So, I understand that this isn't exactly how Fallout 3 worked, but I had to change some things because of the class assignment I wrote it for. Please review! I did my best!
The Vault
Many miles down a cavern in Washington D.C, behind a door consisting of 13-tons of steel, lay a vault. It was old and decaying, and filled with a musky odor. On the door was a barely visible number; 101. The last of the U.S bomb proofed shelters. The rest of the vaults had opened long ago, but not 101. The residents had ensured that. Nobody entered, and nobody left.
The vault currently inhabited 50. Sure, when entering the vault in 1941, there was a population of over 400. Most had died away. But nobody knew where the bodies went, and nobody asked. Things happened when you ask questions.
So no one ever asked why they were there. Why they had never been outside. Why they were still locked up in this man-made hell. But they couldn't help but wonder what had happened over those 70 lost years. Last they could remember they were being bombarded with a deafening serenade of sirens. The vault door locked behind them with no communications to the outside world, and no certainty for the future of the human race.
From inside the vault, they couldn't hear the planes overhead. Their contents being dropped across the country and across the world. They couldn't hear the screams of billions as fire rained from the sky. Each and every last organism having the life extracted from them, leaving behind nothing but a trail of charred corpses.
So they lived in an ignorant bliss. The vault was their cozy, safe home. Life was the same as it was before, waking up each morning, and going to bed at night. The children played and the adults talked. The radio blasted overhead the same set of songs, and the same news stories as 70 years ago. They ate the same food each night; the rations and stored goods they had packed when entering the vault for the first time. And nobody ever mentioned that there wasn't enough food left to make it another year. They didn't need to confront it. They didn't need to confront any of their problems.
Nobody asked. Nobody questioned. Nobody disagreed.
And nobody mentioned the regretful look that dwelled within everyone's eyes. That no matter how much they smiled, the fear and hate was still there. That they all wept behind closed doors. That at first chance, they'd all be clawing at the exit to break free from their imprisonment in a forever cell.
And nobody, nobody, dare mention the green gas that would occasionally seep through small cracks in the wall. The children would sometimes whisper and inquire to their parents just to receive a slap across the face telling them to mind their own business. The few vault scientists who were brave enough to try to test and identify the gas had each quickly and quietly disappeared, one by one. Each rebellious occupant's bed was empty by morning.
So nobody asked questions, because everybody knew. Everyone knew why after years living in that gas, the vault dweller's faces were beginning to peel away. Each crimson and violet vein could be seen through their transparent, sun-deprived skin. Their bodies' were frail and fragile. Bones jetted out of each joint like knifes ready to stab. How each day, they all got a bit more sick, and an inch closer to the only way out of the endless nightmare—death.
But everyone carried out their lives. They smiled and made the same conversation they did every single day. Nobody ever mentioned that they were to be sentenced to the vault for the rest of eternity. Nobody accepted that they were all going to die a slow and painful death due to the radiation gas flowing through the walls. Nobody admitted that they were hopeless.
But nobody knew, that the residents of Vault 101 were the last humans on Earth.