FO4 | Book 0: The Diaries of Anarchy ✔️

March 15, 2284

My newfound companion and I trekked over the debris of the ruins near Goodneighbor and kept an eye out for more Super Mutant scum. We were already blood-splattered and tired from clearing out one building. He was a hulking ex-Minuteman who went by the name of Terry "the Terror" Nelson that found himself in our little community not long after he broke ranks.

Before makin' it out here, I took the time to plan a speech for the town that I delivered on the balcony about the mutant problem we faced, and I even mentioned the raid they managed to pull on us nearly two years ago now. After the speech, when I asked if anyone of our fighters or volunteers would make a stand with me, Ol' Terry here was just about the only person that wasn't scared enough to help me weed them out. The plan was to clear out a few old buildings and loosen their hold on this side of the Commonwealth. There were too many good people dyin' out here tryin' to make it to Goodneighbor.

Fahrenheit begrudgingly stayed behind to watch Goodneighbor for me while I headed out with Terry, shotgun in hand, to protect the People.

"Why do they call you 'the Terror?'" I asked as we climbed over a broken Corvega and into the entrance of a towerin' building.

"I earned the name 'Terry the Terror' when I alone defended a settlement from a gang of eight raiders, wearing only metal armor and a combat helmet to protect me, and armed with two power fists." He had a slight accent that I couldn't quite place.

"Damn. Were you stationed out there alone?"

He shook his head. "No. There were two others in the group stationed at the settlement at the time. They were new and ran at the first sign of danger. I never saw them again. The battle with the raiders nearly killed me, but I survived, earning a new nickname and rank. I became a lieutenant shortly after my wounds healed and was sent back to the Castle, our base on the coast."

We crept up the makeshift ramp that replaced the broken stairs to the next floor after searching the lobby.

"You musta been proud."

"I wasn't. The Minutemen are slowly falling apart. There are fewer and fewer people in the Commonwealth willing to fight for their homes, and the General and Lieutenants bicker amongst each other and disagree on how things are going. I was tired of it. I broke ranks and left."

"There're no repercussions to just turnin' tail like that and never coming back?"

"Not really. We're a volunteer group. You can quit anytime. If you can live with the guilt or the disgrace, you're free to go. The only thing holding you within the ranks of the Minutemen is your willingness to continue."

"Always thought they were a noble cause."

We searched the rooms on the second floor and looked for loot while we were at it, but everything had been picked clean. It was quiet as a mouse, too.

"There's no one here," I concluded. "It's gettin' late, and we've already killed about twenty. Wanna head back to the Third Rail with me for some drinks?"

"I'd like that. I'll be heading out in the morning."

"Where to?" I asked as we made our way back down the ramp.

"I plan on traveling south, to Mexico. My grandparents were from there, and my parents immigrated to the Americas when I was still an infant. How they made the trip with an infant, I'll never know. I want to go back to the place of my birth and learn more about my heritage, prewar and postwar."

"I hope the trip goes well for you, brother. You've got quite a ways to travel."

"Have you ever been to Mexico?"

"Nah, but I've read a bit about it — a very limited bit, mind you. A lot of the books I used to read had maps in 'em. I'd never be able to go now, even if I wanted to. I'm in charge of Goodneighbor now, and probably will be for the rest of my ghoulish days."

"Ghouls tend to live very long lives, yes?"

"Yeah. No tellin' when I'll die. Hopefully not in my bed 'cause that's no way to go."

____________________

After makin' it back to Goodneighbor, we went straight to the bar and ordered a few drinks. We picked a seat at one of the tables to ourselves and started talkin' again.

"Forgive me for askin' so many questions. I'm a curious person who loves to figure out the why and how."

"It doesn't bother me." He drank down some of the bourbon he ordered.

"I just gotta ask — what's the point in the Minutemen? Do they make a difference?"

"Mayor Hancock, what you ask isn't a question that has a simple answer. I've been tasked with some of the simplest jobs, such as helping a woman with the daunting task of harvesting a field of razorgrain after her husband was killed and she no longer had that helping hand, or finding a wheelchair in good condition for an elderly man who could no longer walk. Other tasks, though, were a lot harder, like clearing out a group of raiders that had holed up in a building nearby who thought they could get away with taking advantage of farmhands who work hard to survive. After every job, though, you can see it on their faces. The gratitude. You wouldn't know that being a Minuteman makes a difference unless you were a part of it. Lately, though, all the Minutemen want to do is share a difference of opinion." He sighed.

"I hate to hear it. I truly do. The Minutemen used to be a force to be reckoned with."

"We've been around since shortly after the Bombs. Even defended Diamond City from a huge attack over a hundred years ago, or so I've heard."

"Is there anyone in the Minutemen that you look up to? Or anyone that you'll miss workin' with?"

"There were two people I would miss, actually. Ezra Hollis and Preston Garvey. Ezra is a wonderful lieutenant. And Preston is probably the most starry-eyed member of the Minutemen that I've seen in years. Ezra saw it, too. After his training, he was placed in Ezra's group almost immediately."

"Hey, I know him. So Preston joined the Minutemen, huh?"

"Yeah. Where do you know him from?"

"Diamond City. Watched the kid grow up, pretty much. Was never very talkative, but he seemed like a nice kid. His parents were a little overprotective but good people."

"Preston joined us at about seventeen years old. He wasn't the youngest recruit we've ever had, but he was still young. He put his whole heart into everything he did. Never questioned orders unless he thought it absolutely necessary."

"How old's the kid now?"

"Oh, I'd say... almost nineteen now?"

"Sounds about right. Why'd he join so young?"

"From what I understand, after he and his family left Diamond City, they settled into a small settlement near the coast. His parents perished in a Mirelurk attack. When Preston discovered the Minutemen and the good they could do for the Commonwealth, they became his biggest inspiration — and the only thing giving him purpose."

"Heh. I know the feelin'."

We sat for a while longer, drinkin' and talkin', until we finished the glasses in front of us. Terry stood up, stretched, and adjusted his clothes.

"Well, I believe it's time I get a room at the hotel. I'm going to have an early start tomorrow. It was a pleasure spending the day with you, Mayor Hancock."

"A pleasure to you, too. Pretty insightful conversation we were havin'. I appreciate a fresh perspective. Good luck gettin' to Mexico, and if you ever find yourself in Goodneighbor again, look me up. We'll have another round."

We shook hands, and that was the last time I ever saw Terry "the Terror" Nelson.