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Home (A New Vegas Fiction)


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“Home”, the word buzzed around Morgan's head like an obsessed bloatfly, refusing to leave him alone.



“Home”, how do you define that, how do you even know what is home any more?

Morgan had been wandering for so long now that it all just felt like renting a bed at any old inn no matter if that was the case or he actually put effort into setting something proper up, reinforcing walls, boarding up windows as needed. Like where he is now, an old, small, farmhouse he had spent some time getting furniture into to make it a bit more livable, even found a workbench so he could make what he needed. Sure it’s no Lucky 38 but the city life never suited him anyways.


Again that damn word came buzzing through, “Home”, it certainly couldn’t be where he spent what little of his childhood he could before the Legion came and took him and his entire town, killing his parents in the process. No, it's been too long for that, he barely remembers that place anyhow, focusing on surviving does that to a man, all he remembers is it being somewhere to the east. He let out a sigh and looked at the map he kept above the desk in the room he used as an office and workspace, trying to remember, looking at the pins marking locations he had visited, it was quite a few now after his trips to places like the divide and the Big M.T., hell even so far as the capital wasteland.


The capital wasteland, that was an event all in itself. Sure he had killed the man who killed his parents, but he had also worn himself out quite a bit doing it, not to mention losing his eye to that deathclaw, it does things to a man going through things like that. That is, if he can even consider himself a man anymore after what the think tank at Big M.T. did to him.

Sure, the new heart saved him in the long run, and that reinforced spine isn't something to complain about really, but damn if he doesn't miss what a cigar and a scotch used to do to him. Yeah getting robotic parts put into you combined with being an ex-slave really make you feel like you're not a human some days, especially when combined with the nightmares of his past and his escape from the Legion.


He sighed and stood up, accidentally banging his knee into the desk and knocking over a box in the process.


He chuckled a bit to himself and he bent down to the floor to pick up the box and its contents, thinking “Heh, maybe I am human after all” and that’s when he saw what the box had contained.

Strewn on the floor was dozens of pictures he had taken on his travels.


His group of friends he made in the capital when he fought Junius and his crew, the vault dweller and his family, his various pets from throughout the years, the places he has visited, and most recently; his companions in vegas.


Looking at all this, he finally had his answer: “Home is where I feel happy, and that is wherever the hell I want”

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