'But I need to know who you are, you.'