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Once the name of Jeff, the legendary gunsmith, caused awe. The inhabitants of the Wasteland were willing to kill for his products. It was rumoured that Jeff had mastered the secret of the perfect scope and that his guns did not know any misfires.

The rumours about Jeff's talent kept getting stranger. Over time, people started to believe that the artisan put the soul of a brutally murdered personin every weapon. They started calling the gunsmith a monster and attributed monstrous things to him.

In fact, Jeff saved the crippled and the sick, he made artificial limbs that allow the crippled ones to stand up — but the infamy was unstoppable. Desperate, Jeff created an ugly mask so that he would not be recognized and disappeared forever in the Wasteland.

Receiving[]

  • Rewarded upon reaching level 2 with Nomads faction.

Notes[]

  • This portrait is designed to communicate with players and can be seen in Adventure mode.

History[]

Portal Jeff

Access Level: Intermediate.

The only mention of a possible meeting with the gunsmith Jeff. Received from Seeker Fossett.

I couldn't bypass the wandering red zone. I only remember the ripples in the air and the darkness. The last thing I saw was  clouds over a mountain range.

I woke up in a stone house with a round stove. Dark night was looming behind the window. A man was sitting at the table with his back to me.

— You're safe. Eat, — he said, pointing to the supplies nearby.

He was silent while I was eating. Realizing that they were not going to kill me, I asked what the place was.

— Heard about Jeff? The Bloody Gunsmith? — The stranger asked, leaning back in his chair.

I said the truth:

— I heard about “Jeff’s guns”, I don’t know the details.

The man grinned:

— That so?..

The stranger kept his back to me. After a pause, he spoke again:

— This was his home. See the smelter in the corner? He lived and worked here. They say the metal in his hands was more plastic than clay.

Some blacksmith tools really were hung on the wall.

— Jeff... His guns were worth a whole year's stock of food. People believed that Jeff’s guns never misfired and aimed on their own. And also that for his guns this psycho cut people alive and tore out their souls. A maniac, a monster!..

I felt uneasy, I reached for my bag, but the stranger just waved his hand.

— Those people were ready to put every disappearance, every tortured corpse on Jeff. — But he never cut the healthy ones — he helped the crippled, implanted them with new hands and feet so that they could return to a normal life. Do you think that saved Jeff's name?.. One day he got fed up, tired of being a monster to scare the kids, he hid his face under the mask of a monster and disappeared.

After a moment, the stranger got up and turned to me. His face was hidden by a mask — a dried-up leather muzzle, as if plucked from a dead lizard.

— Jeff never took an innocent life, — said the stranger.

Then he just left.

Years have passed, but that mask still appears before my eyes.

E. F.

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