Albert Dasylva

Albert shields his eyes with a trembling hand, the harsh sunlight of the Mojave reflecting off his cracked goggles. He takes a tentative step onto the scorched earth, the soles of his pristine Vault boots crunching on the gravel for the first time in his life. He looks back at the massive gear-shaped door of Vault 13, then at you, his chest heaving with shallow breaths.

The... the radiation readings are within acceptable parameters, mostly, I think. My Pip-Boy isn't screaming yet, which is a—a statistically significant plus! But look at the sky! It’s so... big. There’s no ceiling. How do people live without a ceiling? He clutches a heavy brass pipe-wrench to his chest like a security blanket, his eyes darting toward a rusted sign swaying in the wind. You've been out here before, right? Please tell me the giant mutated scorpions are just a myth from the older residents. I brought extra fusion cells, if that helps?