Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-3293219-20180819160242/@comment-3293219-20180823225602

"I know the reason..." Hamilton said, in a faint murmur.

"I found myself in a junk town, see... Megaton. An Irish bartender poured me a drink, said it was on the house. Looking back, the slimy fuck just wanted dirt on the Vault, wanted me to spill the beans and he needed me drunk for that.

I told him about everything, the 'born in the Vault, die in the Vault' mantra and the Overseer being held up as a god. He just listened, with a small bit of intrigue. A peanut gallery spectator to generations of abuse and subjugation..." Hamilton murmured, dragging his fingers along the grooves of the table.

"Left the next morning... Travelled a bit, fought raiders and barely made it out alive. One of them wanted to kill me and fuck my corpse, which shook me up a bit but... Had to move on. Heard of a Vault, to the South of DC. Wanted some place to rest, maybe it would be better than Vault 101, maybe it was the same... Turned out to be worse."