The following is taken from the journal found with the body of an unknown man discovered in the Mojave Wasteland. The journal was found in 2281 by scavengers, amongst hundreds of shell casings and dozens of Radscorpion corpses. A sole holodisk accompanied the journal.

Day One, Vault 28 Entrance
Hey, journal, Craig here. I'm not doing so hot right now. The Vault's water chip was stolen, and me and Carl ended up taking the blame for it. I'm not too bitter about it, we were the ones who took it. Me and Carl were tripping pretty good off some stuff he got from a friend of a friend and we both thought it'd be a rad idea to try putting the chip in one of Carl's bongs. Turns out Carl isn't as delicate with his hands as he let me believe, and we kind of both destroyed the chip. And by 'we', I mean Carl. All of it was Carl. I never even seen that dope before. Anyway, we don't need the Vault. Carl's got my back, and I've got his. At least the assholes who kicked us out gave us some water. We'll make for the next town at sunrise, and start new and exciting lives there.

Day Two, Vault 28 Entrance
Well, Carl's dead. Mutant scorpion grabbed him from out of nowhere and torn him to pieces. Luckily for me, I spotted the signs of danger (giant eggs, tracks, things of that nature) and told him to walk in front of me where it was safer. Well, safer for me. Didn't end up being too safe for Carl. I doubled back to the Vault entrance while it was busy with Carl and climbed up on some big rocks. I think I lost the scorpion, but I won't press Carl's and my luck. Because that's how it works, right? I gained Carl's luck when he died? I'm not sure, I'll be sure to ask a gypsy or something when I get into a town. For now, I'll just try to use my sole bottle of water as a pillow for the night.

Day Two, Vault 28 Entrance (Scribbled Messily)
Water bottle busted open during night. Too dark and scorpiony to try drinking the water from the sand. Fuck.

Day Three, Route 95, Near El Dorado Dry Lake
At dawn, I headed east into the desert. At least I think it was east. Might have been west. Or south. Nope, it was definitely east. Or north. Maybe west. Anyway, with my 'in your face' attitude and superior navigational skills, I figure I'll be just fine finding my way to town. I'm resting at a highway billboard at the moment. The ad looks like it's for Sunset Sarsaparilla, apparently the most popular beverage in the west. See? I fucking knew I was heading west, as was my plan all along.

Day Four, Freeside North Gate
Yep, I finally made it north as planned. I had to trade my shoes for some water with a merchant I bumped into back in the middle of nowhere. Not a wise investment, as it turned out, since my feet are now bleeding and raw. I wrapped them in some newspaper as soon as I got into town. I'll just walk a little further to the hotels, get a nice bed, and get back on my feet in the morning. See what I did there? 'Back on my feet'? Get it? It's funny because I'm bleeding. Come to think of it, I probably lost a lot of blood. I'm so very dizzy.

Day Five, The Atomic Wrangler
I ended up sleeping in the streets last night, since that cocksucking robot at the Strip gate refused to let me enter. "Oh, I'm Robo-Fucker, you can't come in here, you don't have any money and your shoes are made of blood-soaked newspaper!" Fuck you, buddy, you're made of blood-soaked newspapers. I totally would have said that to his face, straightened his shit right out, but it was getting late. So I wandered the streets a little, before blacking out from blood loss. Luckily, I happened to be off the sidewalk when I lost consciousness, attempting to arrange a pile of small rocks to spell my name.

So I woke up the next morning. The blood caking my newspaper shoes had finally dried completely, stopping further bleeding. I made my way back to the Strip gate. Robo-Nutsack was still there. I'll have to find a way around him. I found this small, crappy little hotel, the Atomic Wrangler. I managed to make up enough money to rent a room by going through the one-armed bandit change slots. Not surprisingly, that took the better part of the day. I rented myself a room for the night, while I come up with a plan to get into the Strip. Once I'm in the Strip, I'll be out of this shithole. A zombie's doing stand-up, and the only hookers here are a Hispanic man, a robot, and a zombie cowgirl. Fuck this place. I'm going to try sleeping with my eyes open tonight.

Day Six, The Ultra-Luxe
Woke up with strained eyes, but I outsmarted Robo-Bastard today. The idea was so perfect in its simplicity. I started knocking on the doors of the other hotel rooms at the Wrangler. A few of them were silent, but someone finally answered through the door. I took advantage of the fact that buddy was now standing right in front of the the door. I swung the door open, knocking out the guy on the other side. He looked rich. I punched him in his face while he was down a couple times to be sure he wouldn't get up anytime soon. I went through his pockets, and took his money. I then took off his clothes, a rather cool looking gambler's suit. I tried fitting my newspaper bandages into his shoes, but that didn't work, so I left my bloody wrappings on his face. You know, for kicks. I considered ripping some of his hair to make a mustache for myself for a more effective disguise, but that shit was hard, so I quit. So, with my disguise and money, I approached Robo-Shithead. He preformed a quick credit check and let me through the gates. Stupid bastard.

I checked myself into the Ultra-Luxe, since I could afford it. Well, going by the ID in my new wallet, Henry Jamison of room five could afford it. Well, technically, he can't afford it anymore. Anyway, right now I'm surrounded by food a million times better than that Vault crap, booze that I didn't have to squeeze from a potato, and after fix days of sleeping on rocks, a luxury bed. Yep, I think I'm going to like it here. I'm going to get some decent shut eye for the first time in a week.

Day Seven, The Ultra-Luxe
And the delicious food is apparently made of goddamn people. I'm going to have a few words with the head of this demented and sick establishment, but that will have to wait until tomorrow. I bet this kid at the pool that I could hold my breath longer than him, and I will not be made a fool of.

Day Eight, Middle Of Nowhere
Good news and bad news. Good news is I beat that little fucker down at the pool. Turns out hitting him hard enough in the gut will force him up for air. Bad news is that I saw the head of the hotel today. I asked him bluntly if the food was made of people. He admitted it. I stabbed him. I don't know why, but I stabbed him with his pen. I just kept stabbing and slashing and stabbing until he stopped struggling! What was I supposed to do? He tricked me into eating another human being! I couldn't just let that go! Wait, actually, I don't think I've eaten anything here. Hard to believe, actually, it's been like, what, eight days since I've eaten? Probably should have had something to eat. Not here, I mean. What did I have here, though? Oh, right, I had a couple of glasses of water. Oh God, I drank the water. I probably drank someone's pee. That's probably not good.

Anyway, after stabbing the cannibal's leader, I calmly made my way for the exit with my pen. I almost made it to the door when someone behind me spoke. Looking back on the whole thing, I don't think I really checked to make sure it was one of the cannibals. I just sort of stabbed backwards and sprinted out of the hotel. I ran out of the Strip, and out of Freeside. I had to be sure the cannibals weren't still on my ass. I pretty much walked into the desert all day. I'm more or less lost, in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere, with no food, no weapons other than my cannibal shanker, and I'm almost certain my foot wounds have opened up again. I'll try to get some sleep, and pray nothing eats me in my sleep.

Day Nine, Middle Of Nowhere (Somewhat Messy)
Wandered some more. So very hungry and thirsty. Tried drinking something I found half-buried in the sand. Ended up being a battery.

Day Ten, Middle Of Nowhere (Scrawled Very Messily)
Walking in circles. Vultures above waiting for me to die already. Going to keep pushing on tomorrow.

Day Eleven, Middle Of Nowhere (Almost Completely Illegible)
Giving up. No hope. Fuck you, desert. Fuck you.

Day Twelve, Otto's Shack
I thought I was finished out there. I had been wandering for days, without water. Otto found me, God bless him. He's a scavenger from far west, found me half dead in the sand. Says the vultures managed to eat a small portion of my hand. I don't think it's that noticeable. Hardly any skin gone. Still a little weak, but Otto's getting some water into me.

Day Thirteen, Otto's Shack
Me and Otto have been talking. We've decided to stick together for a little bit, watch the other guy's back out there. We're heading to the mountains to scavenge a hunting lodge Otto heard about. Stopping by some weapons dealers first, then it's off to the mountains with my new pal Otto! Things are finally looking up!

The Holodisk
"Otto's journal, entry 29. Me and Craig are [DISTANT GUNSHOT] in a bit of a sticky situation right now. We're... shit, hold on... [CLOSE GUNSHOT]. Like I was saying, we're both pinned down up in [DISTANT GUNSHOT] the mountains by a whole hoard of them Radscorpions. Craig's taking the other side of [DISTANT GUNSHOT] the ridge now, and we're trying to hold them off now. I think we can, whoa, shit! [SEVERAL CLOSE GUNSHOTS] Oh, they're getting close now! If I don't make it [INAUDIBLE DISTANT SHOUTING] off this mountain, tell my wife Leah I love her. [FOOTSTEPS CLOSING IN].

Craig, I'm empty! Toss me your rifle! [INAUDIBLE DISTANT TALKING.] Yeah, alright. You head down the path first, I'll follow! Just remember to cover me, alright? [NERVOUS LAUGHTER] Okay, go! Now, while it's clear! [DISTANT GUNSHOTS, INAUDIBLE SHOUTING] Alright, he's at the bottom! He made it! [INAUDIBLE DISTANT SHOUTING, LAUGHTER] Wait, why's he still running? He still has to cover my way down! Shit, they're coming! [CLOSE METALLIC CLICK] Alright, Craig, let's see what your rifle can do! [CLOSE GUNSHOT] Blanks? Blanks? Oh no. [CLOSE INSECT SQUEALING, SOUNDS OF PROLONGED STRUGGLE, SCREAMING. RECORDING STOPS.]