![]() I’ve just been let out of Vault 76, a fallout shelter meant to house the best and the brightest, situated in rural West Virginia. The year is 2102, and it’s 25 years after a devastating nuclear war. I’m in Bethesda Game Studio’s Fallout 76, a survival game that marks the venerable franchise’s first move into multiplayer, online world-building. This Flatwoods is populated only by other survivors, malfunctioning robots, and zombie-esque creatures we call “the Scorched.” Now, the mall is gone, as are most of the gas stations and all of the people. Before they built the outlet mall, the only reason people stopped was to gas up on their way to somewhere else it’s always been that sort of town. The last time I was here, it was to buy one-dollar seconds at the Fiestaware outlet and old-fashioned candies at the faux-Amish bulk-foods store on the outskirts of town. I crouch low, trying to stay hidden, and crab-walk through the rubble around the main street. I’ve already died once, and although I’ve found a gun, I am a lousy shot. ![]() I can hear weapons fire in the distance, and footsteps, both of which make me wary, but the message that was left for me outside the fallout shelter said to head here to get help, and I sure could use some help. Late on my first day out of the fallout shelter, I wander into Flatwoods, West Virginia. The author’s avatar outside Flatwoods, West Virginia, Fallout 76.
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