You didn’t have to kill them.
The average Wastelander’s head, even at its least sturdy and most malnourished, can withstand an energy shot or two. You could have given a warning shot, scared them a little, and gotten the fuck out of dodge.
You didn’t have to kill them.
But they shot first and you freaked out and you just wanted to look at their little houses in peace. Without thinking you whipped out your laser pistol and blasted them to hell.
One, two — down they go.
One, two — down they go.
One, two — down they go.
Now they’re gone and you can finally get a good look and oh God what you have done. Everyone thinks ghouls are tough because they look scary but most of them are the weakest of all. You thought they went down a little too satisfyingly and there you go.
They didn’t even have anything good.
You can’t find a bed and you can’t find any loot and you basically just killed them for nothing. The last thing you wanted to see five minutes ago was Megaton but now all you want to do is go home.
So you start to walk home.
It’s dark and damp but as long as you stick to the roads and have the moon watching over you, everything will be fine.
In the Vault you weren’t particularly cool or smart or good at anything and everyone knew it. The prospect of spending your whole life there filled you with a endless grey dread that made you want to die. But out here there’s the sun and the wind and everyone loves you. You can’t hide your soft face and guileless eyes so you just toss on your armored Vault Suit and everyone loves you. They think you’re a hero and they think that you’re better than them but if you lived their lives for a week, it’d definitely kill you.
So you wander the wasteland and do whatever and act like you’re the authority on who gets to die. Everyone who looks at you sees a dream but the only thing separating you from the common Raider is that they shoot first. They shoot first and you have better weapons and you have an 18 year nutritional advantage. The only thing that makes you “good” is a twist of fate, but if you kill people’s dreams, you’ll get endless hate. So you keep your mouth shut and keep walking and dread the day you stop finding something new.
You make it home as the sun is about to burst overhead and before you know it you’re in clean clothes in bed. Every bit of you cries out for rest but your mind can’t relax. All you can think of is those sad malnourished ghouls who died protecting their sense of peace in the middle of nowhere, while you get to safely sleep and see another day.
Yes, they shot first.
But you didn’t have to kill them.
As you lose consciousness and finally drift off you think, there’s got to be a better way.