I found myself on an isolated, dilapidated, barren island. Its terrain blanketed in dead grass and withering trees; its outskirts littered with eggs and wrecked ships, some with crates onboard. This placed appeared uninhabited for a while, but I’m not sure exactly how long. After quietly surveying the land with my dog by my side and a rifle in my hand, I discovered a rusted trailer; in it, a note lying on a desk–it said something about a signal for a radio tower and to follow some wires. I don’t really remember what it said, but that was the most important thing I gleaned from it.
So, I did as the note said.
The wires led me to this beached-whale-of-a-wrecked-ship on the southern part of the island. Wooden boards bridged the gap between land and ship. I cautiously crept inside and laid my eyes on a power generator.
I thought to myself, “well, this seems to be it.” I open the circuit breaker’s lid and flipped the switch. Little did I know what I was in for.
I recall that note in the tower mentioning that I’d know if the generator worked. It became apparent moments later, shortly after I felt the rumblings of the ground, saw the ripples in the water, and heard this shrill noise. Then, it happened…
Violently exploding from the waters were mirelurks. Everywhere. I’m talking a mirelurk queen, hunter, some eerily irradiated mirelurk, and numerous hatchlings.
Overwhelmed with trepidation, I darted to the ship’s superstructure, hoping to find some cover. As I frantically examined the room, I saw this tiny, droll statue: a vault dweller who had the luck of the Irish. I wanted to laugh, but the situation was too dire, I thought. Nevertheless, I found myself chortling because moments later I saw a FatMan laying on the floor. It seemed like I, too, caught some of that Irish luck.
Unluckily, I only had one mini nuke…