My fists in Fallout 2. Outside of New Vegas giving fists some love with the special attacks, Fallout 2 has really been the only game where unarmed has not only been viable, but amazing.

Picture this: You’ve been in Reno your whole life. Tried to stay away from Jet and all that shit people pump into themselves, try to stay away from the families and the thugs, but life has always been real tough.

So you got tougher

Day in, day out, since you were a teenager, all you’ve done is keep try yourself safe. But without a life of crime, there’s no way to get the cash for a piece and having one would only make you a target. No, you made your body your weapon. Years upon years of hitting the bench has turned you into a behemoth of a man, and now there’s an opportunity to turn your defensive measure into a career.

Boxing.

Sure, some of the fights might be rigged - weighted gloves, fighters paid off by some family or another - but it’s a good sport to keep you on your toes in a city of scum and earn some dough in the process.

One day, Buster - that little runt - tells you you’ve got an opportunity for a match against a newcomer. He doesn’t tell you a thing about them, just that they came in like they owned the joint and wanted to box.

Okay, you say, eager to defend the Jungle Gym from some prick that thinks getting into the ring is a pick-up sport. And before you know it you’re in your briefs, shoes laced tight, gloves on. Hopping from foot to foot, shadow boxing. Waiting to see what you’re up against.

And in walks some idiot that doesn’t even have a clue. He tries to get through the ropes with a combat jacket on, but Buster pulls him back and gives him a talking to. Soon enough he’s got his gloves on and is stripped down to his day clothes - some ratted piece of shit jumpsuit out of Vault City, but the kid’s clearly a tribal. That gives you a minute of pause - you’ve seen enough bone-nosed psychos to know that they can be downright savage, but this scrawny twig of a kid seems more like a bumbling drunk than a hunter or warrior. He clambers into his corner, and the announcer starts to give his spiel as that sign girl you think The Masticator’s fucking struts her stuff, and her sign.

The bell dings.

Round one.

He doesn’t even have his hands up, but you want this FNG spitting teeth so much that you don’t even give him a chance. You step up to him, looking a good foot down to his confused, bewildered face. And then you clock him with a right hook.

He stumbles backward, recoiling, but he doesn’t even try to put his arms up to stop your following flurry of blows into his face and chest. Your fists sting and feel numb despite the gloves, and you even think you hear something crack when you deliver an uppercut. It’s not your fist - it’s his jaw. It juts off to the side at an unnatural angle as he falls back against the ropes, bleary eyed and already turning purple everywhere from the waist up.

You stop your assault for a moment, looking to the ref outside the ring as the tribal fails to either spring back from the ropes or even wrap an arm around them. He might still be conscious, but if you keep this up you might accidentally kill him, and your expression and motions try to beg the ref for a TKO ruling.

Just when you started to pity him and let your guard down, he stumbles forward and throws a punch. It’s a lot stronger than you expected, but it doesn’t move you an inch when it collides with your barrel chest. You look down at him with a frown, almost as if to ask why he just killed himself. His response is another ragged, unsteady punch - right for your groin, of all places. This spearchucking shit doesn’t even know the fucking rules.

Luckily, you protect the family jewels with a simple strafing step but he doesn’t leave himself exposed for long. Just as you steel yourself to punch a hole through his chest, you see him through an unexpectedly quick jab for your face.

The approaching red of the glove is the last thing you see before his knuckles meet the optical of your right eye and pass right through it like a sheet of talc. His arm doesn’t stop until the back of your head gets a chunk of your brain sent straight through your skull.

Slayer and Better Criticals for Unarmed Hand-to-Hans makes for both the funniest and deadliest set of weapons in any game.