OMFG LMFAOOOO!!!! In this hider is the first IC post, translated into ghetto slang. I am laughing so hard I'm CRYING. LOOOOOOOOOOL!!!!!!!!
War. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Battle never chizzlez fo' realz. And neither, it seems, do tha wasteland. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Over 200 muthafuckin years since tha Great Battle scarred tha earth, scorchin tha land n' searin tha earth up in itz final, fiery climax dat plunged tha ghetto tha fuck into nuclear winter, n' brought upon it tha top billin fuck up Ghetto has eva seen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Three pimped out nations clashed, tha Eagle, tha Bear, n' tha Tiger--three pimped out muthafuckas that, by theyselves, managed ta end civilization as dat shiznit was known. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. And now, over two decades later, game is still a struggle. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Survival be a privilege, it seems, one dat is granted only ta a gangbangin' fair few. Men n' dem hoes venture tha fuck into what tha fuck has become known simply as tha wastelands, never ta return, so check it before ya wreck it. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Rovin bandz of raidaz pillage n' maim, cappin' n' rape. Da only law is frontier law, eye fo' a eye, n' vengeizzle is cold, brutal, n' sometimes swift. Retribution comes not from any five-o force or military yo, but from dem playas whoz ass feel wronged. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da value of game has become hella smaller, playas cappin' one another without a second thought or moments hesitation.
Da Great Battle brought bout chizzle. Chizzle up in tha earth, up in tha flora n' fauna, n' even ta humanitizzle itself. Cockroaches thrived up in tha freshly smoked up radiation-filled environment, growin substantially, as did other insects like flies, ants, n' scorpions. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Some creatures dat never existed fuckin started ta appear, like molerats n' Dirtnapclaws. Others muthafuckas like fuckin black bears became far mo' viscous n' deadly, rovin tha land just lookin fo' suttin' ta smoke or kill. Da ghetto has become a thugged-out dangerous, deadly place, n' itz a wonder anythang could have survived. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! But humanitizzle has a way of provin time n' time again n' again n' again dat it has what tha fuck it takes ta adapt ta nearly any thang, no matter how tha fuck wack it gets, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Mankind moved on, some survivin up in vaults, others up in smalla fallout sheltas fo' realz. And still OTHERS managed ta live all up in tha radioactizzle hell hole dat was Hood Ghetto fo' decades.
And now, up in tha area known as tha Capitol Wastelands, one tiny insignificant speck up in tha scheme of tha much grander ghetto at large, one of tha survivors up in dis deadly ghetto trudges all up in tha sand n' tha dust, sun bleatin down upon her shouldaz n' sweat glistenin on her forehead. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Lettin up a soft bust a funky-ass big-ass fart as her black leather boots kick up lil plumez of dust, Arianna Lahar stopped fo' a moment ta rest, leanin against a big-ass blackened rock n' withdrawin a cold-ass lil canteen from her hip, placin tha metal ta her lip n' trippin' off tha crisp, refreshin gin n juice dat she allowed ta cascade across her grill n' all up in her lengthy blonde hair. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Closin her eyes, she let up another sigh, dis one of contentment, ta git a cold-ass lil chizzle ta def off. Waste of water, biatch? Perhaps yo, but dat thugged-out biiiatch could loot mo' n' mo' n' mo'. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch had tha caps fo' it--and dat freaky freaky biatch had knowledge enough ta bust caps if dat thugged-out biiiatch came up short. Bein skilled up in tha medicinal field, as well as tha sciences n' repair meant dat wherever dat biiiiatch went, dat thugged-out biiiatch could always land all dem caps or trade fo' a gangbangin' favor.
Fastenin her canteen back ta her hip, Ari gazed all up in tha giant hunk of metal dat was Megaton, just all dem minutes away. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch was almost there...almost. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch could kick back at Moriarty's, gotz a thugged-out drink, n' then....what, biatch? Pushin her muthafuckin ass from tha boulder, her big-ass booty stepped forward once more, thankin bout. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch needed ta git a lab going. Correction, she needed ta git a NEW lab going, cuz some jackass piece of shiznit raidaz decided they wanted ta peep just how tha fuck explosive a lab full of straight-up valuable n' straight-up hard ta come by medicinal shiznit could be. Frownin all up in tha memory of comin back ta tha only place dat thugged-out biiiatch could call home a funky-ass blackened husk of wood n' debris, her big-ass booty shook her head softly as tha hood of Megaton seemed ta grow larger n' larger against tha horizon.
Bitch needed mo' lab shiznit so dat thugged-out biiiatch could continue her research. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch KNEW dat thugged-out biiiatch could manage dis time biaaatch! Biatch had been on tha crux of discovery before tha raidaz fucked up EVERYTHING. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Still, dat freaky freaky biatch hadn't been fuckin wack. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch had one single vial of what tha fuck was possibly tha straight-up first "cure" fo' Ghoulizzle up in tha wastes. One tiny vial of serum held up in a gangbangin' freakishly fragile glass container n' shiznit yo. Her gamez work. Or, rather, her gamez work over tha last three muthafuckin years yo. Her LIFEz work had been destroyed up in tha flames dat cleansed tha ghetto of Raven Rock fo' realz. And phat riddizzle too, Ari thought, as she remembered seein tha plumez of smoke risin all up in tha air from tha Northwest. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch hardly believed it when rumors fuckin started ta spread, whispers dat tha Enclave was destroyed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Biatch would've gone ta peep fo' her muthafuckin ass...but dat would've brought her by...the place. Da spot dat freaky freaky biatch hadn't hit up in 3 muthafuckin years yo. Her eyes, brighter blue than tha cloudless sky above, fuckin started ta glisten wit tears as she remembered her sista n' her sacrifice.
Just GO already dawwwwg! One of our asses need ta survive this, Ari--it might as well be yo thugged-out ass. Run!! Da lyrics echoed up in her mind, n' tha glistenin up in her eyes became tears as they trailed down her cheeks. Reachin up, she gently withdrew tha holotags dat hung round her neck, holdin onto tha one dat read "Kara H. Lahar." "I miss you like it aint no thang, Kara...." she muttered softly, a whisper up in tha calm stillnizz of tha afternoon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch blinked as dat freaky freaky biatch heard a metalic click, n' a robotic voice up in front of her n' shit. "Yo, wuz crackalackin', biatch? Yo ass is smokin Megaton Ma'am. Trip off yo' stay." Biatch had been so lost up in tha memory of her sister, clad up in Mk2 Juice Armor, dat dat freaky freaky biatch hadn't even realized she'd juiced it up ta tha front gate of Megaton. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch dried her eyes wit tha sleeve of her white labcoat dat dat biiiiatch wore, draped over her midriff blouse. Completin her tracksuit was her pants, leather n' stained all up in tha knees from muthafuckin yearz of wanderin tha wastes. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch stared at Deputy Weld fo' all dem moments, then decided dat shiznit was time ta enter n' shit. Nodding, she moved towardz tha gates, n' heard tha whirrin clank of tha motor as they lifted, revealin tha entrizzle ta tha bustlin hood (in so much as a hood could be bustlin these days). Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch looked up, saw tha sniper dat guarded tha place high above, n' nodded slightly. Da playa returned tha nod, n' dat thugged-out biiiatch crept forward, pushin her way all up in tha door n' tha fuck into tha town.
Mo' outta g-thang than discomfort, Ari rested her right hand across tha plasma pistol dat was held up in place at her hip by a funky-ass brown leather holsta n' shit. Dat shiznit was Enclave issue, both tha glock n' tha holster, tha primary weapon fo' field scientists n' tha backup weapon fo' fools yo. Her fingers rested on tha ribbon tied round tha handle, pink ribbon dat stood out; dat shiznit was hard not ta peep fo' realz. A ribbon dat belonged ta her sister, worn up in her afro fo' realz. A ribbon she'd taken from her body, n' had been wrapped round tha handle of her weapon eva since. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Slung across her back was another high tech weapon--her sisterz plasma rifle yo. Hard ta come by up in tha wastelands, n' not straight-up common, she knew such weaponry made her stand up ta some extent. But no muthafucka knew dat biiiiatch was Enclave though cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch didn't exactly go round advertisin dat shit. Ex-Enclave, Ari reminded her muthafuckin ass doggystyle. If one looked carefully they could still peep tha slight discoloration on tha right shoulder of her labcoat, which was slightly lighter n' cleaner then tha rest of it--where a patch had once been sewn in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. A patch dat Ari had removed long ago. Though she often came ta Megaton fo' supplies, n' knew both Moira Brown n' tha ghoul Gob at Moriarty's, her dope ass didn't have any playaz here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch didn't trust easily yo, but it went beyond dis shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch also didn't wanna care too much. Da closest thug ta a gangbangin' playa dat freaky freaky biatch had was Moira, she genuinely was horny bout tha biatch--and therefor made shizzle ta keep distizzle between em.
Dat shiznit was time, Ari decided. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Smoke up tha Craterside Supply. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch looked towardz tha oldschool undetonated nuclear warhead up in tha center of hood n' shivered. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Sheezy it wasn't actizzle no mo' (someone known as tha Lone Wanderer disarmed it bout two muthafuckin years ago, dat freaky freaky biatch heard dat much over tha radio) yo, but dat shiznit was still a symbol of tha fuck up dat befell tha ghetto two decades before. Craterside Supply was above tha dismal weapon, she'd gotta climb two flightz of stairs. Lost deep up in thought, Ari fuckin started ta absent-mindedly ascend dem stairs, hopin she'd find at least all dem supplies ta replace what tha fuck she'd lost when her lab was destroyed.
