Texas, 2027
David exhaled with relief as he closed the door to his house. A grueling day at the Tesla office was behind him, as was the final payment on his mortgage. The house in the Austin suburbs, with its spacious porch and view of the hills, finally belonged entirely to him. His parents had helped with the bulk of the sum, but he had paid off those last cursed twenty thousand dollars himself, cutting costs for months.
Today, it was all over.
"Freedom," he thought, tossing his keys onto the table. The evening was his. No reports, no deadlines. Just him, food, and his favorite game.
Pizza boxes, three different cakes, and a hundred-dollar bottle of bourbon—his personal gift to himself—were piled on the kitchen table. David turned on some music, filled a glass, and sat down at his computer. He hovered his cursor over Space Marine 2, then shook his head.
"I don't want to be a tin can!"
He launched Fallout: New Vegas.
The screen lit up with the familiar orange Pip-Boy interface, and he smiled. How many hours had he spent in this game? Hundreds? Thousands? Vegas, the wastes, the casinos—it was all like a second home. He selected an old save where his Courier already owned half the Mojave.
"Time to cause some chaos in the casinos," he muttered, taking a sip of bourbon.
The hours ticked by unnoticed. The pizza grew cold, the cake remained uneaten, and the bottle was half-empty. His eyes were heavy, but David stubbornly led the Courier toward another blackjack victory. Sometime after midnight, his head slumped onto the keyboard, and he drifted into sleep, surrounded by the glow of the screen.
Vault 21, 2259
A bright light stung his eyes. David tried to move, but his body wouldn't obey. He heard voices—low, calm, with a slight Southern accent.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Clark! It's a healthy baby boy!"
David blinked—or tried to. His vision was blurry, and his body was... tiny? He felt warm hands lifting him, and heard the soft laughter of a woman.
"My baby," she whispered.
David's heart hammered. This wasn't a dream. This wasn't Texas. This was...
"I'm an infant?!" the thought struck like lightning. He tried to scream, but only a weak squeak escaped his throat. Around him were white walls, metal panels, and the smell of sterility. A man in a white coat leaned over him—Doctor Mitchell, if the badge was to be believed.
David racked his memory. Doc Mitchell. Fallout: New Vegas. The start of the game. His mind reeled. This wasn't just a dream. He was in the world of the game. In Vault 21. And he had just been born.
One Year Later
"David, look here!" his father, a sturdy man with a short beard, held a playing card in front of the crib. "This is the Ace of Spades. Remember, son, in blackjack, it can be your best friend."
David, sitting in the crib, looked at the card and tried to grasp what was happening. His mind was that of an adult, but his body was that of a one-year-old. He knew he was in Vault 21, in the heart of the future New Vegas. Conversations about bets, cards, and trade with the outside world were common. The Vault was alive, noisy, and steeped in a spirit of gambling. He had already noticed the details: metal walls, neon signs repurposed for casinos. This was his new home.
Seven Years Later
"Mr. Clark, your son... is unusual," the teacher, a woman with tired eyes, scrolled through a terminal with test results. "He solved a problem regarding repairing faulty computer circuits that even our most experienced engineers couldn't handle."
David, sitting at his desk, pretended to be bored. The school in Vault 21 was small but strict. Students were prepared for life in the vault: repairs, trade, basic survival skills. But for David, it was too easy. He remembered everything: the game interface, cache locations, crafting recipes. To ensure he wouldn't forget, he had written down all the information from all the games on paper. Yesterday, he had disassembled a broken clock in class and reassembled it in five minutes. The teacher was in shock. She was even more stunned when David took apart a non-functional computer and fixed it.
"If only they knew I remember the map and the plot of the Wasteland," he thought, hiding a smile.
Tenth Birthday
The Hall of Vault 21 buzzed with voices. Residents gathered around a long table set with canned food and homemade punch. The Overseer, a tall man with graying hair, raised his hand for silence.
"Today, David Clark becomes a true member of our Vault!" he announced, handing the boy a shiny Pip-Boy. "Wear it with pride."
David, a thin boy with curious eyes, took the device. His heart beat faster. As soon as he put it on and pressed the button, the screen lit up with orange light.
Loading... 1%... 12%... 76%... 100%!
On the screen, an animation of Vault Boy gave a thumbs up. Then, time stopped. David couldn't move. He could only look around.
"Is this really..."
System Loading. 1%... 16%... 45%... 100%.
Familiar lines appeared before his eyes: Stats. Skills. Inventory.
Next, a prompt appeared to choose his appearance. David looked at himself in the editor and was quite satisfied: he was a blue-eyed blond with strong features, looking more like a typical heroic Romanov hero. Judging by his mother's looks—a golden blonde—he had inherited it from her, and his father's handsome face. He simply confirmed the choices and changed nothing.
Then, the S.P.E.C.I.A.L. stats:
* Strength: 3
* Perception: 5
* Endurance: 7
* Charisma: 9
* Intelligence: 7
* Agility: 6
* Luck: 7
This was clearly better than the start of the game, and he had 10 free points! He started thinking: there was no point in leveling Strength now—once he grew up and if he trained, he'd have at least 8 or 9 Strength, considering 10 is the human limit (heavyweight athletes can lift weights over 400 kg).
Perception and Endurance were fine. Charisma was great: the Vault was pretty boring, and the main entertainment was small talk and gambling. Intelligence was decent: smart, but not a genius. Agility was slightly better than average. Luck was also good: he usually got better cards.
After a bit of thought, he decided to improve Intelligence, as it is indispensable in a world of technology. A 3-point difference isn't just like in the game; in reality, it could be the difference between "I can't understand this theory" and "Oh, that's so simple!" Not to mention increased thought speed, reaction time, and so on. In fact, the brain can interpret visual images seen in just 13 ms, though conscious awareness takes 75 to 150 ms depending on complexity and training. For example, martial arts masters can reach the 75 ms limit, a soldier 150 ms, and an average citizen 300 ms. In reality, that's the difference between the person who draws their gun first and shoots the other, so improving the brain was critically necessary!
Then, Agility—this stems from very fast brain reaction and perception. If the body can't react in time to pull the gun and pull the trigger, a fast brain is useless in battle.
And last but not least, Lady Luck! Actually, this might be the most important stat of all in reality. Some people have no luck their whole lives: they study hard, get top grades, degrees, master's, and still can't find a high-paying job, dying in poverty. Meanwhile, someone who does nothing is born into a rich family; they might be a total junkie or alcoholic, but they have more money than they could spend in a lifetime, with a massive amount of people working for them, making them richer every day at the cost of their own health for pittance wages. Therefore, maxing out Luck was absolutely necessary!
After distributing the points, the S.P.E.C.I.A.L. stats looked like this:
* Strength: 3
* Perception: 5
* Endurance: 7
* Charisma: 9
* Intelligence: 10 (7+3)
* Agility: 10 (6+4)
* Luck: 10 (7+3)
Then the system appeared again for Traits. Surprisingly, it had everything from the game and more, though most were garbage like "you shoot 20% faster but accuracy decreases by 20%." There was no point in picking trash. Fortunately, he could now choose 4 traits instead of the original two. Maybe it was because of mods in his past life, or because he had two souls—who knows.
David chose these Traits:
* Hot Blooded: +15% damage if HP is below 50%; -2 PER and AGI if HP is below 50%.
* Early Bird: +2 to all S.P.E.C.I.A.L. stats from 6 AM to noon; -1 to all S.P.E.C.I.A.L. stats from 6 PM to 6 AM. This is a good trait. In the game, it's not that useful, but in reality, David imagined what an Intelligence of 12 would be like. If 10 is the human maximum, Intelligence 12 meant perfect memory, and that +2 bonus should unlock the ability to develop new technologies and reverse-engineer old ones.
* Logan's Loophole: x2 effect from chemicals, zero chance of addiction. Fortunately, there was no Level 30 cap here, otherwise, it would be out of the question.
* Wild Wasteland: Replaces some unique random encounters with others that are silly or contain Easter eggs. This was essential. Not very useful in the game, but in reality, he might find a crashed UFO like in Fallout 3. Who knows what that would bring? Maybe he could capture the Mothership Zeta. That would be an unimaginable achievement. In any case, it's like an upgrade to the protagonist's luck.
After confirming, time began to flow again.
Eleven Years After Birth in This World
Another year had passed since David got his Pip-Boy. Now he sat in the corner of his small workshop—a repurposed room in Vault 21. Scraps of metal, various tools, wires, and an old broken 10mm pistol he won from a guard last night lay on his workbench.
"If I can get ammo or make new ones, this will change everything," he thought. His idea was simple but brilliant: install a vending machine at the Vault entrance. Residents and rare guests from outside could buy ammo or trade it, and he would earn on the margin—25% would be enough.
The system allowed him to break down ammo into components and assemble new ones. For example, break down 10 rounds of 10mm into casings, powder, and lead, and make 8 rounds of 5.56mm, then sell or trade them for new ammo, setting the price difference with a 25% profit.
During this year, David had tested the system's capabilities and reached a final conclusion. The system wasn't just "game-like." It was as close to the Fallout 4 and New Vegas systems as possible, with small real-world differences. It didn't speak to him—it was all in an interface visible only to him. To get info on an object, he had to hover his cursor (mental aim) over the target. The law of conservation of energy applied: you couldn't scrap a wooden plate and get more wood than the plate itself.
But there were upgrades: David could craft ammo, weapons, and armor, and modify them on a workbench if he had the equipment, knowledge, and blueprints. The system allowed him to skip the tedious manual process as in the game, but only if it was physically possible. Perks were a mix of New Vegas and Fallout 4. At each level—the standard 7, plus an eighth black slot with a Vault Boy silhouette and a large question mark. This hinted that new perks could appear from life experience, knowledge, or events.
There was also a Build Mode like in Fallout 4. Thanks to this, David had equipped his workshop to a high standard. He built all the necessary workbenches himself. Luckily, the Vault has a large database containing many types of workbenches, manual machines, and even CNC machines.
First, David built manual workbenches and lathes. The funniest part was that he built a lathe capable of processing parts 2 meters long using only scrap: steel, copper, aluminum, rubber, and plastic. He did this using the system's Build Mode. After obtaining the blueprints, he learned them through the system. Then, thanks to his accumulated resources and manual tools, he actually managed to build it!
That day, David laughed like a madman. He used sets of screwdrivers, wrenches, a hammer, a sledgehammer, a chisel, scissors, an angle grinder, a drill, and a spray gun to build a lathe! In reality, this is almost impossible, but by the system's logic, steel plates for the outer casing can be bent by hand with a hammer, electric motors can be assembled from metal, cutting can be done with an angle grinder, and holes can be drilled. As for the parts requiring lathe work... well, theoretically you can cut and grind metal with an angle grinder, though hitting the required tolerances is incredibly hard—but theoretically possible!
This simplified the workshop equipment issue immensely, so David spent the next six months pretending to be busy all day in the workshop, though he was mostly just slacking off and remembering the game's plot, locations, and useful items/quests in detail. He also recalled useful knowledge from his past life, like various scientific research, to write it down—it might not be useful now, but who knows. He also practiced throwing knives and training grenades.
Toward the end of that six-month period, David started constantly bragging and calling himself a genius! He claimed he could build a tank, a rocket, and robots if he had enough materials and tools. Initially, everyone took it as empty boasting, but over time it started to annoy everyone. They'd say things like, "Well, where's your tank? Not finished yet? We'll see." David would just give an arrogant huff.
Finally, when the tension peaked, David decided to reveal his workshop. He gathered everyone he could in the Vault and said:
"I know you've been annoyed by me lately, but I don't care! I am a genius! And it's better to show you the difference between a genius and ordinary people once than to say 'I'm a genius' a hundred times! Follow me to my workshop; see what I've been building for the last 6 months!"
When David opened the door and they saw the various machines inside, everyone was shocked to see a large lathe and a milling machine. Everyone knew David had spent the last half-year in his workshop and hadn't let anyone in, constantly buying tools and materials, but they never imagined he could build a lathe and milling machine by hand! This wasn't a tank or a robot, but most of their parts could be made on these machines!
After that day, everyone began to truly respect David. He started working on his machines, producing parts for the Vault's needs. Eventually, visitors found out, and his fame spread across the city: it's not every day a ten-year-old boy builds lathes from scrap and produces parts to order. Money followed the orders. David also mastered other equipment: for melting metal, hardening, forging, and electroplating, making his workshop truly famous.
Year 2270
Six months had passed since David officially opened his workshop and started taking orders. Now he sat in the corner of his workshop. On the workbench were metal scraps, tools, wires, and that old broken 10mm pistol.
"If I can get ammo or make new ones, this will change everything," he thought.
His idea was simple but brilliant: install a vending machine at the Vault entrance. Residents and guests could buy or trade ammo, and he'd take his 25% cut. The system allowed him to scrap ammo for parts and build new ones.
He had already made a deal with the guard who helped haul an old Nuka-Cola machine from the city. Tomorrow, David would start reprogramming and modifying it. If it worked, he'd be the richest kid in Vault 21.
The Next Day
David closed the machine's lid, wiped the sweat from his brow, and looked at his new ammo purchase and conversion unit. He had just finished the mechanical part—the machine was much wider and thicker now, with a bulky body made of steel sheets. The screen blinked, showing a list of available ammo. He calculated the prices for all known ammo types and set them at a 25% profit margin. In reality, this was a high markup since one could buy casings and powder from traders and assemble them for less. But the trick was in the caliber exchange: the 25% material difference in conversion was pure profit!
Moreover, the machine had anti-fraud systems: empty rounds without powder didn't count; rounds filled with sand were caught by an internal X-ray; additional sensors and cameras flagged rusty, bent, or defective rounds—the price for those dropped immediately.
But the trick was that even if he bought bent ammo at a 50% discount, after scrapping them, he could reassemble them as brand new!
David started to snicker.
"It pays to be born in Vault 21!"
He hung a poster: "Ammo of any caliber! Trade and Sale!"
The first customer was the grumpy guard, Tony.
"Is this your contraption, kid?" he grunted, scratching his stubble. "You selling ammo?"
"Selling and trading," David replied confidently. "Want to trade your 10mm for something bigger? Or buy a couple of .308s for a rifle?"
Tony huffed, pulled out a handful of rounds, and tossed them into the intake tray. The screen blinked:
"Detected: 20 rounds of 10mm. Condition: 3 defective. Suggested trade: 13 rounds of 5.56mm or 18 caps."
Tony whistled.
"A bit pricey, kid. But fine, give me the 5.56. I need 'em for my carbine."
David nodded, hiding a smile. The machine whirred, dispensing the ammo. Tony took them and left. David was ecstatic! Such a pleasant feeling of deception... no, trade! He could already see those extra materials turning into new rounds or workshop parts.
By midnight, several more people had visited the machine. Two wasteland traders exchanged old, slightly rusty rounds and bent .308s for new 10mms, unaware that their "trash" was pure profit for David. One resident, an old man nicknamed Flops, tried to pass off rounds filled with sand. The X-ray scanner flagged it, and Flops left grumbling.
David leaned against the wall, looking at the machine. His eyes burned. Vault 21 was the perfect starting point. Here, in the heart of gambling Vegas, people valued money, ammo, and luck. And he was going to take it all.
One Week Later
Business was booming. David had already earned over 10,000 caps and over 30,000 NCR dollars! This record profit was largely due to rumors of a "bug" in the machine: you could trade even severely bent, unrepairable, or ancient rusty ammo for brand-new shiny rounds at a 30–50% discount. Essentially, people were trading junk for fresh ammo!
Many rushed to trade their stockpiles. Even NCR soldiers came with crates of defective rounds. This super-profit would likely only last a month until the old stockpiles ran out. David could relax and count his earnings. In his system inventory, he already had materials for over 20,000 rounds of 5.56mm—the most popular caliber thanks to the NCR. Selling them at market price would yield about 20,000 caps!
Three Months Later
David sat in his workshop, staring in disbelief at his inventory numbers! Over 50,000 caps and over 120,000 NCR dollars! Most importantly, he had installed 5 new machines: two for standard ammo and three for specialty rounds (armor-piercing, explosive, etc.).
Business was better than he'd imagined, mostly thanks to NCR traders. David had underestimated their old stockpiles—they likely had millions of rounds! They had already dumped over 200,000 old rounds into his machines. David now had an additional 100,000 rounds of 5.56mm in his inventory.
Aside from the machines, David made deals with various traders visiting the casino. He bought materials: over a ton of powder, 4 tons of lead, 2 tons of copper, 5 tons of aluminum, and over 10 tons of various scrap steel. In fact, brass casings could be made from the aluminum and copper.
David also started making cheaper rounds with steel casings and steel bullets. He called them "Steel Rounds": a lacquered case with a blued bullet. They were about 40% cheaper than brass-cased equivalents. While their cost was slightly higher than standard 5.56mm, their price sat between standard and armor-piercing. Their penetration was better than standard but lower than dedicated AP. Since materials were cheaper than standard, it was pure profit!
David was already planning how to protect his wealth. Hiring mercenaries was stupid—they'd just rob him. Robots, however, wouldn't. He just needed to get some. He drew a large poster stating he was buying robots in any condition and their parts, as well as rare weapons, armor, tech, and broken equipment. Curiosities and strange items were welcome. Prices were negotiable. He hung the poster by the vending machines and set up a small counter.
A thin man in a tattered leather jacket named Rick approached.
"Heard you're buying anything now, kid," he said, tossing a rusty Protectron arm onto the counter. "Will this work?"
David hovered his cursor over the arm. A prompt appeared: "Protectron Arm, condition: 30%. Requires repair: servomotors, wiring." He knew he could fix it in an hour manually or via the system and use it for his future Sentry Bot project.
"I'll give you 50 caps," David said, acting indifferent.
Rick frowned.
"Fifty? This thing is worth at least a hundred! I lugged it across half the Mojave!"
"Condition's terrible," David replied calmly. "But fine, 75 caps and I'll take it. Got anything else?"
Rick dug into his pack and pulled out an old, dusty laser pistol. He got 100 caps for it. David added the items to his inventory, calculating that after repairs, the pistol could be sold for 500 caps or used to arm a robot.
The second client was unusual—a group of three mercenaries: two men and a red-haired woman. They wore leather armor, while their leader had combat armor. They laid out laser rifles, a plasma rifle, electronics, and—most importantly—an entire Mr. Gutsy riddled with bullet holes!
"How much for this?" the leader asked.
David estimated the haul was worth about 6,000 caps. The weapons were in poor shape, and the Mr. Gutsy... that was hard to value.
"These are hard to sell and buy—hardly anyone knows how to fix them. I can offer 6,000 caps for the lot," David said. "If I can't fix the Gutsy, well, that's my loss."