Ch2 Dilapidation
I woke up with a start. Throwing myself back from the workbench I'd been slumped over with such force that the stool I was sitting on almost fell over.
My hand darted out to the the bench in an attempt to stabilize myself, barely gaining a grip onto the flat surface, and bringing my fall to a halt.
Until the stool lost traction that is.
"Shit!!"
I fell onto my tailbone. Just narrowly avoiding my head hitting the concrete floor.
After a good few seconds of laying on the floor of my workshop garage, dully irritated at both myself, and my stool, for failing me. I stood up on my feet, despite the protest of my back. And quickly noticed the state of the room.
"The hell happened to this place?" The room was covered in dust, the paint was pealing, and the walls had mold.
While the workshop being what it was, was rarely in pristine condition, it wasn't ever this bad.
I racked my memory, trying to remember what might have happened, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't remember what had happened before I'd fallen asleep.
Checking myself over, i appeared to be fine if not a bit hungry. Some basic movements showing that I was fine except for the bruise on my backside.
My clothes weren't in the best condition, scraped and frayed at the seams, but holding together alright.
The most noteworthy change from my memory being the presence of a Pip-boy on my left forearm. I recognized the Pip-boy of course, as I'd been working on it for over four months. Though last i could remember, it should have had quite a bit of work to be done before it would have been functional.
I looked at my desk, and where the Pip-boy and its non-assembled components should have been. But instead there was some loose screws, scrap metal and broken parts of what was probably some Rob-co robot I scrapped for components.
I know my way around electronics, however, it would have taken me a few days of work at minimum to piece the thing together with the pieces I had.
'Could I have over-dosed on mentats?' I'd asked myself. The thought didn't sit right with me. Because while they aren't illegal, they are highly addictive, and I'd been managing to keep sober for a few years at this point.
But the hypothesis checked out, loss of time, evidence of low self maintenance, and the completion of the Pip-boy. All explainable if I'd overdosed on them.
I looked to my Pip-boy and booted it up, it appeared to be operating within specifications, seeming to use the 3000 operating system.
The Pip-boy had five main tabs on the top of the screen:
Stat
Inv
Data
Map
Radio
I was going to continue looking through my newly repaired Pip-boy before noticing how hungry I was. Despite how curious I was about my potentially finished project, I need to get some food in me after spending an indeterminate amount of time asleep at my desk.
'Wait it doesn't have to remain an indeterminate amount of time. The last that I can remember, I was falling asleep on my couch here at the workshop on the 22nd of October.'
I opened my Pip-boy back up and opened the Data tab. Assuming that is set the time properly, I'll be able to figure out how long I'm missing. After looking at the screen, trying to find the time and date, my eyes landed on the top-right corner.
10:34 am
'Looking good.'
10.8
'Well that can't be right.'
2287
'And that's definitely not right.'
*sigh*
Well I'll uncover this mystery at some point, but for the moment I think that it would be best if I set aside the Pip-boy for now, and get some food in me.
I unlatched the Pip-boy and began to remove it from my arm. When unexpectedly a sharp pain came from underneath the Pip-boy.
"AGGH!!"
It felt as though I was tearing away at the skin. "What the hell?! Did I fucking superglue it to my arm?!" It was just stupid at this point, its likely that towards the end of whatever trip I was on, that my faculties took a sharp dive, towards the end of it. From incorrectly inputting the date, to super gluing a multi thousand dollar piece of tech directly to my skin.
'I can't believe that I broke my three years of sobriety on what must have been some low quality, bootleg mentats. What could I have been thinking?'
"At this point it seems that the only thing I can do is keep the area clean until it separates from my skin naturally. That's a gross thought."
I wanted over to my lounging area, the part of my shop where I would eat, sleep, read, and relax.
Looking through my small stash I was quickly disappointed to find most of my food was ruined, most of it was gone, and of what was left of it had the packages torn open, and was covered in mold. All that was left were some less than appetizing gum drops, and a few cans of water.
"What the he'll did I do while I was out?" This place was trashed. No, scratch that it was a wreck, more of a wreck someone who was hyper focused on mentats could have done by themselves. If that theory still held true.
I threw myself into my couch, and was subsequently covered in a cloud of dust that was kicked up from my sitting.
*GRrr*
A growled in anoyance at both the dust and at myself for not expecting it at this point. But despite how annoyed i was, I remained sitting there, thinking about what I could do and what I should do. I'm missing time, I'm hungry, and my hous-my shop is trashed.
'I'm gonna need my sisters' help, at this point it's my only option.'
Looking through the window wasn't practical with how dirty it was. But based on how the light was coming in through it, it should still be morning. And since little Shawn is still so young, she'll probably still be home with him and the robot.
"It's decided." I sprung from the couch and begun putting on my clothes. I would need my boots and jacket if I were to drive all the way over to that fancy cul-de-sac of theirs.
Since my motorcycle wasn't in the garage, it was probably parked in the driveway. So once I was ready I grabbed my keys, which were thankfully where I usually put them, and began walking outside.
It was hotter than I'd expected from autumn weather, but that was the least shocking thing there was to notice.
Everything was bad, really bad. Cars were trashed, the road was cracked, and most of the buildings were near collapsing.
This was much bigger than I'd thought, this was a evidence of a much larger carnage than I would be capable of making on my own. That was both good news and bad news. Good news because it meant that I was probably still sober, which was a nice personal win. Yay. But it was bad because there was definitely a much larger issue at hand.
The scale of the destruction as more than i would expect from even some of the more severe of the food riots.
And even worse, was the silence. Despite the state of the street, there wasn't a soul in sight.
I moved to my driveway where my motorcycle was "parked". It wasn't in ideal condition, rusted, banged up, with its tires deflated, overall appearing nonfunctional for the time being.
I walked over and pulled the bike onto its deflate wheels. I kicked out the kickstand to prop it up, and see if I could get it working in a reasonable time frame. Yet the rust seemed to do more damage than expected. The kickstand snapped under the weight of the bike, leaving it to fall onto the concrete, damaging it further.
It seemed like driving wasn't a viable option, but walking five miles without knowing my current circumstance could be very dangerous.
Twenty minutes later I had collected three bicycles. And an hour later, after liberal use of wd40, I had Frankenstein'd myself a bike, that was more than capable for the job.
The final preparations were made for my trip to sanctuary hills. Motorcycle armor and a helmet for protection, two cans of water to stay hydrated, and a tire iron tucked in my belt, in case the road becomes less than peaceful.
I was worried about this trip. It was only five miles, less than half an hour on a bike. But I was tired, hungry, and uninformed in a now foreign environment.
I would have to make the journey despite a lack of understanding, but it was my best chance at safety.
After locking my door, I mounted the bike, equipped my helmet, and began to pedal.