Solid Samus
Banned
Over the sun soaked sands of the Mojave Wasteland walks a time-worn cowboy with a singular purpose. Someone did him wrong. He'll make it right. But no matter how well you know yourself and your gun, these wastes have a way of changing a man. It's one thing to know peace, and to know chaos, things that are easily understood. But to know civilization...
You might be like me. You might think you've already explored every nook and cranny of the Mojave Wasteland. You might think you've seen the desert and its people from every angle, but you haven't. There's always more. I discovered this for myself during my last playthrough - my final New Vegas run. I started this game for what must have been the tenth time in four years, somewhat bored of it but curious to see if I could shake things up one last time, knowing that once I finished I'd probably never touch the game again. And I was right - only because nothing will ever top the spectacle, the twists, the sublime roleplaying of this final journey.
Before I talk about the journey, though, I have to talk about the prep-work. I usually mod out Fallout before I play, but I opted to go balls out this time and really cobble together an engaging game. I mean, I've been playing open world Bethesda games for years, so the system becomes kind of rote and underwhelming. I didn't want another playthrough where I became an ultraversatile god wading through piles of useless junk killing fodder raiders like flies - I wanted to play a game where my main character faced true obstacles to overcome, to give real meaning to scavenging and survival. And so my modlist was tailored around keeping lore 100% intact while expanding the world and tightening the game's balance. Here are several of the most major changes to my game, boiled down to list form -
- completely retooled combat balance and iron sights feel - the game plays more like a midway point between Fallout and a proper FPS. Enemies aren't sponges anymore. Neither are you. Nor can you instantly heal yourself and automagically fix broken limbs.
- Fewer skill points on level up and less Special at the beginning of the game, to force more specialized characters that aren't on the cusp of Call of Duty-esque I CAN DO EVERYTHING EVER BECAUSE I'M JUST THE SHIT status
- food, water, and sleep requirements adjusted to fit the 24 hour timescale more realistically. This can create tense and awesome situations where you must compromise. Do I go deeper into these tunnels and maybe find a place to sleep... or jeapordize the last of my health and ammo? Thank god for Portable Bedrolls and Campfires!
- It ain't easy making caps. You gotta loot more; all that useless clutter is now suddenly important (besides crafting) and worth scrutinizing. I can't count the amount of times I had to choose to leave already scarce ammo behind in my little hut so I could have enough space to scavenge for valuables.
- Sprint and Bullet Time (both of which use AP and are shockingly good additions to the game's combat), as well as Explosive Entry into locked doors and containers
- Weak flashlight instead of a pip-boy light
- +200 era appropriate songs that fit right in with Radio New Vegas
- Comprehensive weapon modding and ammo crafting for everything
- New, lore friendly creatures, weapons, armors, and locations, including the Underground (added by a mod called AWOP), a series of locations all around the Mojave linked underground reminiscient of the Metro except good
- the feeling of an actual war in the Mojave created by many, many more scouting Legionaires and NCR Troopers.
- Owning fucking Casinos and just plain being the man
- Signature weapon. If you've got a weapon you identify with your character, however weak, you can make it your Signature and level it up alongside your character, choosing attributes to enhance as you go.
This game is still distinctly the Bethesda Fallout you know, but with an edge to it. You've gotta work to survive, this world isn't on a silver platter for you to pick apart. You've gotta work at that shit, like a real cowboy. And that's fucking sweet. Ought to have been the games Fallout 3 and New Vegas were when they shipped, especially considering that exploration and moment to moment survival have taken the focus with Beth's reanimation of the series. You don't know satisfaction until you've clawed your way through fiend-infested tunnels with a jamming pistol, breaking down their handfuls of bullets into barely enough pistol ammunition to fill a magazine, looking for a back room to patch yourself up in, sighing with relief when the weak illumination from your flashlight gives way to the scorching skies of the surface.
I entered this playthrough with this suite of mods fully intending to go in a direction I'd never gone in before. I was gonna roleplay full cowboy. A man made whole by his gun and his pack, which holds the bare necessities, enough for him. A suave motherfucker who prefers to shoot first but never without reason. A man who sleeps under the stars and eats only what he can catch. But no matter how well you know yourself and your gun, these wastes have a way of changing a man, and how this journey ended is a far cry from its humble beginnings.
Enter Brock Wayne. Waking up in the small western town of Goodsprings after being shot in the head, his first instinct was to help those who had saved his life, however he could. This culminates in a shootout with a local gang of felons to protect the town and its inhabitants, but this time through the Mojave, taking them out was no easy matter for Wayne. This man was skilled with a pistol, but it doesn't mean much against a posse, especially when they can say the same! Luckily, he had the foresight to commandeer a grenade launcher from his savior's household, but by the time Joe Cobb's gang lay in pieces by the roadside, Wayne had come to realize that the Mojave Desert was as dangerous a place as anywhere else he'd wandered, maybe even moreso. He'd seen much in his time wandering - he'd seen tribes, and cities, and dead wastes - but still relatively new to him was the sight of territorial calls-to-arms, the fires of organized war rekindled by the phoenix flames which burn at the heart of human civilization.
Leaving Goodsprings to the south, Wayne begins to seek out those who nearly killed him, but before long, he finds himself on the trail of Joe Cobbs compatriots, who know Wayne's face and are out to bring him to his knees. At one point, Wayne is overwhelmed by them - he stumbles into over a dozen of these Powder Gangers in the dead of night and, after the last two grenades on his person prove ineffective, Wayne is forced to retreat into an abandoned cigarette factory just south of Goodsprings. He managed to discover the prison they call home during the struggle. He won't forget the place.
Almost immediately upon entering the ruins, Wayne is attacked by a pack of geckoes from which there was no escaping. Fending over two dozen off with just a baseball bat, he was left bruised and with broken limbs. He had to fix himself up, but he couldn't just turn around and leave, not with a legion of Powder Gangers on his tail. Searching deeper and deeper for medical supplies, he accidentally gains entry into New Vega's expansive maintenance tunnel system - where he will spend the next few days, wandering alone in the dark.
The darkness of the tunnels had much to teach him, though he didn't know it at first. Brock Wayne had always been a survivor - he knew how to make bullets, skin critters, and so forth. Desperation would hone these skills. Without even a flashlight, he stumbled through the underground, scouring for what little 'food' and supplies 200 years of looting left behind. Somehow, in the darkness, he had lost his bedroll, his only friend down there. With every single breath of relief, every lit room and empty corridor, came at least two pitch black tombs populated by mutants and dregs the likes of which Wayne had never before been forced to share such close quarters with. Sleepless nights gave way to dark days spent dodging blows from terrifying creatures and crafting what little there was to be made down there to survive.
Finally, after what must have been a week or more, Wayne emerged from the tunnels near Primm, a changed man. He still believed himself to be a noble cowboy, a man who does right. But now, he had lived the desperation, the strange and terrible struggle that led wastelanders to band together and form communities of all types, and it inspired something great in him. A great darkness...
Let's move forward a few weeks.
There had been talk all around the wasteland of the 'Courier', a man who seemed to bring frontier justice wherever he went. 'The Courier', who had singlehandedly infiltrated the NCR's old prison, gave the Powder Gangers the boot, and fortified it into his own home. 'The Courier', who had removed the outlaws from the city of Primm and gave it its reniassance. 'The Courier', who killed the Legion on sight at the ruins of Novac and avenged the townspeople. 'The Courier', who was building a legendary crew of gunman and specialists from all walks of life... but why?
The real story is a bit more sordid.
Brock Wayne's quest to take down the men that shot him had taken a backseat by the time he had liberated Primm. Wayne had never been anything close to a businessman, but this Wasteland had a hold on him now. His state of mind was changing - where once he would have thrown aside needless comforts, he was beginning to accept and even desire the frivoloties of Vegas and its surroundings, and wanted a shot at changing the wasteland with his justice. He saw the town of Primm as his foothold to this end, and began reconstructing the Bison Steve Hotel and Casino with its former proprieter. This would be a place with law and order, where men and women could live and enjoy their lives without fear. A place like what the Wastes should be. And he'd be at the center of it all.
Or so he thought. In truth, at the center of it all were his Caps. Where once they made up a small jingling pile in his pack, they now filled two old safes, and counting. They were beginning to form his identity, an identity of greed and spectacle. His trusty 9mm lost its place at his side, in favor of an expensive assault rifle, meant to ease his burden. He had relocated from his home under the night skies to his hardfought den at the Prison, and now to a posh and luxurious suite packed with old world comforts. He was becoming a trader, or a swindler, or a magnate. Something far removed from his old identity. All the while, his true focus remained on justice, justice of a different sort, but still just enough in his eyes to blind him from his own slow transformation.
Let's move forward a few more weeks.
'The Courier' and his seven companions have made moves all across the wasteland. The first in years to make contact with the mysterious Mr. House. The men and women who had convinced the tribals of Red Rock to put their chemgineering to good use. The crew who singlehandedly subverted the power balance of the Strip, and killed the leader of the Tops casino in retribution for the events that set his story in motion. One day, news comes into Vegas that Mr. House himself commanded them into battle and successfully took the Fort - and the head of the Slaver leader, Caesar.
But that's not the whole story.
Brock Wayne had finally made it to New Vegas, wealthy from his time at Primm and ready to face the man that shot him in the head, Benny. There, he met Mr. House - the man that had him deliver the package Benny was after. Mr. House had a wealth of knowledge and connections that shocked and impressed Wayne to no end. Here was a man who had singlehandedly saved the entire wasteland, and who wants to deliver it into a golden age, seperate from the misguided philosophies of the NCR and Caesar's Legion... same as me! This is a man I'll put my stock in, Wayne thought.
This was reaffirmed to him when Mr. House offered to reopen the Lucky 38 - and place Wayne in the position of sole proprieter. Mr. House saw this move as a way to ingrain trust and loyalty into Wayne, as well as a way to allow him to gear up in preperation for his role in the close future. And prepare, he did. Over the next few days, weeks, and months, Wayne ran the Lucky 38, raking in hundreds and thousands of caps, periodically taking sabaticals to visit the farthest reaches of the Mojave to convince their inhabitants to follow him into war, and to invest in the most exotic arsenal of modded weapons and techno-armor the Wastes had ever seen. He displayed his luxurious war machines proudly in his Presidential Suite, an advanced hall of old-world tech preserved by Mr. House. Wayne was beginning to grow cynical, knowing that that cold place, packed with killing tools and needless frivolities, represented the highest point of his life. But he was satisfied. His life as a cowboy was behind him, now. He could accomplish more here.
His belief in Mr. House took him and his crew back and forth across the wasteland, attempting to create support and sabotage enemies for the upcoming war for Hoover Dam, fought between a fascmilie of the old world, and a cold new world order. His belief in Mr. House was unwavering, but his insanity and hubris were slowly growing. He was the one out in the wastes, making moves, changing things. For everything Mr. House had done, Brock Wayne was the true agent of change all along, and he would continue to be, even as Mr. House gave his orders from inside the Lucky 38. And as Wayne pondered this over days, the darkness grown in him finally took complete hold, and he declared himself a new identity. Only he deserved Mr. House's posterity, his riches, his control...
He returned to the Lucky 38 to meet his leader one final time, telling him of his intent. He breached the back chambers of the Lucky 38, and without a word, shot the hidden life-pod, killing its inhabitant instantly. And then, he returned to his Presidential Suite, using his personal AutoDoc to take Mr. House's face and name. Brock Wayne, 'The Courier', died that day - and Mr. House lived on.
And on that day, he and his crew chose to make their greatest move. They clad themselves in their strongest armors, took up their greatest arms, and stormed the strong forces of the Mojave, bringing his justice through the fires of war - the last war fought in the Mojave. The Fort, over a hundred men strong, fell in an evening of intense fighting. Caesar's head and all. Then, their scouting outposts, dotted along the Colorado River, went dark. And the NCR's, too. Finally, the fighting had made its way to the Vegas Strip, where the NCR headquarters was razed to the ground.
The war for Hoover Dam, for control over civilization, is about to take place - the remaining NCR and Legion soldiers have all gathered there, desperate to make one last bid before their annihilation. Our cowboy is about to make his grand entrance. And that's where I uninstalled the game, choosing to adopt the Mr. House ending as my headcanon, because that's who my main character had become - cold, calculated, driven by control and hubris to kill one of the Mojave's last hopes and assume his grand position.
Obviously I'm leaving out a whole hell of a lot from a rather brisk but constantly moving 90hr playthrough, but that's the crux of my last New Vegas playthrough. Alongside Brock Wayne/Mr. House, I got to experience every dot on the spectrum of the Fallout experience. Loneliness, and desperation. Ingenuity and discovery. One day, I'd be in a tense shootout with only a handful of raiders, low on homemade bullets, hoping to god they don't shoot me in the head. The next, I'd be alongside six other companions, shooting it out against the Legion and with the NCR, and it'd be like a warzone, dozens of characters blasting at each other all at once. The next, there wouldn't be anyone around at all, no food or water, nothing, and that's tense in and of itself. I'd fought battles with jamming weaponry and the best weaponry money could buy. I lived in huts, in prisons, in caves, and in casinos. I compromised, and often had to leave things behind until I was truly ready for them.
I love Fallout New Vegas and while odds are I'm never going to touch the game again I'll always appreciate its cynical and thematically consistent world, its engaging and often hilarious writing and decisionmaking, and above all, its awesome potential for roleplaying experiences, which will probably remain unapproached by any other game for quite some time. If anyone has Fallout New Vegas on PC but has never attempted a fully modded run, I recommended it highly, because there's nothing else out their quite like New Vegas except for MORE AND BETTER New Vegas.
You might be like me. You might think you've already explored every nook and cranny of the Mojave Wasteland. You might think you've seen the desert and its people from every angle, but you haven't. There's always more. I discovered this for myself during my last playthrough - my final New Vegas run. I started this game for what must have been the tenth time in four years, somewhat bored of it but curious to see if I could shake things up one last time, knowing that once I finished I'd probably never touch the game again. And I was right - only because nothing will ever top the spectacle, the twists, the sublime roleplaying of this final journey.
Before I talk about the journey, though, I have to talk about the prep-work. I usually mod out Fallout before I play, but I opted to go balls out this time and really cobble together an engaging game. I mean, I've been playing open world Bethesda games for years, so the system becomes kind of rote and underwhelming. I didn't want another playthrough where I became an ultraversatile god wading through piles of useless junk killing fodder raiders like flies - I wanted to play a game where my main character faced true obstacles to overcome, to give real meaning to scavenging and survival. And so my modlist was tailored around keeping lore 100% intact while expanding the world and tightening the game's balance. Here are several of the most major changes to my game, boiled down to list form -
- completely retooled combat balance and iron sights feel - the game plays more like a midway point between Fallout and a proper FPS. Enemies aren't sponges anymore. Neither are you. Nor can you instantly heal yourself and automagically fix broken limbs.
- Fewer skill points on level up and less Special at the beginning of the game, to force more specialized characters that aren't on the cusp of Call of Duty-esque I CAN DO EVERYTHING EVER BECAUSE I'M JUST THE SHIT status
- food, water, and sleep requirements adjusted to fit the 24 hour timescale more realistically. This can create tense and awesome situations where you must compromise. Do I go deeper into these tunnels and maybe find a place to sleep... or jeapordize the last of my health and ammo? Thank god for Portable Bedrolls and Campfires!
- It ain't easy making caps. You gotta loot more; all that useless clutter is now suddenly important (besides crafting) and worth scrutinizing. I can't count the amount of times I had to choose to leave already scarce ammo behind in my little hut so I could have enough space to scavenge for valuables.
- Sprint and Bullet Time (both of which use AP and are shockingly good additions to the game's combat), as well as Explosive Entry into locked doors and containers
- Weak flashlight instead of a pip-boy light
- +200 era appropriate songs that fit right in with Radio New Vegas
- Comprehensive weapon modding and ammo crafting for everything
- New, lore friendly creatures, weapons, armors, and locations, including the Underground (added by a mod called AWOP), a series of locations all around the Mojave linked underground reminiscient of the Metro except good
- the feeling of an actual war in the Mojave created by many, many more scouting Legionaires and NCR Troopers.
- Owning fucking Casinos and just plain being the man
- Signature weapon. If you've got a weapon you identify with your character, however weak, you can make it your Signature and level it up alongside your character, choosing attributes to enhance as you go.
This game is still distinctly the Bethesda Fallout you know, but with an edge to it. You've gotta work to survive, this world isn't on a silver platter for you to pick apart. You've gotta work at that shit, like a real cowboy. And that's fucking sweet. Ought to have been the games Fallout 3 and New Vegas were when they shipped, especially considering that exploration and moment to moment survival have taken the focus with Beth's reanimation of the series. You don't know satisfaction until you've clawed your way through fiend-infested tunnels with a jamming pistol, breaking down their handfuls of bullets into barely enough pistol ammunition to fill a magazine, looking for a back room to patch yourself up in, sighing with relief when the weak illumination from your flashlight gives way to the scorching skies of the surface.
I entered this playthrough with this suite of mods fully intending to go in a direction I'd never gone in before. I was gonna roleplay full cowboy. A man made whole by his gun and his pack, which holds the bare necessities, enough for him. A suave motherfucker who prefers to shoot first but never without reason. A man who sleeps under the stars and eats only what he can catch. But no matter how well you know yourself and your gun, these wastes have a way of changing a man, and how this journey ended is a far cry from its humble beginnings.
Enter Brock Wayne. Waking up in the small western town of Goodsprings after being shot in the head, his first instinct was to help those who had saved his life, however he could. This culminates in a shootout with a local gang of felons to protect the town and its inhabitants, but this time through the Mojave, taking them out was no easy matter for Wayne. This man was skilled with a pistol, but it doesn't mean much against a posse, especially when they can say the same! Luckily, he had the foresight to commandeer a grenade launcher from his savior's household, but by the time Joe Cobb's gang lay in pieces by the roadside, Wayne had come to realize that the Mojave Desert was as dangerous a place as anywhere else he'd wandered, maybe even moreso. He'd seen much in his time wandering - he'd seen tribes, and cities, and dead wastes - but still relatively new to him was the sight of territorial calls-to-arms, the fires of organized war rekindled by the phoenix flames which burn at the heart of human civilization.
Leaving Goodsprings to the south, Wayne begins to seek out those who nearly killed him, but before long, he finds himself on the trail of Joe Cobbs compatriots, who know Wayne's face and are out to bring him to his knees. At one point, Wayne is overwhelmed by them - he stumbles into over a dozen of these Powder Gangers in the dead of night and, after the last two grenades on his person prove ineffective, Wayne is forced to retreat into an abandoned cigarette factory just south of Goodsprings. He managed to discover the prison they call home during the struggle. He won't forget the place.
Almost immediately upon entering the ruins, Wayne is attacked by a pack of geckoes from which there was no escaping. Fending over two dozen off with just a baseball bat, he was left bruised and with broken limbs. He had to fix himself up, but he couldn't just turn around and leave, not with a legion of Powder Gangers on his tail. Searching deeper and deeper for medical supplies, he accidentally gains entry into New Vega's expansive maintenance tunnel system - where he will spend the next few days, wandering alone in the dark.
The darkness of the tunnels had much to teach him, though he didn't know it at first. Brock Wayne had always been a survivor - he knew how to make bullets, skin critters, and so forth. Desperation would hone these skills. Without even a flashlight, he stumbled through the underground, scouring for what little 'food' and supplies 200 years of looting left behind. Somehow, in the darkness, he had lost his bedroll, his only friend down there. With every single breath of relief, every lit room and empty corridor, came at least two pitch black tombs populated by mutants and dregs the likes of which Wayne had never before been forced to share such close quarters with. Sleepless nights gave way to dark days spent dodging blows from terrifying creatures and crafting what little there was to be made down there to survive.
Finally, after what must have been a week or more, Wayne emerged from the tunnels near Primm, a changed man. He still believed himself to be a noble cowboy, a man who does right. But now, he had lived the desperation, the strange and terrible struggle that led wastelanders to band together and form communities of all types, and it inspired something great in him. A great darkness...
Let's move forward a few weeks.
There had been talk all around the wasteland of the 'Courier', a man who seemed to bring frontier justice wherever he went. 'The Courier', who had singlehandedly infiltrated the NCR's old prison, gave the Powder Gangers the boot, and fortified it into his own home. 'The Courier', who had removed the outlaws from the city of Primm and gave it its reniassance. 'The Courier', who killed the Legion on sight at the ruins of Novac and avenged the townspeople. 'The Courier', who was building a legendary crew of gunman and specialists from all walks of life... but why?
The real story is a bit more sordid.
Brock Wayne's quest to take down the men that shot him had taken a backseat by the time he had liberated Primm. Wayne had never been anything close to a businessman, but this Wasteland had a hold on him now. His state of mind was changing - where once he would have thrown aside needless comforts, he was beginning to accept and even desire the frivoloties of Vegas and its surroundings, and wanted a shot at changing the wasteland with his justice. He saw the town of Primm as his foothold to this end, and began reconstructing the Bison Steve Hotel and Casino with its former proprieter. This would be a place with law and order, where men and women could live and enjoy their lives without fear. A place like what the Wastes should be. And he'd be at the center of it all.
Or so he thought. In truth, at the center of it all were his Caps. Where once they made up a small jingling pile in his pack, they now filled two old safes, and counting. They were beginning to form his identity, an identity of greed and spectacle. His trusty 9mm lost its place at his side, in favor of an expensive assault rifle, meant to ease his burden. He had relocated from his home under the night skies to his hardfought den at the Prison, and now to a posh and luxurious suite packed with old world comforts. He was becoming a trader, or a swindler, or a magnate. Something far removed from his old identity. All the while, his true focus remained on justice, justice of a different sort, but still just enough in his eyes to blind him from his own slow transformation.
Let's move forward a few more weeks.
'The Courier' and his seven companions have made moves all across the wasteland. The first in years to make contact with the mysterious Mr. House. The men and women who had convinced the tribals of Red Rock to put their chemgineering to good use. The crew who singlehandedly subverted the power balance of the Strip, and killed the leader of the Tops casino in retribution for the events that set his story in motion. One day, news comes into Vegas that Mr. House himself commanded them into battle and successfully took the Fort - and the head of the Slaver leader, Caesar.
But that's not the whole story.
Brock Wayne had finally made it to New Vegas, wealthy from his time at Primm and ready to face the man that shot him in the head, Benny. There, he met Mr. House - the man that had him deliver the package Benny was after. Mr. House had a wealth of knowledge and connections that shocked and impressed Wayne to no end. Here was a man who had singlehandedly saved the entire wasteland, and who wants to deliver it into a golden age, seperate from the misguided philosophies of the NCR and Caesar's Legion... same as me! This is a man I'll put my stock in, Wayne thought.
This was reaffirmed to him when Mr. House offered to reopen the Lucky 38 - and place Wayne in the position of sole proprieter. Mr. House saw this move as a way to ingrain trust and loyalty into Wayne, as well as a way to allow him to gear up in preperation for his role in the close future. And prepare, he did. Over the next few days, weeks, and months, Wayne ran the Lucky 38, raking in hundreds and thousands of caps, periodically taking sabaticals to visit the farthest reaches of the Mojave to convince their inhabitants to follow him into war, and to invest in the most exotic arsenal of modded weapons and techno-armor the Wastes had ever seen. He displayed his luxurious war machines proudly in his Presidential Suite, an advanced hall of old-world tech preserved by Mr. House. Wayne was beginning to grow cynical, knowing that that cold place, packed with killing tools and needless frivolities, represented the highest point of his life. But he was satisfied. His life as a cowboy was behind him, now. He could accomplish more here.
His belief in Mr. House took him and his crew back and forth across the wasteland, attempting to create support and sabotage enemies for the upcoming war for Hoover Dam, fought between a fascmilie of the old world, and a cold new world order. His belief in Mr. House was unwavering, but his insanity and hubris were slowly growing. He was the one out in the wastes, making moves, changing things. For everything Mr. House had done, Brock Wayne was the true agent of change all along, and he would continue to be, even as Mr. House gave his orders from inside the Lucky 38. And as Wayne pondered this over days, the darkness grown in him finally took complete hold, and he declared himself a new identity. Only he deserved Mr. House's posterity, his riches, his control...
He returned to the Lucky 38 to meet his leader one final time, telling him of his intent. He breached the back chambers of the Lucky 38, and without a word, shot the hidden life-pod, killing its inhabitant instantly. And then, he returned to his Presidential Suite, using his personal AutoDoc to take Mr. House's face and name. Brock Wayne, 'The Courier', died that day - and Mr. House lived on.
And on that day, he and his crew chose to make their greatest move. They clad themselves in their strongest armors, took up their greatest arms, and stormed the strong forces of the Mojave, bringing his justice through the fires of war - the last war fought in the Mojave. The Fort, over a hundred men strong, fell in an evening of intense fighting. Caesar's head and all. Then, their scouting outposts, dotted along the Colorado River, went dark. And the NCR's, too. Finally, the fighting had made its way to the Vegas Strip, where the NCR headquarters was razed to the ground.
The war for Hoover Dam, for control over civilization, is about to take place - the remaining NCR and Legion soldiers have all gathered there, desperate to make one last bid before their annihilation. Our cowboy is about to make his grand entrance. And that's where I uninstalled the game, choosing to adopt the Mr. House ending as my headcanon, because that's who my main character had become - cold, calculated, driven by control and hubris to kill one of the Mojave's last hopes and assume his grand position.
Obviously I'm leaving out a whole hell of a lot from a rather brisk but constantly moving 90hr playthrough, but that's the crux of my last New Vegas playthrough. Alongside Brock Wayne/Mr. House, I got to experience every dot on the spectrum of the Fallout experience. Loneliness, and desperation. Ingenuity and discovery. One day, I'd be in a tense shootout with only a handful of raiders, low on homemade bullets, hoping to god they don't shoot me in the head. The next, I'd be alongside six other companions, shooting it out against the Legion and with the NCR, and it'd be like a warzone, dozens of characters blasting at each other all at once. The next, there wouldn't be anyone around at all, no food or water, nothing, and that's tense in and of itself. I'd fought battles with jamming weaponry and the best weaponry money could buy. I lived in huts, in prisons, in caves, and in casinos. I compromised, and often had to leave things behind until I was truly ready for them.
I love Fallout New Vegas and while odds are I'm never going to touch the game again I'll always appreciate its cynical and thematically consistent world, its engaging and often hilarious writing and decisionmaking, and above all, its awesome potential for roleplaying experiences, which will probably remain unapproached by any other game for quite some time. If anyone has Fallout New Vegas on PC but has never attempted a fully modded run, I recommended it highly, because there's nothing else out their quite like New Vegas except for MORE AND BETTER New Vegas.
