Chapter 1: Awakening

First there was darkness and the death-like silence that followed it.

Then there was the faint whirr and the gentle breeze.

I fluttered my eyes open just to squeeze them shut a second later.

Blinding light engulfed everything and my heart began racing as I was overcome by the tidal wave of agony, starting from my head and shooting all the way down to the tips of my toes like a violent crackle of electricity. I felt my eyeballs wanting to explode behind my clenched eyelids and my muscles tightened as my blood turned to fire. I couldn't move and wanted to scream in agony, but all that came out was a weak gurgle.

And then just like that it was over. No more agony. No more fire.

Slowly, but surely the rest of my senses came back to me as I again heard the gentle whirr and the mild breeze that followed, along with the leaden tongue in my dry mouth and then the soft warmth of a blanket. The aroma of coffee entered my nostrils and my facial muscles twitched as I felt the hard bed beneath me.

I'm going to try this again.

I slowly opened my eyes, but was again met by the blinding light and a low grunt escaped my lips. I wanted to bring my hands up and rub at my throbbing eyes, yet my arms felt like they were made of rubber and it took a strained effort before I could lift a hand to rub at my throbbing eyes, only to recoil at the fresh thundering inside my skull as the low grunt morphed into a strangled cry.

"Father, I think he's waking up!" a woman's voice called out from nearby.

Another person!

I lowered my hand and again forced my eyes open. It was like I was trapped underwater as the whole world rippled around me, but at least the blinding light was fading. Colors and shapes began coming back to me as a particularly large blur crossed my field of vision.

"Take it easy there, son. You don't wanna overexert yourself after everything you've been through," a new voice spoke up, a man's with a kindly tinge to it, followed by repeated taps on a wooden floor.

I tried to speak, but I couldn't form the words and let out a train of gibberish.

"I'm just glad to see you're still among the living," the man spoke with a gentle chuckle as the creaking of a chair followed.

I managed to turn my head to the side in an effort to catch a glimpse of whom was speaking to me, but everything started spinning again and fresh waves of nausea left me wanting to vomit. I brought my hand back to cover my eyes and block out the world around me until the feeling subsided.

"Don't be in too much of a hurry, friend. You've been out cold for three days straight. You're gonna need plenty of time to regain your bearings," the man spoke again.

I lowered my hand and found myself staring at a roughly human-shaped form. It took a few seconds before my vision started to adjust and I found myself staring at an older gentleman in a white lab coat with a full head of silver hair and crystal blue eyes beneath a pair of wire-rimmed eyeglasses.

"It's good to see you awake. After what happened to you I was beginning to worry my efforts had all been for naught," the man said rising to his feet and pulling a thin object from his breast pocket, "Now that you're awake, if you'll excuse me for a bit..."

Next thing I know he was using his thumb to lift my eyelid and shining a bright light into it, causing another sudden rush of pain to shoot throughout my body.

"Ah...please! No!" I rasped, my tongue feeling like it weighed a ton.

"At least you can still talk. That's a promising sign," he said with another chuckle, "I know it isn't pleasant, but it's just a little process I do with everybody just waking up after being out for more than a day. You've still got your sight, another good deal. You should've seen how red your eye when they brought you in," he spoke before reaching for the stethoscope dangling around his neck and pressing it to my chest.

"Where...where...am I?" I groaned before a sudden deep breath.

"You are in my home. Rest assured you are somewhere safe. It's a good thing Sheriff Ruby and her posse found you when they did. Had they been a second later, you and I wouldn't be having this conversation," the nameless man spoke placing his stethoscope on a nearby trap and then scooping up a clipboard to jot down a few notes.

"Where did they find me? I blurted out, relieved I was capable of speaking a fully coherent sentence, yet wondering why I asked the question when I didn't even know where I actually was to begin with.

The only man looked apprehensively towards me before answering, "They found out at a drive-in about ten miles outside of here. You were the lucky one."

"Lucky one?" I asked with a slight tremor.

"They think it was being used as an encampment by the Road Ragers," he continued, the reluctance evident in his tone.

"Road Ragers?" I asked, feeling a ball of ice forming in my stomach. Was that supposed to be the case?

"A raider group," he replied scrunching his facial features, "Bloody savages. Every single damned one of them."

I could only stare in confusion.

Who were these Road Ragers and why did he sound so scared of them?

"Why was I there?" I asked.

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you that. I'm just as clueless as you," the man said clasping his hands in front of him, "Sheriff Ruby and her people were out looking for members of a missing supply caravan when they found you," he curtly answered before changing the subject, "Anyways, I'm Doc Graham and now that you've finally woken up I can formally welcome you to Rodeo Plaza."

"Rodeo Plaza," I repeated in a barely audible whisper. Was this place supposed to mean something to me? I tried to remember, but could only draw a blank.

"That is correct. One of the few places 'round these parts where you're still able to get a warm meal, a good night's rest, or even a warm bath without being shot at, but enough about that," the good doctor said before lowering himself back down into his chair, "Now, can you tell me your name?"

The whole world came to a sudden standstill.

I couldn't remember.

My name? What's my name? I have a name, right? I have to have one if I'm a part of this world, don't I? Parents tend to give their children names when they are born.

Wait a minute, parents...I have parents, don't I? How else am I here? If I have them then why can't I remember them? Oh god...who am I? What am I? Where do I come from? When was I born? Why can't I remember anything? How did I get like this?

The litany of questions running through my head came to a sudden halt as I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked over to see the silver-haired man hovering over me.

"You don't remember, do you?" he deadpanned.

I could only stare quietly back before I slowly began shaking my head, "No...I don't...I don't remember anything at all..."

The doctor offered a rueful stare, "You took a pretty nasty blow to the head. I don't know if it was the Road Ragers doing, but I'm surprised you're not a vegetable right now."

The revelation sent a fresh chill down my spine as I stared at the dull ceiling, afraid to move as question after question swirled through my head. All the while Doc Graham remained steadfast by my side.

"I'm sorry. I can't even begin to imagine what you are going through. Rest assured that we will do whatever we can to help you through this trying ordeal. You have my word."

Again I remained silent. I wanted to thank this man for saving my life, but the overwhelming feeling of dread kept me unable to speak and I laid there listening to the beating of my heart. It seemed like an eternity and when it finally happened I don't even recall how I made the effort to speak.

"Am I going to be like this forever?" I asked.

The old man offered a pensive gaze and placed a hand to his chin. "Well, I'm sure things will come back to you in due time...I hope. Everyone is different."

A knock came and my eyes shifted towards the doorway where a young woman stood, clad in a flower-patterned spring dress with her auburn hair tied back in a bun. She recoiled when noticing my sudden movements, but relaxed when she saw that I meant no harm.

"Father, how is he doing?" she inquired.

"Our guest seems to be doing fine," the doctor answered before returning his attention to me, "for the most part."

The woman nodded and offered me a warm smile. "I'm Lucy. Glad to see you are alright. I hope you don't mind, but I washed your jumpsuit for you."

"My jumpsuit?" I asked while slowly rolling onto my side.

The young lady nodded and raised a light blue jumpsuit for me to see, the number '72' stitched onto the backside in yellow polyester.

"You were wearing that when they found you. Doesn't jog any memories?" Graham asked.

I shook my head as I stared at the strange jumpsuit. "Is that supposed to be something you know about?" I asked wondering how I could have been wearing something like that.

"They're from Vaults. Those places were all over. They were supposed to protect people from when the bombs fell over 200 years ago. My pops grew up in one of those places. Granted, I haven't seen a vault dweller out and about in over 40 years, but if you're one of them then you sure look like you've been through a whole hell of a lot," the doctor said adjusting his glasses.

I looked down to my bare arms and noticed a multitude of scars covering them, long, thin lines of discolored flesh over a fair surface. It was then I noticed the needle sticking in my arm and the IV drip I had been hooked up to all this time. Carefully I lifted the blanket to see a few jagged circular markings covering my bare chest and stomach. Was I supposed to have all this if I was a 'vault dweller' as the good doctor put it?

"I...I wouldn't know," I replied staring down at the markings and brought my right hand up, only for my eyes to widen in horror when I looked down at the bandaged stump where my right index finger should have been. As I slowly lowered my hand I looked straight ahead and into an adjoining darkened room where I was able to see the glint of light off a reflective surface – a mirror!

There was something else I needed to see and with a sudden surge of strength coming to me I kicked the covers to the floor and pulled the IV needle from my arm.

"Hey, what are you doing?" the doctor demanded and without warning I grabbed onto his arm and with a mighty tug I pulled myself to my feet, only to feel my legs wobbling beneath me and my world beginning to spin, followed by a fresh wave of nausea.

"Son, you need to take it easy!" Graham protested placing his other hand on my waist to steady me.

"I have to see something!" I grunted taking a step forward, only to catch myself on the nearby bedpost as my knees buckled beneath my weight.

"Lucy, help me!" the doctor ordered and without hesitation his daughter dropped the blue jumpsuit to the floor and was rushing over to lend me her shoulder. I stood in place with my arms wrapped around both of them and I took a few deep breaths before I dared to place weight on my other foot, trying to shrug off the tingling sensation as my bare feet stood on the cool wooden floor.

"I have to see something," I repeated while taking in my surroundings.

All this time I had been in a room big enough to include two other empty single person beds shielded by semi-transparent privacy screens, a gurney and a wheelchair, both slightly rusted but left in otherwise good condition, a small table where a chemistry set sat, a large cabinet, and several charts depicting the human anatomy adorning the walls. Towards the center of the room was an operating table surrounded by trays holding various surgical instruments and an operating light hanging overhead. Yet through it all, there was that small room at the end that held my attention, where the reflective surface called out to me.

"I have to see something," I repeated for the second time before taking a few more labored steps, dragging the doctor and his daughter along with me. It would take some more struggle before I would find my center of gravity and with my strength coming back to me I gently broke free and stepped hurriedly towards the opened door before stopping to brace myself against the frame. Nothing was going to stop me and with another lunge I was in the room and grasping the counter. The click of a light switch followed and I was left standing face to face with someone I didn't recognize at all.

That somebody was supposed to be me.

My eyes were drawn to the right side of my head, which had been shaved bald and was covered by a several days old bandage that had been wrapped all the way around my head, a darkened, almost brown dry spot crossing the expanse. The good doctor mentioned I had taken a pretty nasty blow to the head and it left me wondering if this was the very injury that had robbed me of my memory. I was strangely drawn to the dried splotch, yet it left me afraid to make any sudden movements for fear of reopening the freshly mended wound. I still had to feel relief in knowing that something could be done, or else I wouldn't be here taking a good hard look at the face in the mirror before me.

Speaking of which, I slowly began to take in the rest, at least what wasn't obscured by hair. What had once been a full mane of sandy blond hair fell to the bottom of my neck and was joined by a thick matching beard covering the bottom half of my face, both matted and oily after not having been washed in quite some time. A pair of bloodshot steely gray eyes looked back at me, rimmed by a discolored patch of black and blue and the corner of the right held together by another line of stitches, a testament to how badly those savages had roughed me up.

"Are you alright, mister?" Doc Graham spoke from behind, now having retrieved his cane and looking towards me with deep concern. I didn't reply.

All I could do was focus on the bloodshot eyes staring back at me and note the pain behind them.

Had I really lived such a long, hard life why they looked so dead to me?

From the corner of my eye I looked back at the old doctor and let out a quiet sigh before answering, "I'm fine."

It was a lie and judging by the doctor's furrowing brow he could also tell it was, but I'm guessing he was going to be considerate and not prod a guy who had just woken up with no memory of his past and he disappeared from sight.

"Very well. You should get yourself cleaned up. Looks like it's been a while since you've had yourself a nice warm bath," the old man called out.

"Not to mention a decent haircut," Lucy added.

"Take all the time you need. We'll still be here when you get done," Graham spoke from the other room.

"Yeah...thanks," I said closing the door behind me.

XXXXXX

I don't know how long I was in that bathtub for, but I swore it must have felt like damn near an eternity, at least long enough to warrant four knocks from Lucy coming to check up on me. It hadn't taken me long to wash all the filth away, but it was the sheer solitude that had given me plenty of time to be alone with my thoughts and the warm, soothing water did nothing to calm my racing mind.

The same questions haunted me as I sat there and whenever I tried to dig deeper I only felt that sharp pain in the side of my head. I had to ask myself again if I would be like this forever and the good doctor's words did little to alleviate my anxieties.

The fifth knock came and my body must have gone into autopilot because before I knew it Lucy was in to give me both a shave and a proper haircut.

Now here I stood looking into the eyes of a completely different person.

The partial mane had been shaved away and the beard was long gone, revealing the X-shaped scar on my right cheek that marred an otherwise youthful appearance. I was grateful for what the young woman had done for me, but now I was left to wonder how old I really was (I couldn't be any more than 35 by my rough guess) and where I could have gotten that unique scar from.

She had been forced to remove the bandage while cutting my hair and it was now that I was able to see the line of stitches crossing the expanse of weathered skin. I was oddly drawn to the aftermath of his needlework, but then reminded myself that this wasn't some large scale professional setup he had and focused on getting myself dressed.

With nothing else left for me I was now clad in the Vault 72 jumpsuit after receiving a fresh pair of under garments, along with a pair of black boots, matching fingerless gloves, and a belt I had been wearing when that posse found me. The clothes looked foreign, yet at the same time felt familiar. Was I truly one of those 'vault dwellers' as the good doctor had said? Or does this outfit just fit me that well?

I switched off the light and made my way into a spacious living room where Doc Graham sat in a cushy armchair near the fireplace with his nose buried in a book and a leather travel pack at his feet. From the other room I could hear the sizzle of something cooking on a stove and felt my already dry mouth watering, leaving me to wonder if that was a smell I was supposed to be familiar with. My thoughts were interrupted as the old man heard me approach and looked up with his eyes widening behind his glasses.

"Well I'll be damned. Are you the same guy I treated earlier?" he asked setting his book down on the nearby coffee table. "My daughter must be quite the miracle worker because you're looking like a whole new person."

I offered only a slight laugh to the comment as I scanned the rest of the room and my eyes were drawn to a tidy bookshelf lined with untouched pre-War books, a toy car, and a globe before happening across a framed black and white photograph, one of a younger man and a woman who bore a remarkable resemblance to Lucy.

"That was my wife and I when we were first married," the doctor spoke up, "Lucy sure takes after her, don't you think?" he finished with a hint of sadness in his voice before gesturing towards the lime green couch across from him, "But that's a story for another time. Here, why don't you take a seat?"

"Sure," I said sitting down and making myself comfortable.

"I know it hasn't been long, but how are things coming along thus far?" Graham asked leaning forward in his armchair.

I hesitated to reply and took a few deep breaths before I spoke, "Well, this suit...it almost feels familiar to me, but it doesn't look like it. I was thinking I would get some ideas...but I just can't come up with anything."

The old doctor sat quietly across from me with his chin rested upon a balled up fist knowing he had to choose his words carefully. It wasn't like there was much he could say without provoking some kind of strong reaction, especially when the patient was awake and alone in a war-torn world, but he still took his time before lifting his head and speaking.

"I understand you are going to have a long road ahead of you and I want to do what I can to help, but I can't just throw a bunch of stuff at you all in one sitting. You have to take things one day at a time. The fact that the feeling of that jumpsuit seems familiar to you is just a tiny baby step. Is it going to be in the right direction? I honestly cannot tell you," the older man spoke before removing his glasses to wipe some specks away with the corner of his lab coat.

"Is there even a 'right' direction?" I asked staring blankly into the empty fireplace.

"Only time will tell, but I think I could help give you a jump start," Graham replied before reaching down for the backpack at his side and placing it on the coffee table.

"That pack was with you when they brought you in. I would've looked through it, but I didn't want to invade your privacy. I'm assuming its yours, so why don't you take a look through it? See if there's anything to jog your memory."

I stared at the pack placed before me, a scuffled leather bag that had seen its share of wear and tear. Like my jumpsuit, it had the number '72' stitched onto it in bright yellow polyester. I repeated the number to myself, wondering if there had to be some kind of connection.

Vault 72, was that where I came from?

I undid the clasps and reached in for the first item, only to pull out...a comic book?

The cover had an image depicting a scantily-clad man with a large battle ax in hand, locked in a battle with a monster much larger than him. The title introduced him as 'Grognak the Barbarian.' Was I supposed to like him or something? I dug further and found two more issues of the same comic, so that must be a yes.

"You seem to be a child at heart. There's something we could have to go on," the doctor chuckled, "I haven't seen a Grognak comic around in forever," he said before leaning over to me and whispering, "I have a whole bunch of those hidden in a safe beneath my bed, but you didn't hear that from me," he finished with a wink.

I ignored the comment as I pulled out a bright red baseball cap with a large 'W' stitched onto the front, which piqued my curiosity. What did the solitary letter mean? Was it a place? A person? Something else?

"Could be a baseball team," Graham piped in and I looked at him cocking an eyebrow. "It was a popular sport at one point in this country's history. The players wore hats similar to those. I learned all about it in a book my father kept in his study."

I offered a slight nod before I focused on emptying the bag, pulling out a small box of some snack called 'Fancy Lads Snack Cakes,' a roll of bandages, a small pocket knife, and a leather belt before I happened across more items that were seriously drawing my attention and forcing me to slow down.

The first item was a folded up piece of paper I carefully opened and was met by the smiling visage of a young woman with hair that fell past her shoulders and clad in a nice dress.

Who was she? Somebody I was supposed to care about? Like a childhood friend or even a spouse?

I showed the image to Graham, who paused to take in every single little detail.

"Well if you drew that, you're a pretty damned good artist. There's something we could have to go on. Perhaps that could be a drawing of someone from your past," he said, repeating my own thoughts aloud. "She must be out there looking for you...," he spoke, his tone uncertain.

I offered another quick nod as I reached the bottom and felt something metallic stuck in a fold and pulled it out.

It was a gold star suspended from a red,white and blue ribbon.

I was mystified by the artifact and left to wonder why I would be carrying such a thing. I looked back to Doc Graham, who just regarded me with quiet curiosity as I held the star in front of him.

"It looks like some kind of medal, like the kind the government gave out to servicemen back in the pre-War times," he said eyeing it closely.

"Pre-War?" I asked, having heard the term more than once since waking up, the doctor saying something about 'when the bombs fell over 200 years ago.'

"Heh, I guess you really have been living in a Vault after all this time," Graham said rubbing his chin, "and just when I thought they were all opened."

The doctor cleared his throat before continuing, "I don't know how you ended up with that medal in your possession, but if I were you I'd hold on to that. If there's one thing life in the wastes teaches you, it's that every little thing counts. You never know where the littlest things can lead to," he commented before cocking a mischievous eyebrow, "Perhaps you have that for a reason, one that could give you some of the answers you seek."

Strange enough, I felt inclined to agree with the guy and I slid the medal back into the pack before looking over to him, "I still don't feel anything, Doc."

"Take your time, dear boy. You don't want to rush yourself," the old man spoke as he reached for his cane and was about to stand up before stopping himself, "Come to think of it, all this time you've been with us and we haven't give you a name to call you."

Once again I was left wondering what my name had been before that posse found me and I shut my eyes in deep thought, hoping for some kind of flash from the past, but was again unable to come up with anything. Surely I needed to be called something other than just "Mister," "Son," or "Hey you."

It was then my eyes opened and I was staring at my backpack.

"Seventy-Two," I blurted out.

The doctor just stopped and looked at me in bewilderment.

"Excuse me?" he demanded.

"Call me Seventy-Two," I answered.

Graham looked at me in confusion and was about to say something, but halted when he saw that I was being serious.

"Well...if that's what you want to call yourself then I guess that's what you want to call yourself," the doctor spoke in an unsure tone, his brow creasing in emphasis, "Can't say that's the name I would've picked for you, but who am I to judge?" he grumbled and started off for the kitchen.

"That Brahmin steak sure is smelling mighty delicious. Maybe a filling meal could be a good start, eh?"

I said nothing and rose to my feet, still repeating the name to myself over and over again.

Seventy-Two.

It wouldn't be just a name. No, it would become a reminder. It would become a mission.

I needed to find this 'Vault 72' and see if it truly carried the answers I had been seeking.

But for now, as the good doctor said, I needed to take my time and I followed him into the kitchen.

Author's Note: And so completes the first chapter of my attempt at a reboot.

Please bear in mind with me that I am stepping outside of my usual comfort zone with this story as I am doing something done in first person – and from the perspective of a man with amnesia, which has why I've struggled with this in the past.

Until then, let me know what you think. As always, this is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME!