CaerlyssLee of Appalachia (a Fallout76 character backstory)

It was early days out of the vault, and I’d barely gotten used to daylight when the world seemed to spin out from under me. My head throbbed with a hangover as I stumbled through Appalachia, completely unprepared for the chaos beyond those vault doors. Vault-Tec training had given me plenty of theory, but not much in the way of practical advice for dealing with a world full of dangers—especially when it came to close combat with mutant bears.

I was combing through the remains of an old Red Rocket, gathering anything I could use. A rusted fire axe, an old shotgun with maybe two shells, a bag of canned goods that might still be edible… if I got desperate enough. I’d just grabbed a nearly-empty pack of cigarettes from under the counter when I heard it—a low, guttural growl that sent a chill through me.

I barely had time to duck before something massive and dark lunged at me, fast enough that I couldn’t fully register it. Pain flared white-hot across the left side of my face as I hit the ground. A Yao Guai’s claws had raked me, leaving a searing line of fire that cut deep. Blood blurred my vision, and everything in me screamed to run. But I had seconds—just seconds. My hand found the shotgun, and I took aim, squeezing off a shot that hit the beast’s jaw. It wasn’t enough to take it down, but it bought me a moment as it staggered back.

In that heartbeat, something changed. Panic melted away, leaving only a fierce determination. I grabbed the fire axe with both hands, feeling its weight settle in mine. The Yao Guai recovered and charged, but this time, I was ready. I swung hard, the blade sinking deep into its side as a roar burst from my lungs, echoing in the space around us. I wasn’t going to let this wasteland take me down. Not today. Not like this.

Finally, the bear lay motionless, and I collapsed, blood dripping down my face and hands, breathing hard but alive. That night, as I wrapped my wounds with whatever cloth I could find, a realization hit me. I could survive out here. I could own this place. The wasteland was a brutal place, yes, but that brush with death left me scarred and somehow stronger.

From that moment on, those scars on my face became a badge—a reminder that I’d faced the worst, and somehow, I’d made it out on top. The world was harsh, unforgiving, and full of monsters—but so was I.