Hey everyone! Joe here with my take on the new Bethesda android game, Fallout Shelter. To start with, Fallout Shelter is an offshoot of the Fallout series, and a clone (based on the room design) of Sim Tower. In Fallout Shelter you play as the “Overseer” of an underground vault just after the nukes hit. You must manage resources, send adventurers into the wastes, and defend against raiders, all while keeping up morale in your customizeable utopia. So let’s begin!
Right away I discovered that raiders are a constant problem in this game. And since the vault door can only hold them at bay for a few seconds, I was forced to post guards armed with pistols just behind the portal. Unfortunately the game only allows for two guards, who were swiftly killed and eaten.
Lucky for me Fallout Shelter takes mercy on the weak and weepy, and so gifted me with a special item, courtesy of the bonus-box I received for completing menial tasks. So what did Fallout grant me, to aid me in my fight against the unflinching vagabonds of death trying to penetrate the soft underbelly of my vault? Power armor? Energy weapons? Feral dogs?
FS chose to bestow upon my dwellers the gift of prayer– to throw back the raider’s insatiable hunger and rusty swords, in the form of a pope uniform.
Behold, Pope Henry, the first of his name!
As the upper portion of my vault descended into madness, and the walls began to resemble an iron canvas of raspberry smears due to the constant ravages of the barbarian scum, Pope Henry kept the faithful safe below. There they toiled and prayed in the warm embrace of the lower reactor, far from the screams of those Henry cast out. Men and women unwilling to kneel before His Might were banished to the vulnerable upper tiers, where warehouse workers donned gimp masks, chatting as they scanned boxes, waiting for the teeth of the wastes to gnash at their bones.
Soon the upper floors were awash in blood and sin. Sanity drew as thin as thread, and bodies piled up around the doorstep– a grim warning to all who might venture toward the light. If bulkheads could speak their voices would chant like the damned of the river Styx; This vault is unclean, and only the faithful may be spared. Those above must bear the weight of the wastes.
For weeks the schism remained. Those wielding power hunkered by their generator, and those without were preyed upon daily. But all changed when a lone wanderer arrived from the wastes. Carlos, the holiest man to ever slap iron, reached a powder-blackened hand to those huddled masses, shivering in their tattered crimson uniforms, performing the toils of the unwanted.
With a twinkle in his eye and a mustache stained with blood, Carlos sent the raiders back to the deathclaws and claimed the upper vault as his own. He brought weapons and armor back from the wastes to his brothers and sisters, and a cafeteria was built behind the vault door, large enough to accommodate more than the token sacrifice that had been set to “guard” the vault before.
Together they were fearsome. Together, through Carlos, they were legion.
To this day, any man with violence in his heart who enters the art-deco eatery is met by Carlos and his Escuadron de la Muerte. By day they sip coffee and lovingly wrap meatloaf sandwiches for the rest of the vault. But by night they sup on the inglorious dead, grinding their viscera to feed the lower vault, and the cowards who embraced the reactor and its false idol.
Also Pope Henry died. Because fuck that guy.