Meeting Mick
In the centre of London, a 22-year-old junior office clerk named Gareth found himself trawling through his email inbox once again. For such a young lad, he was already fatigued with the tediousness of routine.
He had been conventional all his life, descending from a lineage of monotony. His father was an accountant who was coming up to retirement - a greyish man who wore greyish suits, his grandfather had been an accountant and he was pretty sure his great grandfather had also been in the profession. “It’s in our DNA, numbers run in our blood,” the words of his dad would echo around his head.
As a teenager, Gareth tried to rebel, well he put a bit of effort in to trying to rebel. First of all he let his hair grow, then he got a number 2 at the barbers. He bought a pair of DMs with some of his savings but never wore them for fear of what his mother and father might say. Once he came home ten minutes late for dinner, which was enough for his father to take him on one side and lecture him on the importance of timekeeping.
Anyway, let's get back to the present. Gareth got home early evening after another dull day in the office. He prepared a nice healthy meal of grilled salmon and steamed vegetables. After washing up, he decided to check his social media feeds, not that he was a prolific user of social networks, but at least they were a doorway to 'other worlds' that offered some escape.
As he was scrolling through Tumblr one profile in particular caught his attention. The profile belonged to someone calling himself 'Mick', an older man who proudly identified as a Skinhead Boss.
Gareth just stared at the profile picture; he studied it from top to bottom; his overarching thought was that this was an older guy who didn't give a f**k. He lost himself staring at the shiny black boots, which contrasted with the white laces and the arms covered in tattoos. Gareth then clicked on the profile and immediately pressed the 'follow' button.
He scrolled through Mick's blog and found himself getting more and more aroused at the pictures, which included from videos of lads getting their heads shaved, pictures of skinheads in full skinhead gear, groups of skinheads drinking and even photos of skins getting pierced and tattooed. The posts included many skinhead transformation stories as well as a few articles about skinhead culture, which Gareth read with interest.
Gareth really wanted to message Mick, and he pointed the cursor but kept hesitating because, to be honest, he felt a bit stupid. The voices in his head told him not to bother, Mick is a hard, tattooed skinhead and why would he want to chat with someone as boring and vanilla as you, Gareth?
After deliberating for many minutes whilst continuing to look over Mick's blog, he managed to silence the voices momentarily finding the resolve to send a message. He clicked on the icon and noticed the green dot, so Mick was probably online. After a lot of thought he decided to keep the first message short, "hey there, love the blog, love the gear," and pressed the send icon. No, he thought in a moment of regret and as the voices reasserted themselves, why did I type that? After a few minutes, and much to Gareth's surprise, the number 1 appeared on the messages side-menu. Expecting a "get lost" or "Eff off back to your boring, mundane life," he clicked to see what the reply was.
“Oi oi m8 thx. I didn’t think I’d be your type. Just seen your profile pic you look like just a conventional clean-cut lad." Reading this, Gareth was rock hard. He’d never spoken to a skinhead before and the thought of chatting with one was already driving him crazy. He thought very carefully about what to type next. “Ha ha, well yes, but skinheads - they're something else,” and he pressed send. Mick replied straight away “Thanks. I know you’d look good with your head shaved, wearing a nice tight pair of bleachers and all booted up lad.”
Gareth had often wondered what his life would be like if he had taken a different path maybe as a tradesman or a workie, even a punk or skinhead but it would never work, plus what would his parents and friends say. He quickly typed a reply, “Ah, I’d love to but I don’t think I could - I’d be a terrible skinhead,” and clicked on the send icon.
Gareth was starting to feel stupid again for initiating the conversation with Mick - but before he cold wallow in his foolishness he received another message, which had a much firmer tone to it “Listen lad, you WILL make a perfect skinhead. I CAN make it happen m8. I'll be in the White Hart pub on Grange Road at tonight 8 - be on time. If not, we won't chat again. It's a one time offer."
Having read the message, Gareth noticed the green light disappear - Mick must have signed out.
Gareth didn’t know what to do. This skinhead he’d spoken to for all of five minutes was willing to take him 'under his wing' and make all his dreams come true. Was this a set-up? Was it all one big joke? Was he being foolish turning up in a pub some stranger had mentioned
In that moment Gareth was 'paralysed' Should he carry on as Mr Conventional or take this opportunity to escape the monotony and drudgery of routine? Well there was only one way to find out.
After nearly an hour of procrastination he decided it was worth the risk and he would go and meet Mick. After all nothing was going to happen in pub full of customers? With a mix of excitement and apprehension, Gareth put on a pair of jeans, a plan blue t-shirt and a his coat. He opened Google Maps and searched for The White Hart and followed the directions.
After a twenty minute bus ride and ten minute walk he arrived at The White Hart. He paused for a moment. This looked like any other pub he'd seen in the city. Was he really going to enter a pub frequented by skinheads? Was he about to meet the man he'd been messaging on Tumblr? He was about to discover that this pub, adorned with memorabilia reflecting the skinhead subculture, would become the backdrop for his transformation.
He walked through the double doors and entered the tap room. He was immediately met by the sight of three skinheads standing at the bar. He checked them out; they all had shaved heads, some dressed in green or black bomber jackets, some just in t-shirts or Fred Perry polos and wearing skinhead boots; some black some red/brown.
Standing for a moment, just inside the doors (close enough to make a quick retreat should it be necessary), he took in the atmosphere. He looked around the room, trying not to catch anyone's attention. However, a few of the skins had noticed the new lad enter. Gareth was aware of several faces looking in his director, some seeming to sneer at him in contempt. He imagined they were thinking "what are you doing in our place?" After all he was a normal looking, average 22 year old in the middle of a pub occupied by tattooed, pierced, and booted skinheads.
Gareth got a sense that tension was building, but at the same time he was very aroused. He'd never been so close to one skinhead, let alone a pub full of pretty hot looking skins. He glanced at his watch - it was almost 8 o'clock - so finding Mick was his priority.
Gareth was feeling intimidated by the many eyes focussed on him. Believing Mick would be somewhere in the pub meant he was able to dig deep and find the courage not to run out through the door through which he entered. As he walked around, he noticed a skinhead standing at the bar smoking a cigarette. He always thought that smoking was banned indoors - and that included pubs - but this skinhead didn't seem to care. "You look out of place my lad - don't think you want to be in here!" he said taking the cig out of his mouth.
"Well, erm, I, I'm supposed to be meeting someone here." Gareth stuttered a reply taking in the sight in front of him.
"Oh, is that so?" The skinhead started to smile. "And who is this person you're supposed to be meeting or do you just like being in a room filled with skinheads?"
Gareth was getting even more aroused. "No, erm Mick," he initially replied meekly, then getting his confidence back, "he's called Mick".
Suddenly Gareth heard a booming voice to his right, which he knew was aimed at him. “Boy, I've been waiting."
Gareth headed over to where the voice originated, very aware that the skinhead he'd just been talking to was still staring at him as he walked away.
"Good job you turned up lad." Gareth was mesmerised at seeing Mick in person - as if in a trance, he walked towards the man that would permanently change his life. With each step forward, he took in Mick's weathered face, shaved head, tattooed arms and, holding a metal baseball bat in his left hand. "Boy, I thought you might chicken out." Finally standing next to Mick, he laughed nervously; he actually was scared-stiff but at the same time he was so turned on by this older skinhead. “You wanna be a proper skinhead - just like ALL the lads around you, don’t you?"
Gareth turned around and looked around the pub - no one was staring at him now. Everywhere he turned he saw skinheads laughing, chatting, getting the beers in and even playing pool - it was the camaraderie that caught his attention.
All his life he'd been a 'lost sheep'; he'd been desperate for the kind of kinship he was witnessing. Yes this is what he wanted, and he would do whatever it takes to be accepted. He turned back to Mick, and more certain than he'd been about anything in his life, "Yes, YES, I want to be a skinhead."
"Good lad," Mick cracked a smile for the first time since they'd met in person. "I can make it come true boy. First, I should warn you that once you say yes, there’s no going back. So, you're absolutely sure about this?”
Gareth had never been more certain in his life, oh and had never felt like this before (not to mention the forming bulge that was hard to miss). “Yes, I really want this”.
Mick was relieved, he made it a mission to bring new lads into the skinhead world “good choice, I’ll make a proper skinhead out of you boy. When I'm done with you, you'll be a proud skinhead, following the skinhead code.” Gareth nearly erupted in his trousers, he couldn’t believe this was happening. Right seat yourself down, I'll get the beers in an we'll talk about your skinhead transformation.
In a matter of minutes, Mick returned accompanied by two other skinheads who sat down alongside Gareth. "This is Charlie and this is his boi Chris. Chris once had a boring life - he was a going to be a lawyer but he hated his life. He met first Charlie on Grindr and now they're inseparable; Chris now works for the council in the cleansing department. Lads, this is Gareth," he said, nodding in Gareth's direction."
Gareth nervously picked up his glass that had been put in front of him and took a big gulp of the beer. One gulp turned into two, three, four and in no time, he'd almost finished his pint. In doing so he'd plucked up the courage to initiate a conversation about what life would be like as a skinhead.
Mick was about to start waxing lyrical about his life when Charlie jumped in, having just finished his pint, "tell the lad how long you've been a skinhead Mick," turning to Gareth, "Mick also knows what it means to be a skin and how we watch out for one another. C'mon Chris let's get the next round in."
As they chatted over three more pints Mick regaled his life experiences and the subculture he had embraced since he started secondary school. He shared stories of camaraderie, rebellion, and talked affectionately about the unique sense of identity that exists within the skinhead community. Despite the age gap, a connection had formed between the two. Mick decided it was time to begin Gareth's transformation. "Right lad, follow me."
Mick put on what Gareth would learn is his black Harrington, he picked up his baseball bat and headed through a set of double doors. Gareth followed a few paces behind Mick heading down a short dimly lit corridor.
They walked through the door and entered a room with black and white tiles on the floor, three sides of the room had walls covered in pictures of skinheads, the other wall was simply a floor to ceiling mirror. In the middle of the room was a barber's chair.
"Right lad, take your top off"
Without a second thought Gareth complied. "Get in the chair." It was an order, not a request, which had to be obeyed. Gareth was about to take the first step and most symbolic stage his transformation to a skinhead.
Sitting in the old barber's chair, Gaz could only watch as Mick walked over to the shelf and picked up a set of clippers. Mick removed the guard that was covering the cutting end and turned to Gareth, ""this is it lad; in a few minutes Gareth will be gone. I'm going to transform you into Gaz - my Skinhead boi."
With that Mick pressed the on button on the side of the clippers; immediately he heard the familiar 'clack' sound echo around the room. Mick pressed the clippers into the nape and worked his way up the lad's head. With a deliberate slowness, Gareth's hair was stripped away. With each stroke, inches of hair fell on his chest and on the floor around the chair until it was all gone.
Gareth was more turned on than he'd been; at any time in his life. Nothing he'd done in his 22 years to date had resulted in the mild sweating, butterflies and raised heart-rate that he was experiencing as he stared into the mirror watching this tattooed thug denuding his head.
Mick could tell Gaz was enjoying the experience as he heard a little pleasure moan escape from his mouth. He ran the clippers over Gaz's head at least three times, ensuring there was only stubble left. Mick noticed Gaz staring in the mirror - it wasn't all he noticed. "Like what you see boi?"
Gareth simply nodded - his brain simply couldn't process the combination of his feelings and the sight of his shaved head in the mirror. He was about to touch his head when Mick interrupted, "No you don't boi. I'll tell you when you can touch your head."
Mick then walked over to the sink and turned on the hot tap. When the water was steaming hot, he grabbed a towel and wet it thoroughly. He squeezed the towel removing the excess water and placed the very towel on Gaz's head; leaving it for a few minutes.
This gave him time to grab a can of shaving foam. He completely covered his boi's head in foam. He grabbed a new Mach III razor and started the next stage of the transformation. It took a few minutes to shave away the stubble from his boi's head and make him as smooth and shiny as a baby.
Gaz sat there frozen in disbelief as each stroke of the razor revealed another patch of scalp completely void of hair. As Mick finished up, he produced a handheld mirror to show the back and sides: “what do you think boi?”
Gaz didn’t recognise the person staring back at him - he was starting to look like a dumb thug who’d grown up on a council estate and spent years getting in trouble with the law. Not some twenty-something who had grown up the perfect, but very boring, nuclear family. “Yeah, this is perfect, just how I wanted to look”.
"It's only the beginning of your transformation lad. Now we need to get you dressed. Stay there." Mick ordered and walked over to a cupboard ar the back of the room.
Gaz didn't want to move. He was transfixed by the skinhead he saw in the mirror - so much so that he didn't hear Mick calling to him.
"Get over here boi!"
Gaz came back to reality and jumped out of the chair. He walked over to where Mick was standing. It was a cupboard full of boots, jeans with bleach splashes, t-shirts, polo shirts and bomber jackets.
For the second time in as many hours, Gaz was enthralled by the content in the cupboard - as he stared at the many pairs boots on the shelf he was almost drooling. "Right lad," Mick said jerking Gaz out of his boot gazing, "we can get you started with what's in here. You'll need to get more in time but that can wait till you start yer new job."
With that Mick began to outfit his boi in classic skinhead attire. He started by handing Gaz a t-shirt wich the boy slipped over his head, then came a pair of very tight fitting jeans with bleach splashes - bleachers as they are generally known. As he put them on he could sense blood rushing towards his groin area. Seeing this Mick smiled; Gaz smiled back sensing he was blushing. As he finished buttoning his bleachers, he saw the jeans had been cut off just below the knee - he would soon find out why. Next, Gaz was handed a pair of white(ish) football socks. "Get them on your feet."
As Gaz was putting his socks, he looked up when another skinhead entered the room. He was a bit younger than Mick but older than Gaz; his arms covered in tattoos and a huge ring in his nose and both ears pierced, "is he ready Mick?"
"Not quite Al, he's got his boots to put on an lace properly." He turned to Gaz, "for now you need to pull your socks over your knees." When Gaz had done as instructed, Mick put a pair of black 20 hole boots with white laces in front of him. He sat down and began talking him through tightly ladder-lacing his boots, first the right foot then the left.
In no time at all Gaz had ladder-laced his boots.
"Stand up lad - look in the mirror!" Mick instructed, "how does that feel?" He didn't need to ask - the lump in the boi's bleachers was there for all to see.
"i...," Gaz was stuck for words. After a few moments he spurted, "I can't believe what I'm looking at," as Gaz found himself feeling a sense of belonging he had never experienced before.
Mick was pleased with the transformation so far. He offered Gaz a cigarette. “Sorry, I don’t smoke”. Mick threw Gaz against the wall “lesson one, you don’t get the choose what you do and don’t do anymore. Skinheads smoke and now you're a skinhead so that means you're a smoker too. I want you to smoke a pack a day boi”.
For the first time since he walked into the pub Gaz was intimidated - especially knowing there was another skinhead in the room watching. Gaz gingerly took the smoke from Mick and lit up. It tasted awful and he was trying his best not to cough after every inhale.
“You’ll get use to it boi. Give it a few weeks you won’t be able to get out of bed without sparking up” Mick laughed. This is Al by the way. He's a tattooist - he's going to make your transformation more permanent.
"Right Al, he's ready for the next stage."
Al smiled, "come slong me boi."
Gaz followed Mick and Al out of the room, and out of a side door in the pub. Even though he'd worn his Doc Martens on a number of occasions, walking in 20-hole boots felt so different. To start with the leather was new and the soles of were solid and heavy. Mick and Al were heading off and Gaz had trouble keeping up. Eventually the two older skinheads arrived at a tattoo studio, with Gaz arriving a few seconds later.
"Right here we are. It's time to finish the job. Al's gonna give you your ink and we'll get some metal into you too,"
"Yes boi," interjected Al, "in the chair, take your shirt off and we can get started."
Gaz took off his shirt and sat in the chair.
"I think you should light up boi," Mick instructed, holding out a pack of cigs. Gaz took one and lit up. Even though it was only his second cigarette, he was doing better at not coughing every time he inhale.
"Right Mick, so just as we talked about earlier?" Al asked.
"Yes, just the ones he can't hide - the ones on his knuckles, hands, neck for today, then over the next few visits he can get his sleeves done and then you can work on his back.
Gaz's heartbeat was rising rapidly as he was listening to what was about to happen. The transformation so-far was reversible, but the moment the tattooing started there would be no turning back. Then all of a sudden he felt a wave of calm as he realised he wasn't forcibly being transformed. His lifetime wish was become a reality and Mick and Al were facilitating his deep desires.
Al set up his equipment and began. As the needle buzzed, skinhead symbols etched themselves onto Gaz's skin – a commitment to a lifestyle that was rapidly becoming his own. The letters S-K-I-N and H-E-A-D were tattooed onto his knuckles. Next, a swallow was tattooed on the back of his left hand, followed by his right hand. Then Al began the more painful and time consuming work of tattooing a spiderweb onto the left side of Gaz's neck and a pair of red DMs on the right hand side. Both would be positioned too high for Gaz to cover them up - even if that's what he wanted to do - and he didn't, ever!
Piercings followed suit, adding a further edge to Gaz's appearance. His ears were adorned with small gold hoops, then his nipples were pierced - wincing at the pain as the needle went through the sensitive skin.
"One more for today boi and then we are done. If you thought your nipple piercings hurt, then you'll really feel it when we get your septum done."
Mick wasn't wrong. However, compared to the continuous, vibrating pain of being tattooed, Gaz would describe the septum piercing as a quick, sharp pain. In no time at all he had a 14 gauge septum piercing with a gold ring though it.
"Your nose is going to be tender to touch and will probably take a couple of week to heal." Al told Gaz. We'll look at changing to a slightly bigger ring as Mick wants in a couple of months, that's provided it has healed well."
Mick walked over to Gaz and grabbed him roughly. Mick pressed his body up against Gaz and kissed him lightly on the lips. Then he thrust his tongue harshly into Gaz's mouth. Gaz had never kissed a man before, in fact he hadn't kissed many girls before. So he just let Mick take charge. Gaz found he loved the smokey taste of Mick's mouth too - imagining that his would taste the same as he become a 20-a-day smoker.
In that single moment Gaz felt a sense of liberation that transcended his previous life. There would be no return for once ordinary office worker. Instead, with Mick's guidance, Gaz secured his first manual job. Being a workie on a building site was a fitting occupation for his newfound identity.
In the end, Gareth's (now Gaz's) transformation went beyond skin-deep. He found a sense of purpose and community that resonated with him on a profound level. Mick, the seasoned skinhead mentor, had unwittingly become Gaz's Alpha guiding the 22 year old through a journey of self-discovery that led him to embrace a life that, just weeks before, had been unimaginable.
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You Don't Understand Fallout
WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING
I'M GOING TO SPOIL THE SHOW AND SOME PARTS OF THE GAMES FOR YOU IF YOU READ PAST THIS POINT.
SERIOUSLY. STOP. IF YOU READ PAST THIS POINT, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT.
OK?!
"Bethesda just doesn't understand Fallout." I can't tell you how many MOTHERFUCKING times I've had to read that idiotic statement. Seriously. Just so I can properly set the hostility with which this is written- If you've ever said that phrase, I think you should take a long look in the mirror and then GO FUCK YOURSELF. Fuck you. You idiot. You moron. You fucking rube. You are not intelligent enough to even roleplay a character with an INT above 2.
Bethesda has owned this IP for 17+ years at this point. Fallout 3 is almost able to vote. Interplay/Black Isle made three Fallout games and one of those was fucking Fallout: Brotherhood of Steel. Look that game up if you want to see someone who "doesn't understand Fallout". But you know what's funny? I'm not actually knocking them. They made Fallout 2, which is my favorite game in the series. But in 1998 when Fallout 2 came out, fans of the "series" (which at that time consisted of one damn game) were quite divided on the game. Fallout 1 was much more serious, much more horror and survival oriented. A lot of "die hards" HATED that Fallout 2 opted for so many references and goofiness and silliness. They felt that the Post-Apocalyptic world and themes from the first game had been discarded for goofy retro futurism. Sound familiar? They complained about the amount of bugs and cut content that didn't make it into the game. Sound familiar?
Fallout 2 is quite different from Fallout 1. I love it for those reasons actually. Becoming a Porn Star in the apocalypse is phenomenal. Sergeant Doran is one of the most memorable characters of the entire franchise to this day. The Enclave are super great villains. Frank Horrigan is a terrifying boss to fight. The Shi are an amazing faction. There's so much cool shit. But it was hated by some "die hard fans" then too.
Let's get on with it then.
Fallout: New Vegas is an amazing game in general. It's wonderful. It's a very, very repayable game. It's as beloved a trans icon as that Ikea shark. It has created some of the best fan art and is probably a super great jumping on point for the series. You play essentially a blank slate protagonist who can be anybody. It allows you so many options of who you want to be. This is proof Obsidian doesn't get Fallout.
"WHAT?!" I hear you shriek. Hold on. That's bait. Buuuuut... In Fallout 1, you were the Vault Dweller. Think whatever you want about motivations, history and all that. But you are from THAT Vault, and you DO care about that Vault. This is part of the narrative. In Fallout 2, you were the Chosen One. Once again, believe what you want as to motivation and stuff. But you ARE a tribal, and you ARE descended from the Vault Dweller. You WILL save your tribe. Because you're the Chosen One. In Fallout 3, you are the Lone Wanderer. You will be kicked out of your Vault. Your dad WILL try to start up Project Purity, and you WILL take up the mantle to finish his work. In Fallout 4, you are a new parent in Pre-war Massachusetts. You will be the Sole Survivor of Vault 111. You will find Shaun. Are these roles restrictions? Yes. Why? They are roles you take on. You are playing a role. They are a vehicle for the story and provide motivation to keep going.
In New Vegas, you are the Courier. You get shot. You are who you want to be. Well, this is cool. It allows you to be who you want to be in a roleplaying game. But it's different from the other Fallout games. You don't see people complaining about this though? Why? Because it's a difference they like. That's why. That's basically how most of the bullshit I've seen surrounding the Fallout series as a whole in recent years has been. I play New Vegas all the time. I love the game. It's one of my favorite all time games. But it is NOT without its problems. For one thing, it does rely on the player to engage with its story with no real motivation. Why should I go after the dude who shot me? Fuck that. Can't I just leave Nevada? I'm contractually obligated to deliver the chip even if I get killed? Well. Ok. Here you go Mr. House. Help you take over Nevada? No thanks. Obviously you wouldn't play it like that. But you really do make your own motivations for the most part. Which I DO like. But it's not as tight narratively. It does suffer a bit from the "Why would my character do this?" problem that TTRPGs can run into as well. And there are people though who act like a NON-MAINLINE title made by an outsourced studio will be the word of god himself for the rest of that game series' history. This is a bit ridiculous at best.
But let's engage with that anyway! Ok. Let's say New Vegas is the most important game in the whole series and judge some things in the Fallout Show based on that. "The NCR is beat down and a ragtag group in the show! Shady Sands is destroyed!" Ok. Did you and I play the same Fallout: New Vegas? You think that the same NCR who in 75% of the endings lose Hoover Dam and get kicked out of Nevada are just going to lose nothing from that? You think that the same faction who can't even supply one of their most important territories, who only beat a faction of femboys in hockey pads and skirts at great cost and through trickery, who is choking with corruption and mired in bureaucracy... they are going to just be doing great? You think a government who spreads itself super thin, allows oligarchs and caravanners to run the show, who can't even control a single prison, who hires an absolute idiot to run a power station... those guys should be doing super amazing? This is the same group who fought a near 20 year war ending in a pyrrhic victory against the BOS, then immediately jumped balls first into another war against the Legion. Their troopers in New Vegas for the most part are poorly supplied and have terrible morale. Even their veterans like Hanlon don't see a way to victory. If not for the gameplay of the Courier helping them, it is all but inevitable that the NCR is on its way to collapse and fragmentation.
The show also does not say that EVERYONE in Shady Sands was killed (we even have a main character who survived as a child). Nor was it the only town in the NCR. Not by a long shot. The Hub is actually bigger than Shady Sands and Junktown combined. Plus the NCR has tons of Northern Territory and whole other states besides California. We might even see a shattered version of the NCR emerge. Plus with the Brotherhood mobilizing (they are mobilizing against SOMETHING and it's not just to find one runaway defector), and hints of the Enclave still operating, I don't think we've seen the last of any faction. It's just plain silly to think that the entire NCR was wiped out. That's just looney tunes. But it's just as silly to think that they would be just running the whole show and have progressed to the point of like Pre-War USA by the point of the show. They were spreading themselves too thin. The writing is on the walls in the games, my dudes. It's a beautiful symmetry too if it WAS the end of the NCR. We saw the very beginnings in Fallout 1. We saw where they progressed to in 40 years. We saw where they progressed in another few decades in FNV. Seeing them come full circle and end would be ok too. But we didn't.
I get that a lot of New Vegas fans love having a blank slate to insert themselves onto their character, and probably like to think of themselves as some sort of Lisaan Al-Ghaib type messiah of Nevada. But that's lore versus gameplay right there. You should read Dune Messiah if you want to know how well things work out for prophesied heroes. But it's also one of those things where just because YOUR Courier was a total NCR simp and did all of the side missions and helped them take Hoover Dam, doesn't mean everyone did. Some people threw Lee Oliver over the Dam.
Fallout is about people. It's about humans and how we are after the world ends. It's about finding a beginning after the end. It's about relationships, and finding humanity when most of the survivors lack any. At the end of the day, factions are only as important and beloved as the people in them. I get that this is long, but if I have to see one more braindead post from some idiot who's only played New Vegas and gets his opinions from a youtuber who doesn't know shit about fuck, I'm going to lose my fucking mind. Also, no. Shady Sands isn't wiped out before the events of New Vegas. It happens after the Second Battle of Hoover Dam. But wait a minute... if the NCR capital was under attack and threat from a big threat around that time, that would have meant that they might not have been able to send as many supplies and troops to a secondary territory. Huh. Maybe Bethesda does understand Fallout?
PS. I have an NCR flag hanging on my wall in front of me as I type this, they are my favorite faction in Fallout. I side with them almost every playthrough I do nowadays. Ok.
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