Even the leg in a bin is somehow wearing an entire Flannel Shirt and Jeans and Radstag Armour, despite being just a leg in a bin. Fortunately, the various bodies yield some food, ammo and clothing. I have precious little ammo, so I punch and punch and punch and it's really effective, but then I remember that it's sapping my precious Fusion Cores so I'd better be careful.
Maybe someone put his own leg there for safe-keeping after one gnawed it off, before hobbling back to battle. Mole Rats' arms aren't long enough to have lifted it in there. The real cause soon makes itself known: Mole Rats. There are dismembered bodies scattered messily across the ground, in boxes, in an old bath tub, as though some cannibalistic toddler was recently playing here. The first test of my extremely rusty Power Armour is just a few steps away.
Continuing a perma-death Fallout 4 diary, in which I begin with absolutely nothing other than a plan to to voyage around only the outermost periphery of the world.
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