The people here have regressed to tribals. They sacrifice their own to the gods, hoping for a better tomorrow. They probably should've sacrificed more to keep me from sacking their village. Maybe the tunnelers were that divine protection. I guess I have my own sort of guardian angel too in the form of my 12.7mm. I stock up on food and medical supplies at the chieftain's longhouse, and find out there's a vault nearby that they stopped trading with recently. The next door I'll be knocking on. An abandoned armory nearby blesses me with the ability to repair the makeshift .50 cal sniper rifle I picked up off a sentry at the prison. I can't aim it very well on my own, but linked to my pip-boy, I'm a V.A.T.S. god of close quarters combat. And just like at the prison, I leave more orphaned children in my wake.