p1yerone

[p1yerone]

Entry From My Fallout 3 Journal, Evelyn Is the Lone Wanderer.

Personal Log – Entry 31: “Old Olney and a Friend”

Date: 8/22/2277

Location: Somewhere near the Scrapyard

I thought it’d be smart—like, actually smart—to walk through a nuclear disposal site.

In my defense, the rads weren’t that bad, and I found a half-decent hazmat suit. It seemed like a safe shortcut.

Of course, that’s how all the worst stories start, right?

Then I saw the sign: Old Olney.

I should’ve turned around.

At first, it looked like just another ruined town—caved-in rooftops, melted windows, craters in the asphalt.

But then I saw it.

Massive. Upright. Scaled like some nightmare version of evolution. And fast—way too fast for something that big.

A Deathclaw.

I’d heard the stories, sure. Everyone has. Wasteland legends. Bar stool stories. But none of them capture what it’s like to actually see one. To watch it move like a predator that knows it has nothing to fear.

It hadn’t seen me. Or maybe it had—it kept twitching its head, sniffing the air, like it knew I was out there.

I froze.

I didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. My heart was a jackhammer in my ribs. Every instinct in me was screaming run—but I couldn’t move. My legs weren’t mine anymore.

That’s when I saw them: a group of Outcasts. Armed, armored, moving in formation with a Robobrain between them.

For a second, I thought I was safe. The Outcasts aren’t exactly known for their hospitality—but they wouldn’t just let me die… would they?

I didn’t get to finish that thought.

And then the Deathclaw charged.

It hit them like a bomb. One swipe—and the first Outcast crumpled, power armor torn open like paper. The second tried to fire. Didn’t matter. The Deathclaw snapped his spine like a twig. The Robobrain didn’t even get a chance to fight back. Three seconds. Maybe four.

And then… silence.

It was still out there. Breathing. Sniffing. Hunting.

I couldn’t get enough air. My vision tunneled. Not now, I remember thinking. Not here. Please. Anywhere but here.

I curled into the ditch. Covered my mouth. Tried to disappear.

I stayed like that—paralyzed—for what felt like forever, before I finally moved.

I ended up backing away—One inch at a time. Careful steps. Retracing every footprint like I was walking through a minefield.

Every step I took away from Old Olney felt heavier than the last.

I kept telling myself there was nothing I could’ve done.

I didn’t have power armor. I didn’t have a Robobrain. I didn’t even have a working plan.

And yet…

They died while I watched.

I could’ve yelled. Could’ve warned them. But what would that have changed? Drawn it to me faster? Gotten us all killed?

I know the math. I know the logic.

I survived. They didn’t. That’s the Wasteland’s version of justice.

But I still hear it.

The crunch of metal. The tearing of flesh. The sound of one of them trying to scream through a helmet.

I lived.

And I hate that part of me—the quiet part—feels like that was the wrong outcome.

I think it was still out there. Still hunting.

I didn’t look back.

Eventually I got far enough. My legs moved without asking. I didn’t stop. Just wandered—burned out, empty—until I heard something in the distance. A sound that made my heart lurch.

Barking?

I found the Scrapyard by accident. Thought I was hearing gunfire at first—but no. Not a fight.

A dog.

And not the kind that tries to chew your ankle off. A real dog. Friendly. Alive.

He was just there, like he’d been waiting. Sitting among the rust and ruin, looking at me like I was someone worth waiting for.

And I—I just broke.

Dropped to my knees. Buried my face in his fur. Sobbed so hard my ribs hurt. I think I scared him. But he stayed. Quiet. Warm. Steady.

Like he understood.

And just when I thought I couldn’t cry anymore…

He licked my face.

Big, wet, slobbery kiss. Right on the cheek. If any raiders saw that, they’re probably dead from cuteness overload. Or vomiting. Either way, it’s a win.

First time I’ve smiled in what feels like forever.

I’m calling him Dogmeat. I don’t know why. It just fits.

It’s easy to think this world took everything from me.

But today, it gave something back.

And for the first time since the Vault… I don’t feel alone.

—Evelyn

“The only, absolute and best friend a man has, in this selfish world, the only one that will not betray or deny him, is his dog” - King Frederick II of Prussia (I love You Dogmeat. You lit up my day)