I poke my beak over a dusty rockface and peer down onto a raider camp. They're a long way away, and my beak is invisible because I'm wearing the Boogeyman's Hood over my face. If I wasn't, they might notice that I'm Chinese. But not at this range. At this range I can just barely see the bobbing head through my crosshairs. But barely enough - BAM - cha-ching: 30 xp for another greasy raider popped. I pan around the massive vista. Plenty of bobbing heads to choose from. Two clips worth of red mist blow off into the desert canyon and my XP jumps. I descend over the rocks and drop down behind an scraggy old shack. I swap the sniper rifle for my scoped .44 and sneak around the corner. There's a raider walking out of the shack. VATS - BAM - arm detached, raider gushes hard. I pocket the XP and I sneak further in. Pop around the corner and I find two uglies, and this time they see me. I lean back out of the way of the lead and reload the 44. I pop back around and VATS - BAM - a quick head-to-mist transformation and XP grab. The other one is obscured so I work up behind some scrap metal. Lead on lead's going bing-bing-bing. She reloads. I unload. She drops and I grab that good XP. Things are quiet for a bit until I 'perceive' another shithead somewhere inside this shack. I sneak in and find her entranced by the flickering light of a garbage-fire. She's facing away. It's slightly unfair. I walk up until the hair on the back of her head is brushing the end of my barrel. I click and she does a front-flip with no head. CHA-CHING. Gimme that 30 xp damnit.

A strange magic sound - I've leveled. Holy fuck - this is Level 20. I'm there. I apply the points and I pick the perk: Grim Reaper's Sprint. A fitting addition to my other proud attributes: Commando, Finesse, Sniper, Contract Killer, Better Criticals, Cannibal, and Gun Nut. Damn that was a long level, but damn was it worth it. I warm up the Grim Reaps on a few slaves in the slave pen. Dismemberment ensues with an all new fluency. I am pleased. But something's different. No Cha-ching? Balls. I shuffle out to the road and line up my sniper sights on the slave that's running for her pathetic life. I consult VATS, and judging from the gore and the low gutteral wail, her knee was knocked, say...into the next town I think. But no cha-ching. Sweet jesus - could it be - frantically load up pip-boy and flip to my stats. There it is, written in the top right corner, like my wasteland epitaph: "XP: MAX". OMFG. I see stars. I almost pull a Tony Soprano and fall through my table. I frantically drink an old beer and bite down on the soggy cigarette butt. What the fuck do I do now? I've explored like 40% of Fallout 3 and now I have to do it with no more incentive than the sadistic thrill of VATS dismemberment. And that might not be enough. Jesus - XP. XP is reason we fight. I'd drink ghoul blood for another level. Hell, if you unlock me to level 30, I'd sell my NPC to supermutants. I can't even remember hitting the max in Fallout 2. I don't know if I ever made it to 40. For some reason Bethesda decided to compress the game - turn 40 levels into 20, and give you a perk every level. Why-oh-why. The Fallout 3 wasteland is frickin' massive. Why lock us out of our experience? WHY? ANSWER ME DAMN YOU!