It's a game that's bare-bones the same way its fucked up world is bare-bones. At every corner lies the inheritance of life and history that passed without epiphany, and there is little to no deceit or irony regarding this. This is not a game known for its twists, but it is remarkable how quickly and subtly the desolation of the wasteland gives way to the possibility of exciting adventure, conspiracy, and political intrigue: so quickly do we have fun in the ruins. Even the good Fallout sequels impatiently and comprehensively embrace this frontier, and they are not necessarily worse for it. But there is something inimitably special about this first one, willing to impose the bones, ash, death, and dung of it all onto someone who hoped their little vault errand would turn into something bigger. At the height of its conspiracy, the edifice comes crashing down from the smallest, saddest revelation that like everything else small and sad about this game refuses dwelling. And so does the place you've called home.

Perhaps the greatest ending to a video game.