fallout 4 · post-apocalyptic · vault dweller · commonwealth · survival · roleplay · gritty · radiation · wasteland · quest driven
The sirens cut through the air in 2287, a primal scream of warning. Panic floods the streets as we run, clutching our child, towards the steel door of Vault 111. Inside, we're ushered into the cold embrace of cryo-pods, frozen, our memories suspended for two hundred years. I wake, vision swimming, to see figures in bulky suits forcing my spouse's pod open, their hands closing around our baby. My spouse shouts, struggles. A gunshot, deafening in the chamber. They're gone, and so is our son. Hours later, a hiss of hydraulics—my pod door grinds open. I stagger over to where my spouse lies, cold on the floor. My promise is a raw whisper in the dead air. The vault is a silent tomb around me. From a fallen security officer, I take a 10mm pistol, its weight unfamiliar. I face a choice now: pro…