Like so many times before, I just wished everything hadn't changed. At the very least I wished things hadn't changed the way they did. It's ironic when the place you grew up wasn't the place where you were born or would die – even though you were clearly told otherwise.

My father used to tell me things. "Jericho, my boy," he used to say when I'd ask about the vault or his life before I came around or even about my own mother. He didn't want me to know what was going on. He used to tell me, "Jericho this is the place you were born. This is the place you're to grow up in. And like the rest of us who have come before, this is the place where you'll eventually die. So don't worry about anything else, understand." I had to agree every time. What else was there to do? Argue? I grew up thinking there was the vault and nothing else. That we were stuck within the confines of the vault until death did we part.

Yeah, yeah… I'm a vault-dweller. Or used to be. Not anymore, right? No, not now. You know what I have to say about that old techno-trash bin? Damn the place. Damn the "almighty Overseer" and his hellhole. Damn that place and damn… damn him. Damn my father for screwing up our lives, condemning us to this godforsaken Wasteland.

I'm stuck out here with nowhere to go. Nowhere but down that is, if you catch my meaning.

I guess I should have seen it coming. My father left subtle clues to his leaving. I'm not sure if he meant to, but he did. I only wish I'd paid closer attention. I see now that his intentions were to never stay in the vault. Never to stay with me.

It was about three years ago, I guess. Three years of solace – mostly. Except for that backstabbing son of a… Butch. You know, at one time I thought he was kind of cool. Though I think it was mostly the hair. That was before he and his goons formed their dumb gang, the Tunnel Snakes. Stupid, right?

Anyways, it was the day of the illusive G.O.A.T. that I remember the most as one of his "clues".

It started off as any other day, except for the fact that it was that time of year when all the sixteen year old "young adults" went to find out what kind of condemnation would befall us as we took that lame-ass placement test. That's all it was, really – a test to find out what we'd be placed as to help "further the vault".

As I sat there on my father's examination table in his lab, pretending to be sick (he always saw through my lies somehow) I asked him about the G.O.A.T. and why it was important. I didn't like his answer, though I couldn't have told you why back then. There was something in his voice that betrayed what he said, and it did make me feel a little sick.

I guess I was complaining about having to take it, because my father's face became stern and hard, but his voice remained unnaturally calm, as if he was trying to make me believe that the vault really was for us.

"Don't complain about life," he said. "We're born here in the vault. We grow up here in the vault. We work here in the vault. We die here in the vault. There's nothing that can change the way things are." He looked away for a second there, and, while I didn't know why, I saw in his eyes that he didn't mean most of it. A shiver ran down my spine as I saw that look of depletion, almost of regret. I guess he was just trying to conceal the fact that he was really working on a secret escape plan. Maybe he was just trying to convince himself that it was the right thing to do.

Well, after that he told me I should hurry. "After all, if you're lucky, you just might be placed to work beside me on my life's research." Again a shiver ran down my spine as he said that. Maybe he really was trying to tell me something. His research, as far as I was concerned, was just with making sure the vault's computers, generators and all other technological junk was supposed to be in tiptop shape. I guess I'll never find out what his real life's research was all about.

I walked down the hall outside of the science lab, heading to Mr. Brotch's classroom where he'd give us the test. I saw Amata there – god, she was beautiful – and was surrounded by Butch and his goons. A tear formed in the small of her eye as she pushed the goons away. Butch put his hands on her, and I felt my face heat up, my neck tingle, and the hairs on my arms stiffen. My fists clenched, and I made my way over to the dirt bags.

"Something going on here?" I asked. Butch dropped his hands and turned to face me. He wasn't very tall – I towered him by a couple inches. And his cheeks were still a little too chubby for him to be taken seriously. But man could that guy punch. Seriously, if I ever was in a brawl with anyone I'd have chosen Butch as a tag-mate.

Amata turned to me and smiled greatly. I wanted to melt like butter as our eyes met. Her russet beauties, tinged with bronze, full of knowledge and compassion, locked with mine for a moment. I knew she was grateful I showed up. I liked being around to protect her. It made me feel important in her life. But then everything went black as a pain coursed through my stomach. I grabbed my abdomen in agony and toppled over.

Butch had thrust one of his meaty hands into my gut. It felt like a solid brick thrown at me from across the room.

As I regained awareness Butch and Wally were cackling. Paul didn't look too happy about it, but he kept his distance. He didn't like confrontations with Butch. Figures, though. That wuss couldn't stand up to a baby radroach.

I heard Amata curse at Butch. She was so tough. Butch simply silenced her with a back-of-the-hand smack across her face. I saw her fly to the floor. That was it. I could handle his harassment towards me. But when it came to Amata… I snapped.

I jumped up and started wailing on Butch. I think he squealed a bit as I caught him unawares. But the next thing I knew Mr. Brotch and Amata were prying us apart. I think Butch got lucky. I don't know how far I would have taken it. Though, he didn't look too badly injured. His left eye was a bit swollen, but other than that he looked fairly unscathed. Curse his chubby cheeks. I think he got me too. I tasted a bit of my metallic-flavored blood float about in my mouth, mingling with my saliva. I always wondered why it tasted like metal. That was until I learned that we have small traces of iron in our blood. Weird, I know.

My attention remained on Butch as he jerked away from Mr. Brotch and stomped off into class with Wally and Paul following closely behind.

Mr. Brotch focused his attention on me after that. "Look, Jericho," he sighed, "I like your father. He's a good man. I won't mention this little incident to him, but for goodness sake stop messing around, all right?"

I huffed and agreed.

Amata turned towards me as she started away towards the classroom. "Thanks," she said with a faint smile. Our eyes locked again.

"Don't mention it," I said, and she hurried off into class as Brotch called for us to hurry up.

As I settled down into the seat, trying to focus on the questions, I dazed off – completely focused elsewhere. Amata caught my attention throughout the majority of the period.

God, I wish I could see her again.

By the end of the test (Mr. Brotch had stood up at the front of the class and spouted off the questions, to which we had to answer A through D to each of the questions) he called for us to turn in our papers. I quickly, and randomly, scribbled in the letters. I swear, what little did sink in – of the questions, I mean – they were completely irrelevant to life's issues.

I waited for everyone to turn theirs in and hear from Mr. Brotch their results that damned them to a place of humiliation. Butch was next to last before Amata and me. I couldn't help but laugh at his assigned post. It was COMPLETELY weird. I don't know how he managed it, but his results said he was to be a… ok… let me get it out. His results said he was to be a therapist. Mr. Brotch said something along the lines, albeit under his breath, of "may God have mercy on our souls." Butch cursed at his results, saying he just randomly answered the questions. He stormed off, presumably to formulate a plan to change his results by the crazy look in his eyes.

Amata was next, and of course she got the position to be in a place of power. The Overseer – when her father bit the dust, of course. She beamed, slightly, proud of her accomplishment. I didn't know she ever respected the position that much. Maybe it was just that she was proud that she wouldn't be stuck waiting tables, or becoming a waste-center janitor, or something like that.

So… it was my turn. I went up to Mr. Brotch and he looked at me with enthusiasm.

"I saw what you did. You do know this test decides where you'll go."

"I know," I sighed. I handed the test in and watched him calculate my results. His eyebrows raised and he looked up at me with surprised shock.

"Says here you're to be a maintainer of Pipboys." I was just as much surprised. I oftentimes toyed with it, tweaking the internal coding. I had a bit of a knack for technology. Though, I didn't always use it for good. But that's beside the point. Ok, let's just say I didn't always have the best… err… assortment of "information" on my Pipboy. A few pictures here, a few bits of acquired data there. You get the picture.

"I hope Stanley is looking for a new partner," Brotch said as I stood there.

"Sure."

"Talk about irony, huh?" Brotch winked. He tended to have his own acquired information about the residents of Vault 101. I never knew how he managed to know the amount of things he did. But he was always 100% trustworthy when it came to "illegitimate" concerns.

Amata poked her head around the corner and waved for me to hurry up. We were to have lunch as a celebration of our assigned posts. I hurried up, always enthused when it came time to spending with her. I guess one could say we were an "item". Though, I don't think her father, the "all powerful Overseer," completely agreed with our relationship.

Well, our lives mingled with each other's for the next three years. We did become closer – a fair deal closer – over the course of the next three years. But then things changed.

Everything went to soot that day she woke me up with the most dreadful of news.

My father had left the vault.