“Even thought the war hasn’t happened yet?” “Floyd, long have I battled across the Wastelands -” But a tire iron with an axe attached, now that will some sh#t up.” “There will come a time, my son, when laser rifles fail you. He thought now of his father’s words, as he taught him the warrior’s ways: Into the Wasteland came Floyd, red-pompadoured, sullen-eyed, tire iron in hand, a thief, a reaver, a slayer, with gigantic melancholies and gigantic mirth, to tread the jeweled thrones of the Earth under his sandalled feet … Now I know how Red Sonja felt. Let me tell you of the days of high adventure!
It is I, his chronicler, who alone can tell thee of his saga. And unto this, Floyd, destined to wear the jeweled crown of Diamond City upon his troubled brow. Between the time the fires ate America and the rise of the synths, there was an age undreamed of.