Adam looked at the battered door that lead to the cave that lead to Vault 101 itself. It was just as weather-beaten as when he first opened it; the first layer of thatched wood panels had rotted away, but a second remained. He looked at it for a few moments, then shot a glance toward the outline of Megaton's outer wall. Something had festered in his stomach on the walk there. Something he hadn't felt in months.

Apprehension.

Some part of him was aware that going back to Vault 101 was playing with a fire that could easily burn him. Putting his vault 101 jumpsuit back on had sent a flood of memories to his mind, most of which were bittersweet; remembering the day that he'd taken the GOAT had marked the end of his formal education, but also ushered in three years of working monotonously in the vault's engineering department. Leaving had awoken him to all the aspects in his life that he'd knew were missing but also accepted weren't going to happen. Then James had blasted all those notions away by leaving the Vault and throwing his son's life into flux. The near half-year of searching eventually lead to the stitches that ran down the right side of his face.

Adam shook his head, squashing any memories of James before they could cause him any more grief. He threw his hood over his head, adjusted the the cord that was holding his hunting rifle in place on his back, and pushed the wooden door open. He activated the flashlight function of his pip-boy and managed a single step forward before his movements halted.

His interactions with Clover there two days earlier washed over him like a tidal wave. He remembered how spiteful her eyes were, how he'd flinched at the tone she'd used. He bit his lower lip for a moment, then stopped himself from doing so. He glared at the massive cog, approached the opening console, which a lever affixed to a piece of yellow-coloured rectangular steel, which itself was held up by four metal poles that supported the steel's four corners. It looked spindly and low-budget, and Adam had visited enough vaults to know that Vault-tech's "Quality items" were just poorly made knock-offs of other, more durable designs. He shook his head in disgust, and some part of him questioned how he was going to break it to Amata that her life had been one massive experiment for a government that didn't exist before.

He plugged his pip-boy into the port attached to the console, looking down at the screen.

Vault-tech™ Vault-opening Porgram: active.

Welcome, Adam Howard. You have accessed Vault 101's opening console. Would you like to begin entering this Vault's password?

Adam pressed the 'Yes' option and a keyboard replaced the beginning screen. He typed 'Amata' in with a slight, near-imperceptible shaking in his hand.

Password entered: correct. The opening lever may now be pulled to open Vault 101's door. We hope your stay in Vault 101 is satisfactory. Any complaints or difficulties you might have should be sent to Vault 101's current overseer. Thank you for using Vault-tech™.

Adam felt a ripple of sardonic bitterness as he unplugged his pip-boy. Lies. That's what the vault's were. They were all just lies. Was James aware of what Vault 101 was? When he broke into the overseer's terminal did he feel the same things he had? How did he feel knowing that his son was living a lie? Angry? Guilty? Adam shook his head. There wasn't any point in asking those questions: James was dead.

Wondering would only remind him of that.

Taking in a deep breath, Adam pulled the lever down. There was a screeching that would have made him cringe a few months prior as metal scraped against metal. He heard hissing, and steeled himself. He centered himself to the Vault's cog and watched as it slid past. He slid his breathing mask over his face. He lowered his goggles to his eyes. Adjusting the strap holding his hunting rifle one final time, Adam followed the rest of the cog's movements until it slid out of sight. He stepped through the threshold, movements slightly stiff.

His boots made contact with the cold steel of Vault 101's entrance, and he scanned the room. Immediately his nose scrunched up. He heard the sounds of radroaches. Something in his stomach dropped a bit.

He ran a hand along the railing of the small staircase he'd climbed down a year before. It was cold. Rusting had chipped away at it's yellow coat of paint. The radroach sounds were closer now. Adam reached the top and scanned the room again. He surveyed everything to his right, seeing the door that lead to the overseer's tunnel. He could end it all right there if he could crack the door. Put a bullet in Alphonse's head. No more tyrant.

He heard clicking coming from that direction. Adam's head perked up. With a well-developed caution, the Wanderer walked over to the door. As he got closer, the all-too-familiar smell of a decaying body reached his nostrils. A radroach must have heard his footsteps, as it scampered out, looked up, and froze. Adam's eyes narrowed, and it flinched back slightly. It did like its ancestors had done, and simply stood still. It watched as Adam bent over and slid a combat knife out of his boot. It flinched back fully this time, and was halfway to the door when a boot smashed into its back and head.

Adam kicked the radroach off his shoe as he entered the compartment that the door lead to. He saw a boot, and his eyebrows arched. He got fully into the long, rectangular compartment and found the body of Steve Armstrong. His eyes were missing, and there were several small tears in his throat. A lead pipe lay to Adam's left, and the wanderer sighed heavily. Steve had worked with him during his three-year tenure in Vault 101's engineering department, and while the two had never really known each other before that, had developed a friendship in and out of the workplace. Adam should have felt sorrow for this - but he didn't.

Shaking his head and suppressing the grief and exasperation that threatened his composure, the young man turned away from Steve's body.

His nails lightly dug into his palm as he approached the public door to the Vault 101 entrance. He pushed it and to his surprise it began to open. His eyes widened, and on instinct Adam ducked. A bullet soared over his head, barely missing him, and Adam dove to the left. Another shot soared through the doorway, and Adam drew his 10mm from the brahmin-hide holster he had hanging from his hip. Frowning at how he'd nearly been shot, and yet satisfied somewhat that his gut had been right. Alphonse was going to have to try harder than that to kill him. He leaned out slightly, exposing part of his hood, and jerked it back when a bullet went just to the right of it. He jerked himself back and unclipped a flashbang from his belt. He brought them specifically for this. Dismembering a vault security officer with a military-grade explosive probably wouldn't gain him any favors among a vault populace that likely despised him enough as is.

Adam pulled the pin of the flashbang and tossed it into the room the public door lead to. He heard the telltale bang and swearing and rushed inside. He saw the security gaurd inside, and moved like a wraith toward them. They looked up and raised their pistol at Adam, but the Wanderer grabbed their wrist and twisted. They winced, groaned slightly, and dropped their gun. It clattered to the ground, and the security guard began to raise their fist to clock Adam's jaw, only to get the butt of a 10mm pistol to the face for their troubles. Their head flew back, and the guard swore.

Their helmet fell off their head, and Adam froze.

"Officer Gomez?"

The guard blinked at the familiarity of Adam's voice.

"Adam?" they asked, bewildered. Adam nodded slowly, releasing his grip on Gomez's wrist. He stepped back from the older man, his own 10mm held in an iron grip at his side. Gomez blinked several times.

"Um… kid? Would you mind taking that mask and those goggles off? For identification purposes?" he said, uncertainty dripping from his words. Adam didn't respond verbally, and slowly slid his breathing mask off his face, letting it lazily hang off his neck. He raised his goggles, but Gomez's eyes had drifted to the stitches. Adam shot the older man a curious look.

"It's me." he said. Gomez nodded silently.

"I hope you don't mind me asking, son," Adam felt a small amount of emotion at the word 'son'. "But where'd you get those?" Gomez didn't point to them, but Adam knew he was referring to his stitches.

"The Pitt." he replied simply, as if that settled the matter. Gomez opened his mouth

"Don't ask about it," Adam cut him off. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Again, Gomez silently nodded, deciding that something that made Adam, the by-the-books shy son of the Vault's resident doctor, be that short was something he didn't want to know about.

"...Right." Gomez responded, trying to read some emotion off Adam's face. "This little meet and greet is nice and all, but why'd you come back here? Alphonse wants your head on a silver platter-"

"Amata." Adam cut in. Gomez stopped, a small 'Oh' escaping him.

"I see. Well, if that's it, I have orders to stop you,." Gomez said. Adam cocked a brow. Gomez grimaced. "But, in the face of what your father has done for this vault in the past-" Adam raised both eyebrows now. "-I'm willing to forget this ever happened and let you walk out."

"No." Adam said. Gomez shook his head.

"Kid, whad'ya mean 'No'? You can't stay here!" Adam held up a hand.

"I don't plan on staying here," he said. "But Alphonse is a tyrant. I won't let that stand any longer." Gomez bit his lower lip, looked Adam up and down, and then sighed. The kid was in better shape than him, something the officer deduced came from his time outside the vault.

"Fine. Go ahead. Can't say I didn't warn you though." he said, slightly defeated. Adam, though, didn't leave immediately.

"Gomez?" the older man nodded. "Do you know where Amata is?" Gomez, again, sighed.

"Like father like son I suppose," he murmured. "She's with the rebels in your dad's clinic." Adam nodded and left Gomez, climbing the staircase that lead to the other levels of the Vault.

"Rebels?" he muttered, exasperated. "What've you gotten yourself into?" Adam shook his head. He climbed the rest of the staircase, until he reached the atrium. The hallway was long, and lit with bright, fluorescent lights and Adam remembered the rush and stress of sprinting past the guards who had been there the day he escaped. He saw the back of another security guard's ballistic vest and sighed. Cautiously, he snuck up behind them. They were standing with their back to him. Adam was about to wrap an arm around their neck before they spoke.

"Don't make me shoot, Freddie!" came a brittle, old voice. It took Adam a moment to realise that that was the security guard's voice. Freddie's eyes had widened though. He'd noticed Adam. Of course, he didn't know it was Adam - he thought the reaper had finally come for him.

"Behind you!" he shouted, and then turned on his heel and sprinted down a staircase that lead to the Vault's lower levels. Adam frowned behind his breathing mask. The security guard began turned to face him. The light of the hall made it impossible for Adam to make out their face. They froze when they got a good look at Adam, and were just beginning to raise his pistol when Adam moved forward in a blur and caught their wrist. He twisted.

The officer moaned and their knees bucked. Adam grimaced and shoved them onto the ground. He slammed the butt of his 10mm into their forehead and heard a crack that made him pause. He raised the visor of his helmet and his stomach dropped.

He'd just pistol-whipped Officer Taylor. Someone who was probably in his sixties. With a bit a of nervousness, he spoke.

"Officer Taylor?" he asked. A few moments of silence passed. Taylor's face was expressionless. Adam suppressed the small amount of panic he had and took Taylor's pulse. He put two fingers on a vein in Taylor's neck. He felt a small vibration. Adam felt some small amount of relief. A second passed. Another.

He felt a pulse.

Shit.

Taylor's pulse was irregular. A bad sign. Adam realised that the pouch he'd brought had only a fw stimpaks, some bandages, tweezers and disinfectant. Not exactly the supplies to stop something like internal bleeding. Adam frowned deeply. You can't leave now. No-one would forgive you if he died.

Yet it wasn't as if he could just do nothing. He sighed heavily. He fought with himself for a few more moments, debating internally. What would his reputation in the vault matter if he was going to leave anyway? He didn't need the approval of anybody in the vault - besides Amata, of course. Wouldn't she understand?

The Wanderer kneeled for a few moments, taking a good look at Taylor; the man's face was heavily wrinkled, with sallow skin that clung to his cheek bones. He was thin, and looked as brittle as his voice sounded. Someone like that should never have been allowed on a security force. Adam took a deep breath.

He looked at Taylor again.

"Officer?" he asked again. No response from Taylor. The wanderer waited another few moments. Nothing. He sighed. Part of him said to shoot Taylor and put him out of his misery. Adam had a hunch he was going to die anyway. Being sixty and getting pistol-whipped by someone two generations your younger isn't a good combination. Still, though, Adam also realized that to save face he had to at least try to get Taylor proper medical attention. And who knew, maybe he could be saved?

Sighing heavily, Adam picked up Officer Taylor and carried the older man fireman style, eyes swiveling around his flanks the entire way, to the stairwell Freddie had fled down. If anything was going to lead him to the rebels, that was.

Hello. I am well aware that this has been done before - and probably by better authors than myself - but I decided to give it a shot. Not much more to say other than to clarify that this is the Adam from my last one-shot: The Right to Ask.

Any reviews, follows, and favs would make my day. - Raging Celiac