The look his father gave him the moment he died was one that William had seen a thousand times in his life. He saw it on his tenth birthday when Butch stole his cookie. He saw it on the day he took the G.O.A.T. He even remembered seeing it the night before his father left Vault 101 forever. "It'll be alright, son," it said. A stinging tear welled up in the corner of William's eye as James pulled the kill switch, gunfire mixing with the sound of overloading circuitry as untold amounts of radiation spilled into the clean room. Warning buzzers sounded, yellow strobe lights flashing in the far corners of the Jefferson Memorial. The Enclave officer and his personal retinue succumbed quickly, but James had always been a fighter.

"William, run!" James cried in anguish, his eyes clenching shut as seizures wracked his body.

There was an excruciating moment when it seemed like his father was crying out, but no sound was mustered. His hands contorted and grasped meekly at the air before he stiffened, and at last relaxed, his panic stricken eyes dilating and cooling into placidity. William's hands, which had been pressed against the bullet-proof glass, clenched into a fists as he crumpled to his knees. A strangled sound loosed itself from his throat.

"Come on, William! Get up!"

It was Sarah's voice. The ball of pain that had gathered in the pit of his stomach unwove a bit. He looked up at her through blurred vision, and gasped.

Colonel Autumn's sneering face greeted him as a pistol was lifted to press against the intersection of his brow. The muzzle was cold and lifeless, just like the bitter gray eyes that now bore into him. "Told you, didn't I boy?" came that smooth, Georgian, drawl, "You should have kept your nose out of all this business while you had the chance."

He squeezed his eyes shut, stumbling through his thoughts for one last fleeting image of something, anything, important to him. He saw Sarah's face, mournful and solemn. Her short blonde hair, usually pulled up in a strictly-business bun, framed her freckled cheeks. He could see her lips part for a moment, as though she were about to say something, before a bullet ripped out the front of her head in a fine mist of gore.

William jerked awake, his body bolting upright, struggling for breath. He looked around frantically, his heart beating a tattoo. There was no Colonel Autumn, no Sarah Lyons, no Project Purity; just the simple slate gray walls of his small room. He let a sigh of relief as he dabbed at his chilled, sweaty, brow, throwing the sheets off his lower half. The rough concrete felt cool to his feet, seating him further into reality.

He was surrounded by the trinkets and baubles of a seasoned adventurer. To one side of his room was a sturdy metal desk blanketed with curios and oddities; a small personal computer that cast an eerie green hue across the room, a mason jar containing a sickly yellow liquid and a bit of what looked to be brain matter, and a stack of pre-war magazines and home journals. Sitting atop the heap was a rugged, leather bound, book that proudly displayed the burnt lettering "Wasteland Survival Guide Second Edition by Moira Brown". Tucked under the desk was a fold-out metal chair with a black, leather, snake-emblazoned, jacket draped over the back. A wardrobe sat opposite of the desk, one of the doors ajar. The dim light of the computer afforded a glimpse of jumpsuits, lab coats, and pre-war attire such as a shabby argyle sweater and khaki slack combo. The walls were covered in American propaganda posters, from the famous picture of a power armored soldier helping Uncle Sam to his feet to an informational flyer urging citizens to report suspicious, unpatriotic, behavior. It was the closest thing the Wasteland had to art. Beside his bed was a small night stand, occupied only by his Pipboy 3000 and a framed picture that read, "I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely. – Revelations 21:6."

William picked the picture up for a moment, his fingers tracing the simple marquetry of the frame. His lips curled into a solemn smile. He set the frame back in its rightful place before fastening his Pipboy 3000 on. A turn of the knob brought the device to life, the monitor greeting him with the smiling face of Vault Boy as it booted up its operating system. His knees popped a bit in disagreement as he rose to his feet and shambled tiredly towards his wardrobe.

He could tell it was going to be a long day.