FO4 | Book 0: The Diaries of Anarchy ✔️

July 16, 2282

No matter what I did, I couldn't get high enough. I was back at it with the chems because they helped me escape this shitty reality. Sure, I didn't have any caps and nothin' to sell, but there were a few people in Goodneighbor that owed me some favors.

I finally got my hands on some Daddy-O and Day Tripper — two of the best. I took 'em both at the same time with a beer, and I finally got the high I'd been wanting. Maybe this time... they'd kill me...

Instead, I blacked out and didn't know what happened. I found myself in a place that I wasn't familiar with. When I cleared my head and could focus again, I realized I was in a room in the Old State House. How I got in, I'd never know. How long I'd been out of it, I'd never know, either. But there I was, lying in front of a dressed-up mannequin. It had a red frock coat, a blue vest, blue pants, and black boots. There was a frilly white undershirt peaking out from the vest and the sleeves of the frock.

I read the label at the mannequin's feet — I had an idea on who this was due to the signature red frock, but I just needed to be sure I wasn't hallucinatin'. "John Hancock." I looked up at the mannequin again. There was an American flag hanging on the wall behind him. I may have still been high, or drunk, or neither, but for once in my life, the pieces started to click together.

This was my calling.

I busted the case open. I reached in and pulled out the mannequin so I could undress it and take the clothes for myself. The pants were a little baggy on me, so I ripped the flag off the wall and tied it around my waist as a belt. Lastly, I put the hat on my bald head.

This town — it needed a true leader, someone to bring the people out of the darkness. I was going to become that person, even if it killed me. No more runnin'.

I poked my head out of the room. It was a back room that had a bunch of prewar junk in it. To my knowledge, the State House was a museum after they didn't have a use for it, so there was some Civil War crap in there that was pushed to the side. I didn't see any of Vic's boys by the spiral staircase, so I quickly rushed through the main room and to the door.

When I burst out the door to the streets of Goodneighbor, it was the middle of the day and the sun was shining. I knew Kleo's shop was still open, so I made haste in that direction, lighting a cigarette for the trip.

The looks I got from the other citizens were surprised at best. I just chuckled. Little did they know they were starin' at a revolutionist.

I laid my elbows on Kleo's counter with my cigarette perched between my lips. "What do we got, Kleo?"

"More than you can handle, baby."

"Wouldn't be able to talk you into lending me a few guns, would I?"

"I don't do handouts. Take your business elsewhere, scavver, or whatever you are, before you lose those hands."

"Kleo, Kleo, it's me. John."

"John? I'll be damned. Where have you been, baby? What happened to you?"

"It's a long, pathetic story. Anyway, keep it on the low burner that I'm still around... I'm plannin' to kill Vic, and I need guns. Lots of 'em."

"At least someone's willing to do something. How many guns do you need, baby?"

"As many as you can spare."

"Fine, but you break it, you buy it."

"Of course. Wouldn't expect it to go any other way. Besides, if I take Vic out, I'll be able to buy half your shop."

"We'll see about that. Just focus on recruiting people for your little revolution."

I tipped my newfound hat to her with a grin and walked away from her shop. I knew that it would be easy to find people who'd wanna stick it to Vic and his gang of goons. I went from door to door like a salesperson with whispers of anarchy on my lips. I checked every dumpster and alleyway for drifters that wanted a cut of the action. That afternoon, I had enough people rallied in the agreed meeting spot to come up with a plan of action.

We would climb the rooftops and hide the next time Vic's boys were takin' the night off to ambush them.

While I impatiently waited for the day to come, I made myself scarce and clean for a while so that I could keep a clear head and stay outta trouble. My ghoulism kept me from gettin' addicted to anything anyway. A beer wouldn't hurt, though. I spent most of my time in Whitechapel Charlie's presence, orderin' drink after drink, tryin' to keep my mind off the anticipation. It took some convincin' before Charlie believed that I was John McDonough. When he finally believed me, he reminded me that my tab wasn't gonna pay itself, the smug bastard.

"Heard you're starting some kind of war," said a familiar voice.

I turned and searched the bar. That girl, Abigail, was sitting across the room from me on a sofa, drinking a dark liquid from a glass.

"You heard right, sister."

"You might wanna keep it hush-hush next time. You don't want the people you're planning on ambushing to know they're being ambushed."

I chuckled. "I get where you're comin' from, but the people know the risks. None of them would dare tell one of Vic's boys, or else he'd have us all skinned alive."

She walked over to the bar with her glass and took a seat on the stool next to me. Now that she was up close, I noticed that she looked pretty roughed up.

"You look like shit."

"Look who's talkin'," she retorted.

"Fair."

"Found a job. This little farmstead needed help with Super Mutants who were raiding their farms. Took out most of them, with a considerably painful slug to the face with a nail board." She rubbed her bruised, swollen cheek. "Two got away. I didn't bother returning for my pay. I didn't finish the job." She took a gulp of her alcohol and placed the slightly chilled glass against the bruise.

"Tell you what. You help me with this little revolution, and I'll pay you."

"With what? Radroach meat?"

"Funny. No, caps. Lots of 'em. I may not have them just yet, but I will."

"I'll hold you to that."

We clinked our glasses together.

"Thanks again," she muttered.

"For?"

"Saving me in that alley. You took one hell of a beating."

"Heh. So you do know who I am."

"Again, it's one of those things that's floating around..."

"Damn. That one I only told to three people."

"You have a... distinct way of carrying yourself. It's hard to mistake you for anyone else."

"It that obvious?"

She nodded, takin' another sip. "The way you walk, talk, etcetera. You're definitely John McDonough."

"You're pretty unmistakable yourself."

"How so?"

I fished through my pocket for a cigarette. I was done with my drink and didn't plan on ordering any more. I needed a clear head. I lit a cigarette and gave Abigail one.

"I mean, you're one hell of a firecracker. There's somethin' about you. Your temper maybe? You remind me of a fire just waitin' for someone to spill the gasoline."

She snickered. "I've always had a shit temper. I guess it's a redhead thing."

I shrugged. "My temper's not the greatest. Got it from my dad, I guess. Anyway, I'm not John McDonough anymore. That piece of wasted space is dead."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I'm John Hancock now."

She stifled a laugh. "O-kay..."

"And you're my second-in-command."

"Oh, really? What perks come with this new ranking?"

"You'll see."

"Do I get a new name, too?"

That hadn't even crossed my mind. But if she wanted a new name, too, I'd come up with somethin'. I rubbed my chin. "... Fahrenheit."