Big Chief Checking In!

Date: 8.13.2224
User: Mike Marcel
Location: Vault 288, Houston, Texas

Here I am, sitting at a terminal in Vault 288, feeling like I just stepped out of some sci-fi flick. This Pip-Boy on my wrist keeps me tethered. It lets me log what’s rattling in my head, though clarity is in short supply.

Everyone here thinks I’m lost. They’re not wrong. Half the time, I have to check this device just to know the year. 2077 feels like yesterday, but it’s been nearly a century and a half—147 years, to be exact. Last clear memory: chaos. Hurricane Kendra tore through New Orleans. Fear ran thick—fear of the storm, fear of quarantine camps, fear of each other. Somewhere in that panic, someone slipped up, and I got iced in cryo-stasis instead of decontamination. Now I wake up in Houston, and the world I knew is ash and memory.

The folks in this Vault are decent. Southern hospitality with a vault-dweller edge. Earlier, I thought the smell of barbecue was just a lingering memory, but it isn’t. They served me BBQ beef brittle—extra tender, rich, smoky, just the right bite. Almost comforting—almost. But there’s a hollowness under it, like something’s missing. Maybe it’s just my nerves talking.

They feed me well. Barbecue in a vault? Strange thing to swallow, but I suppose the overseer is keeping the Texas spirit alive down here. Haven’t asked too many questions yet—probably should.

The overseer’s clear: the world outside isn’t kind. Radiation burns deep, mutants roam the wasteland, and stories from old don’t come close to the truth. I’ll see for myself soon enough. I’m not here to stay. I’ve got a city to find—my city. Frozen for 147 years, now expected to just keep walking forward. That’s the burden I carry.

From what I’m gathering, New Orleans is still out there—somewhere. Whatever shape it’s in, it’s home. I need to see it with my own eyes. I need to know what remains.

I’ve been gone long enough. New Orleans doesn’t let go. No matter the years or the miles, it stays in your blood. I’ll play by the Vault’s rules for now, eat their barbecue, and fight off the edge gnawing at my mind that something’s not right. I’ve survived worse storms, worse wars. I’ll survive this too.

— Big Chief Mike Marcel