A heartfelt apology to all the NPCs I murdered in Fallout

A strange thing happened while watching the Fallout TV show: I felt empathy for the countless NPCs I’d murdered over the years. What follows is a confession and an apology.

My first Fallout game was Fallout 3, and I remember wandering out of Vault 101, bleary-eyed but excited. The world, or what was left of it, was my oyster, and I was going to leave my mark on The Wasteland, taking down raiders and bad guys as I hunted down my deadbeat dad. 

Following the handy dandy signs, I quickly stumbled across the prosperous town of Megaton. I’d seen enough Star Wars to know the local bar would offer clues to Dad’s whereabouts, so I swallowed back my fear and made my way in, where I was immediately confronted by Lucas Simms, the local sheriff. 

Dressed in a cowboy hat and duster, he looked cooler than a winter in Antarctica, and I felt wholly inadequate next to him. Here I was in my bright blue Vault suit, gripping my puny 10mm pistol, not knowing one end of a Brahmin from another. Simms couldn’t have known it as he waffled on about keeping the peace and other nonsense, but something had changed in me. 

I didn’t want to set the world on fire….

Bethesda

I wanted his hat and coat, which would give me an aura of competency, and I was willing to do whatever it took to get them. What followed was a litany of crimes — I broke into the armory, agreed to blow up Megaton, and snuck into Simms’ house at night and shot him in the head — but I got what I wanted. Simms was gone, and I had a neat coat. As I watched Megaton turn to atoms from the safety of Tenpenny Towers, I knew there was no turning back. Being bad felt good, and (with the power of savescumming) no one could stop me.

Tearing through the Capital Wasteland like a Tornado in a cowboy hat, I did whatever I wanted, murdering (and sometimes eating) anyone who got in my way. It was fun, and I enjoyed it. So, the pattern repeated itself in Fallout: New Vegas and Fallout 4. I was a murderous scumbag who lived a hedonistic life terrorizing the citizens of the Wasteland and stealing their clothes.

It sounds odd when I write it out… I was like some Garment Grim Reaper. I quite like that. No. I’m sorry. It’s definitely not really fun to be bad in these games. Focus.

Anyway, honestly, I’ve never felt any guilt over the countless digital lives I ended. They were just ones and zeroes; they didn’t matter. But while watching the brilliant Fallout TV show (read our full Fallout review here), something strange happened. Seeing the people of the Wasteland seeking out such meager existences in the irradiated dust of civilization, I began to muse on my rampages, and god help me I actually felt bad.

Am I the bad guy?

Bethesda

It’s strange, isn’t it, how art can unexpectedly evoke empathy from its audience? Until I saw live-action Wastelanders, I’d only ever seen them as digital mannequins for outfits I wanted, but now they were flesh and blood. Real, for lack of a better word, and the guilt set in. 

Who was I to snuff out Lucas Simms’ existence, real or not? He had a kid (who I guess I also killed when I blew up Megaton; sorry for that as well, I guess) and a life in Megaton walking his preprogrammed route. I took all that from him and countless others, most of whom I don’t remember anymore. 

So this is an apology to those countless dead NPCs I shot in the head, the shop workers I robbed, and the multiple corpses I greedily devoured (if it’s any consolation, the speed at which my character ate you suggests you were delicious). I didn’t see you as real until now, but the next time I load up Fallout, you can bet your last cap you’ll have no trouble from me… unless you’re Caesar, I have no regrets about turning your head to jam, and I’ll do it again! 

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