Each discovery of a new location would be paired with a twinge of buyer’s remorse as I eyed up the potential building plots. I had a pretty good go at emptying out Concord, too. Red Rocket Gas Station was the first to fall, of course, and then the Starlight Drive-in. It became a looming testament to my workshop addiction As Ben Town grew (I named it early on and it just kind of stuck), the stockpiles of scrap in other parts of the world dwindled. If it weren’t for this unquenchable thirst for expansion I might never have stepped beyond the borders of my little homestead. Soon enough, the local resources ran dry and I became a sort of one-man ant army, establishing new routes out into the wastelands, stripping the surroundings bare in order to fuel my spiralling architectural ambitions. Once the wall was completed, I set about creating viewing platforms, defensive emplacements, and comfortable(ish) bedrooms.
Of course, so early on in the game, no real threats ever presented themselves, but the thrill was still there nonetheless. Sometimes, at night, I would go and stand in one of these ruins and drink in the sense of danger at being outside of my defensive line, thinking about all the good times I’d spent with Shane and Laura. I sealed off half the island, blocking invasion from the river or woods, but leaving a few ruins outside of the boundary – like feet poking out from under a cosy duvet. And, as with many misguided leadership bids, mine started with the promise of a wall. Questions like: ‘what if I could electrify my base and then decorate it with Christmas tree lights?’Īs powerful as my ties were to Shawn and Norma, the potential for decorative illumination and an unopposed mayoral appointment understandably took precedence over any curiosity I had regarding their fates. And was absolutely kind of mourning Nora, the recently murdered spouse I had spent five minutes of wedded bliss with during the game’s preamble.
Sure, the awkward, towering conglomerate of wood and corrugated metal I constructed was nowhere near as cosy as the House of Tomorrow which once stood on the same location – the building that served as my pre-apocalypse domicile – but it was the closest thing I had to a home.ĭon’t get me wrong: I was relatively concerned about the wellbeing of my kidnapped son, Shaun. After all, how could I when there was still so much work to be done rebuilding Sanctuary Hills? And be aware that it wasn’t my fault that I didn’t. Know also that I really tried to finish Fallout 4 (sort of).
Before you get all uppity about that, and gather to organise my lynching, know that I did finish Fallout 3. Look, I’ll admit it: I never finished Fallout 4.
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