It occurs to me that the most terrifying thing about a nuclear explosion, once you get past all the face melting, is how it interrupts the flow of nature. Leafless white trees dot my path, like gnarled middle finger bones pointed squarely at humanity's future. Naturally, my journey gave me a lot of time to ponder. They’re just hanging around occasionally spouting pre-determined lines of dialogue.
This is the stupidest, most teeth-grindingly mundane hell quest I’ve ever subjected myself to in a game, and yet, I can’t help but admire New California for giving me the option.Īs I trundle along, terrified I might trip over a petrified molerat toe, the previously blank expressions of NPCs I pass seem to take on a look of incredulousness, then eventually, mocking. It takes me about thirty solid minutes of meatspace time to lug these clay pots back, shuffling across the sizable map one painful inch at a time. My science skill isn’t high enough to repair the pump, but there is another option: I just have to carry back ninety jugs of the stuff.Įach jug weighs approximately 10,000 brass Brahmin testicles apiece. I have been waddling across New California for what seems like hours, my inventory full to bursting.
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