"Critical Failure in Cryogenic Array, Pod Alpha 09. Ejecting Vault Resident Shepherd, Zachary."

An alarm buzzer broke the silence of the cryogenic bay deep within Vault 111, a lone warning light flashing above a single pod in the back of the bay. The door of the pod hissed as seals were broken, water from ice being thawed dripping out and falling into a rusted drain at its base. The door opened upward, steam billowing out as differing air temperatures met.

Zachary Shepherd fell to the floor on all fours, coughing and gagging, gasping for fresh air.

"You bastards," he wheezed, rolling onto his back. He blinked hard, his eyes adjusting to the dull glow of the emergency lights that lined the walls. He moved to a seated position, back against his cryogenic pod.

He looked around the room, trying to find the nearest person in a lab coat to lash out at. Instead, he found himself alone in the cryogenic bay, save for the other frozen occupants.

"Hello?" he yelled, still breathing heavily as his body adjusted the drastic change in temperature.

No one answered.

He struggled to his feet, grabbing onto his frozen tomb for support. He called out once more, but again there was no answer.

Slowly, he made his way down the line of cryogenic pods, looking through the frozen over windows at the occupants. He recognized the faces of those that had been with him and the Greene's during their descent into Vault 111. Some wore a look of shock, faces frozen in surprise and fear. Others, a look of peace, as if they were sleeping. Finally, he came across Nate and Nora.

He tried to look inside their pods, but he could only just make out their faces due to frostbite. He knew that one of them had been holding their baby, but he was unsure which. He prayed the infant was okay.

He looked to the pod controls next to each of them, easily identifying the emergency release switches. He pulled on the release for both pods and was met with an angry buzzing that signaled failure.

"Sorry Nate, Nora," he rasped, throat dry and scratchy. "Looks like y'all are on ice until I find one of the eggheads."

Another look around the cryogenic bay identified that there was only one exit. The door slid upwards with a quiet whoosh as he pressed the button on the operation panel, revealing that the once brightly lit hallway was now only illuminated by more of the same emergency lighting that was present in the cryo bay. Zach began to make his was down the hall, taking in the eerie silence and stench of stale air. He smelled rust, mildew, and a general odor of decay.

"Where the hell is everyone?" he questioned aloud. Something didn't seem right. The once freshly painted, newly minted vault seemed to have aged a lifetime or three since he last saw it, as was evident by the state of disrepair it was in.

He approached the door that he knew would lead him into the atrium, only to find it blocked with a pair of traffic cones and a maintenance cart. Pushing the door control button revealed it to be locked from the other side. Confused and concerned, the former policeman turned to the door off to his right that led to a part of the Vault he was unfamiliar with. As opposed to his initial choice, this door actually opened.

"Hey, anyone there? I need to know who to thank for turning me into a frozen dinner." His voice echoed with no answer, spurring him to continue deeper into the Vault as he searched for answers.

As he continued deeper into the Vault, he continually found it devoid of life. A window gave him a view into what was the generator room, the large devices occasionally sparking from disrepair. It was then he saw the first skeletons.

Clad in tattered and decaying lab coats and vault suits, they appeared to be attempting to gain entry through a door to another area of the Vault. While he had seen and handled more than his fair share of bodies and skeletal remains, it was their presence in the Vault that shook him. He began to wonder exactly how long he had been on ice.

Across from the window he found what must have been a work station of sorts, the drawers hanging from filing cabinets and chairs strewn about. He ignored the clutter and sat at the still operational terminal, scrolling through the files and text logs. The last entries seemed to be dated sometime in 2078.

"It was October of 77 when the bombs dropped," he muttered, skimming the logs.

What he read was a tale of a descent into chaos within the vault amongst the security and science personnel. Food shortages, cabin fever, and rising tensions, all multiplied by the lack of an all clear signal from the head honchos at Vault-Tec. It seemed as if things had gone to hell in a hand basket in a relatively short period, especially when considering that the Vaults were meant to house people for prolonged periods. And a single year definitely could not be considered a prolonged period in regards to a fallout shelter in the aftermath of a nuclear war.

Moving further into the Vault, Zach eventually came across the cafeteria and living quarters. Spartan by most standards it seemed as if the Vault 111 personnel were most definitely not living in luxury during their short tenure below the surface. Similar to the workspace, these areas were in disarray, with trash and furniture strewn about. The mattresses seemed musty, a few covered in mold and mildew, the bed frames rusting away like the cafeteria tables.

"I'm guessing they won't be passing the next health inspection," he muttered, running his hand along a dust covered table. His palm came back grey and grimy. Dusting his hand off on the leg of his vault suit, he made a beeline for the sink, grabbing up the least dirty looking glass on the counter. He prayed the water was still running, and clean, his throat killing him and his body aching from dehydration.

While initially brown and dirty, the water eventually came out clean once the stagnant water had run out. The glass in his hand forgotten, he took to sticking his face directly under the faucet, drinking deeply. He only stopped because oxygen was just as important as water for staying alive.

After drinking his fill, the lone Vault dweller made his way further into the bunker, the next door taking him into the generator room with the skeletons. Taking care to avoid the occasional electrical discharge and trip hazard that were the long dead staff, he found that the door the deceased had been attempting to access led into what he surmised was a short hallway leading to the office of the head scientist. Upon entering the office, he found said scientist.

Slumped back in a chair behind his desk, the man that had once been the director of Vault 111 was nothing more than a skeleton with a hole in the skull. A handgun was on the floor at his bony fingertips, fired only once in its service life.

"French handgun, fired and dropped only once." He took up the bulky pistol, ejecting the magazine and racking the slide. The chambered round landed on the desk next to the long dead scientist's terminal. As he retrieved the 10mm round, he pressed the power button on the computer with the hope it was still operational.

Sure enough, it hummed to life, its booting sequence scrolling across the dusty screen. Careful not to disturb the dead, Zach moved in front of the computer and began to read through the logs detailing the final days of the Vault. Just like the previous terminal, food shortages and cabin fever were what lead to an eventual mutiny of the security and blue collar personnel against the scientists and medical staff. There were two entries that stuck out amongst the others, however.

First, the Overseer had consolidated most of the remaining food, medical supplies, and weapons into his personal quarters. A quick look around the office confirmed this, as a rusting chain link storage cage sat off in a back corner. While the door had obviously long been pried open, there appeared to be a few bits of supplies left behind. Second, a familiar name appeared in the entries regarding the mutiny. Head of Security, Officer Bill Woolsworth.

It was then that Zach remembered his personal belongings that the Security Officer had promised to watch over, securing them in the security office. Judging by the state of the Vault, it was obvious that the current state of affairs called for what he had in his bags. He had no idea how long he had been frozen for, but if the skeletal remains were any indicator it must have been for some time. This train of thought was what brought about the realization that the still operational terminals showed the current date and time. His eyes darted to the upper right corner of the screen, the color draining from his face at what he saw.

Sunday, October 16, 2287, 2152 hours.

He stumbled away from the terminal, knocking the skeleton and its chair over onto the floor. He paid it no mind, instead clutching onto the edge of the desk for support.

"Over 200 years on ice," he rasped, his throat suddenly dry once more.

The knowledge of a nuclear war coupled with over two centuries of change lead him to the conclusion that things on the surface were most definitely different than the world he knew before. His family back home in Georgia, even if they had survived the war, were gone. His friends, save for the two still frozen in the Vault, were gone. Coworkers, career, love interests, everything.

Gone. It was all gone.

Only half aware of where he was going, he stumbled around the corner into what had been the Overseer's room. The bed didn't seem as dirty as those in the barracks, not that it mattered at this point. He flopped down onto it, the aging bed frame creaking under his weight. Exhaustion seemed to wash over him like an unseen wave, a mixture of stress and fatigue to both his body and mind.

Sleep took him instantly.

He awoke some time later, mind in a fog and eyes blurry with sleep. He clutched his head as he sat up, rubbing his temples. As he blinked and took in his surroundings, he found that he was still in the Vault and that everything from before was not a bad dream like he had hoped. Groaning, he stood from the bed, stretching and popping his back like a roll of bubble wrap.

He groggily shuffled back into the Overseer's office, grabbing up the pistol he had left next to the terminal. He swore to himself for having forgotten to reload the thing. Here he was, alone and in an unknown situation, and he had left his only known means of defense useless. He sat on the desk, sliding the handgun, magazine, and single loose round next to him.

Racking the slide and ensuring it was unloaded once more out of habit, he began to look it over. Function testing the slide, familiarizing himself with the trigger pull and reset, he found it to be just a run of mill N99 handgun, albeit the government combat model. While not his preferred sidearm, he was at least familiar with it from his time in the military and law enforcement. He topped the magazine off with the loose round, filling it to its maximum of 12. The sound of that same round sliding into the chamber as he racked the slide on the full magazine was calming, a familiarity in a time of uncertainty.

Setting the firearm back on the desk, he meandered over to the storage cage and began to take an inventory of what was there. What he found was… not much. After all was said and done, he spread his haul across the desk and wasn't impressed.

In all, he had three N99 pistols, nine magazines, five boxes of pistol ammunition, three duty belts of varying sizes with appropriate gear for security work, five collapsible security batons, and about a dozen stimpacks. He was honestly surprised he had found that much, the stimpacks especially. If he had been with the group that had fought to leave the Vault so long ago, he would have taken everything and everything of value.

"Their loss, my gain," he muttered, sizing one of the duty belts to fit around his waist.

It took some time, but setting up this new to him gear was therapeutic, once more something familiar that brought about a sense of normalcy. The adjusting of the belt to fit him, the rearranging of the pouches in their placement, the loading of magazines. He found himself lost in his work, only stopping when the growl of his stomach echoed off the metal walls.

He was hungry. No, he realized. Not just hungry, but ravenous, almost desperate for something to eat.

He stood, donning his gear belt and securing his loadout with a final gear check. Handgun, four spare magazines between two pouches, three stimpacks in individual pouches, and a baton. The nylon belt and pouches felt secure enough, but he knew they were bought from the lowest bidder based on the brand name. He was at least thankful that Vault-Tec decided not to cheap out on the holster, the retention mechanism giving a solid, audible click as he drew and holstered his handgun a few times.

Zach soon found himself buried in the cabinets, pantry, and refrigerator of the dining area, scouring for anything to eat that wasn't stale, rotten, or just plain garbage. As the terminal entries had indicated, the pickings were slim. What little he did find had expirations dates that he cared not to read twice. So far there was a tie between the few boxes of InstaMash mashed potatoes and Sugar Bombs cereal for the most out of date.

He was about to open a metal cabinet tucked away in a corner when from behind came what sounded like the chittering of an insect… A really big insect. Slowly, he turned to face the center of the room, where he saw it.

Sitting on the table adjacent to his meager food pile was what could only be described as the biggest damn cockroach Zachary Shepherd had ever seen in his entire existence.

He stared at the roach and it seemingly stared back, each sizing the other up. It was the strangest Mexican standoff that one could imagine, if could be called a standoff. Zach slowly slid his feet and adjusted his stance, eyes locked on the roach. The radroach didn't seem to care about him, however, as it finally turned away, seemingly ignoring him in favor of another target.

The food.

The head of the roach suddenly exploded, slime and other visceral fluid splattering across the table and floor of the cafeteria.

Click.

Zach holstered his pistol, a faint wisp of smoke still hanging in the air. He ignored the ringing in his ears and the oncoming headache as he drew his baton, using it to slide his slain foe onto the floor.

"Touch my food, you fuckin piece of shit," he grumbled. He collapsed the baton and sheathed it before going to the sink to wash his hands and a few dishes.

He sat down at the table with a pitcher of water and a glass, snatching a box of Sugar Bombs from the meager pile. The cereal was stale and sugary, but damn if it wasn't the best thing he had ever tasted at that moment in time. He devoured the first box along with the entire pitcher of water, opening a second box to munch on as he cooked a box of InstaMash over a still working hotplate.

He occasionally looked over to the now dead roach, taking in its size as he thought of the amount of radiation that must have been present to cause such a mutation. While he was no man of science, he understood enough about the effects of radiation to know that large doses of it would be the only logical explanation for such a massive change to occur in only two centuries. If that's what roaches looked like nowadays, God only knew what other changes had occurred.

The InstaMash was salty and unappetizing, but it filled the void. Hunger sated, Zach left his dishes and trash behind, taking the remaining food back to the office he had claimed as his own. He looked to the door opposite the desk, the one he assumed led to the Vault exit. If there was a time to find the exit, it might as well be now.

Roughly an hour of exploring the Vault and Zach had walked what little ground there was to cover. He had found the storage room for personal belongings, only to discover that there was nothing of real value other than some musty smelling clothing that had been strewn about. Everything and anything of value was long gone, more than likely taken during the mutiny and subsequent escape that had plagued the bunker so long ago. Sadly it was the same story when it came to the security office.

Tucked into the back of the Vault, the security office was nothing special, only boasting a single desk, two equipment lockers, and a holding cell the size of a broom closet. The lockers had long been emptied, their contents stolen away. The realization that his kit bag was gone was a crushing blow, an almost angry sigh of annoyance coming from him as he took a seat in the desk chair. He leaned back, fingers interlaced behind his head as he propped his feet up on the desk.

He stared at the ceiling, the faint buzz of the emergency lights the only noise accompanying his thoughts as he considered his next move. Limited gear, limited food, and a whole lot less information on the situation outside of the Vault.

"So either die down here of starvation or killed in my sleep by a roach, or get shot on the surface the moment I step foot outside," he muttered, swiveling side to side. It was then he noticed that the grate to one of the air vents was barely hanging on, as if it was replaced in a hurry and not too well. Curiosity got the better of him and he stood from the chair, walking over and reaching for the grate.

It fell almost immediately, with little to no effort on his part. He wasn't sure why, but something spurred him to climb up on a chair that was sitting nearby, as if intentionally left there as an improvised stool. Expecting to find another roach the size of a small dog, Zach drew his handgun and let it lead the way as he stepped onto the chair. What he found sent him almost scrambling into the vent, reaching and grabbing with his free hand.

Covered in dust but largely intact, he pulled his backpack from the vent and began opening it as he jumped from the chair. Just as he was about to dump the contents onto the desk, however, a familiar chittering sound caught his attention. He turned back towards the still open air vent, the noise echoing from deep within the veins of the Vault's circulation system.

"Oh fuck me."

He quickly closed the bag, the contents forgotten, donning it as he began to back towards the office door. He drew his handgun once more, held at a low ready as he prepared to dispatch another roach. He fell into a rhythm that was second nature, his breathing controlled and his feet sliding into position. All he could have asked for at that moment was a set of hearing protection.

Maybe a can of bug spray, too.

The chittering grew louder and louder, the echoing of the air shafts causing it to sound almost as if there were dozens of them. It was unnerving, but Zach held his ground, knowing it was more than likely just one really noisy bug. Soon enough, a roach came skittering out of the vent, stopping on the wall just next to the hole in the wall.

Pop.

The roach splattered across the wall, the carcass falling to the floor. One round, one dead roach, and one more case of ringing in the ears.

Sighing and shaking his head, he holstered his weapon. He chuckled, berating himself for getting worked up over an overgrown roach. He moved to replace the grate, not wanting another unwanted visitor, when the chittering resumed. Except this time, it was much louder and sounded almost… angry?

He had taken two steps back into the room when they began to swarm from the ventilation shaft like a plague sent from God. Dozens of the oversize roaches seemed to pour out of the wall almost instantly, all chittering angrily and seeking revenge for their slain brother.

He ran.

There was no sense in even trying to fight off a horde of roaches like that, especially when there was seemingly no end to the number pouring out of the wall.

As he ran through the Vault, he closed every door he passed through in the hopes it would stem the tide of angry insects, but they seemed to forgo the usual methods of moving around the structure in favor of the air ducts. Every corner he turned, roaches would drop from the air vents in the ceiling or walls behind him. Before he knew it, he had reached the Vault entrance, the massive cog shaped door mocking him as it blocked his escape.

The sound of the angry roach horde seemed to echo throughout the entirety of the Vault, now, with what must have been a nest of them angered by the death of their brethren in what had been an undisturbed and safe home. Decision made for him, Zach sprinted for the Vault door controls, trying to open the protective housing that covered the door activation button.

It buzzed in defiance, a light illuminating what appeared to be a socket next to it. What he needed was one of those wrist mounted computers, a Pip-Boy.

Like the one on the skeleton at his feet.

He grabbed the long decayed scientist's arm, the bones separating at the elbow, lifting the mini computer and the forearm it had been attached to the control board. He activated the device while jerking the plug from its storage slot, eyes shifting from it to the air vents around him and back. Once the plug met the socket and it registered a Pip-Boy was connected, the cover lazily popped up.

Slamming the button, he dropped the skeleton mounted Pip-Boy back to the ground with its original owner, leaving it behind as he made his way onto the metal gangway that he knew would be extending to safety once the massive metal cog of a door was rolled away by the equally massive drill like key that hung from the ceiling.

Even over the grinding of metal on metal and alarm blaring, he could hear the roaches chittering angrily as they crawled through the vents, searching for him. One crawled through a grate on the wall opposite the walkway, letting forth some poor excuse of a battle cry that was more akin to a squeaky toy. But it was still enough to alert the rest of the colony.

Pop.

The roach exploded as the policeman turned exterminator made use of his handgun once more.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Two more roaches had crawled from the same grate and were now lying dead, their fluids splattered across the wall.

The Vault seemed to be taking its sweet time in opening the door, as if it was getting some sick joy out of watching the man sweat.

PopPop. Pop. Pop.

The roaches were starting to swarm, now that he had been discovered. Their bodies were piling up and there seemed to be no end to them. As soon as he would slay one or two, another three seemed to be taking their place.

Pop. Pop.

The slide locked back, magazine empty. Like a robot on autopilot, he ejected the spent magazine to the floor without a second thought, drawing a loaded one from his belt and sliding it into the handgun in one fluid motion. The slide release sent the chunky slide forward with a satisfying thwunk, another round chambered.

The walkway finally slid forward, the door open, his path of escape cleared. He sprinted for the elevator, slamming the button for the surface level repeatedly. The elevator gate shut almost immediately, the elevator jerking upwards.

As he ascended from the roach infested, freezer section of the grocery store like hell, Zach watched with satisfaction as a few of the insects were caught in the cog shaped door as it resealed itself automatically. He looked upwards, taking in the dark silo above him with only the dim floor lighting of the platform to break the darkness.

He had escaped the Vault, yes, but with only the equipment on his belt and whatever remained in his backpack. Even so, he still preferred being under equipped and uninformed over dying to a swarm of roaches in a sealed away tomb.

At least that was his mindset for the time being.