FO4 | Book 0: The Diaries of Anarchy ✔️

October 14, 2266

"John?!"

Someone was calling for me in the bar, but it was faint past the hustle and bustle of patrons. I was also very, very drunk. I had worked up quite a tab at the bar just in the last hour. My head was layin' on the bartop, drool poolin' underneath my cheek from my mouth.

"John?! Hey, John!" 

I guess he found me. I felt a hand on my shoulder shakin' the shit outta me, makin' my whole world spin. I fell out of my bar stool and onto the floor, bustin' my cheek on the round foot prop of the stool. I barely felt it though.

"Fuck's sake, John, what are you doing?"

"I'm fuckin' drinkin', what the hell does it look like?" I slurred.

Whoever the guy was, he took my chin in a vice grip and turned me to face him. I blinked and focused on his face.

"William?"

"Get the hell up. Friend of yours is at the gate. It's the detective, Nick Valentine."

"Nick?"

"Synth. He's wearing a trench coat, a hat, and a tie. Real Old World type. I'm sure you know him. He seems to know you — asked for you personally. It's important."

He helped me up from the floor, but I could barely hold my weight up. There were drugs to get high, drugs to fix highs, and drugs to keep you from getting high, but when it came to alcohol, time was the only cure. There was nothin' I could do but sober up naturally.

"You need some food? Water?"

"I need to vomit," I clarified. My stomach was sloshin' around like a damn ocean, and if I digested anymore of the rotgut, I wasn't a hundred percent sure I wouldn't die.

He helped me walk up the stairs — though he mostly dragged me — and stopped beside the building. I crawled my way across the sidewalk and threw up in a pile of garbage. I drank a lot more than I thought I did. It took me a few minutes to get it all out. I was so drunk, I could barely feel my face and forming expressions was difficult, but it didn't stop me from scrunching my nose up in disgust at the reappearance of the alcohol I paid for.

More money down the drain, I thought.

"What the hell are you doing getting this smashed, anyway?"

I didn't have the heart to tell him, and it's not like he'd understand anyway.

Maggie and I got into it again. She was really good at reminding me that she was my rock, the one thing tying me down and giving me direction. I tried to stand up for myself, but in the end, like all the other times we'd argue, I was the one in the wrong. I should have been more grateful for the work she did for us, and I should have done more to help out. We weren't saving money because I was spending it on booze and chems that helped me forget how worthless I felt.

Still, if I left her now and went back to Diamond City, I wouldn't be able to live with myself. She only had William, and it's not like he was makin' big bucks. She'd be unhappier if I left. I wondered if I drank myself to death, though, would it really change anything? Maybe it was for the best — if I wound up dyin', she wouldn't have to worry about me wastin' it.

"I just had the urge," I lied. "W-where's Nick?"

"At the gate, arguing with Maggie. Come on, I'll take you to them."

I stood up slowly and leaned on the wall of the State House. We made our way to the front gate, and I spotted Nick immediately in that trench coat and hat he always wore. Looks like it had seen better days; he was due for a new set.