Fallout is what happens when the 1950s said, “The future will be great,” and the future replied, “Cool, I’m going to be a radioactive nightmare with jazz.” It’s a role-playing game series set in a post-nuclear wasteland where civilization has collapsed, but somehow bottle caps became a stable currency and everyone agreed that power armor is the height of fashion. You wander the ruins of America listening to upbeat doo-wop while being chased by giant cockroaches, irradiated cows, and people who really need to stop screaming “RAIDER!” before shooting you.

Gameplay-wise, Fallout lets you solve problems however you want: talk your way out, sneak around, hack a terminal, or just fire a minigun until the issue no longer exists. Your choices matter deeply—except when they don’t, because the wasteland is cruel, ironic, and very into dark humor. One minute you’re debating moral philosophy with a robot, the next you’re stealing a toaster for parts. It’s bleak, hilarious, and oddly comforting, proving that even after nuclear annihilation, humanity’s greatest skills remain sarcasm, poor decision-making, and collecting junk “just in case.”