More funks than you can funking handle. Mother funker.

An insight into the mind of a misanthropic gamer.

Monday, 17 August 2009

The Diary of Nicola Marié Evans - August 22nd 2277

August 22nd, 2277:

Dear Diary:

My stomach wound finally healed up. It's still a little sore, but Doc. Church has put me on med-x to numb the pain. It makes me feel a little nauseous, but that's better than me feeling a lot of pain, right? Anyway, enough about me and my poor tolerance to pain.

Mr. Simm's took my shooting today, and even gave me my own rifle. (Between you and me, it's a crappy rifle. I mean, it's being held together by duct tape). It's a standard bolt action rifle, chambered for 23. caliber or something. I don't really care about that. I wasn't very good at first, but eventually I managed to hit a few of the targets. Mr. Simm's tells me I'll get better with time.

I also met a nice lady called Moira Brown. She run's a shop called 'Craterside supply', near the old atomic bomb in the town centre. She taught me a few skills as a little 'welcome gift'. She gave me some pointers on repairing my rifle and also taught me a little about explosives. Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking. 'I'm only gonna blow myself up'. I just think setting up some mines and having some grenades handy would come in useful.

Anyway, that's all for today. I have to go help a guy called Walter with the water purification system. Should be real fun. Buh-bye.

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