You know, i'm RPing a bit. It is a lifeless rusty husk at my base right now.
I roam the wasteland for parts. I got motor parts from a oil bath in Glow. Tires i got from a den full of floaters. Sierra Base didn't wanted to give me a fitting fuel cell controller, i took it anyway. In Ares, i salvaged a cab and dragged it with a brahmin cart through deathclaw-infested wasteland. I shot everything that wanted my cab! Fuck you deathclaw, you won't get my cab i said!
What i have now i a pile of parts, that almost fit together. This epic quest will get me a running vehicle, in the end. I start it, but it chokes. I swear and wind the irradiated motor up, my hands burn from the fatique and radiation, nothing that booze and radaway can't fix. And i try to start it again, century-old parts howl and wail in protest, the harsh sun heat up the block. In the end, when the whine begin to change into stuttering, i can't contain myself, i start to scream, to encourage and curse the machine, when the engine spits billows of smoke and the stuttering becomes a unsteady rhythm of ignitions.
Then it's over.
Tired, i wipe away the sweat from my forehead. It's all for the naught again. It became too hot, the parts have been stuck. I must search for another parts. To assemble it again. To hope that it runs. I fling angrily the cigarette in the sand. Must sleep.
The truck will wait for me.
Again.
