A/N: And now we begin another story - my first in the Fallout universe.

This is yet another one of those strange ideas that's haunted me for months on end; in truth, this one's been stuck with me for years, ever since I first played Fallout 3 as a matter of fact.

You see, compared to the awesomeness of New Vegas, I have mixed feelings about 3: I love the exploration aspect and the world itself, but the plot irked me a little bit... except for two major moments. The first was the prologue, in no small part because it perfectly illustrates the bleakness and the bizarre jollity of the post-apocalyptic setting in only a few short scenes. But the second... well, the second was Tranquillity Lane. It's one of the most twisted things I've encountered in a videogame without bringing full-blown gorn into the mix, and made all the more disturbing by the twee suburban setting, the power Braun wields over the simulation, and that voice.

But as I replayed it, I couldn't help wondering at the things that were left unexplained: it's explained why Dithers is immune to the brainwashing, but why isn't the player subjected to the brainwashing? Why can't you be brought back from the dead like the other residents, and if it's due to another broken and/or stolen part, then why didn't Braun just say that instead of "you're different." Why does Braun take his eyes off you and allow you to ruin everything?

Well, without these unexplained elements, the game wouldn't have been playable and Braun would have won instantly... but it still irks me to wonder at what could have been done instead.

Also, as time goes on, I wish Braun had been given a bigger role - not because I like him as a character, but because the real villain of Fallout 3 was quite lackluster: the Enclave were good enough as villains in Fallout 2 and there was no need to bring them back, even helmed by Malcolm McDowell as they were. Braun could have been an effective Big Bad for the entire game, but instead, he's just the baddie for a single mission.

Once I was finished replaying, I began discussing Tranquillity Lane with a friend (who shall remain nameless), brainstorming ways in which it could have been more involved, more disturbing, more dramatic. Over the course of these brainstorming sessions, we both came up with our fair share of morbid ideas, and I ended up making my friend - one of the most worldly and thoroughly tattooed people I've ever met - cringe in disgust for the first time. From those wild chats, I began expanding on the original idea, fleshing it out by supplying it with characterization and actual plot, building it into something hopefully more detailed than just a grisly torture porn tale... until at least, Better To Reign In Heaven was born.

So here we are: my story of Stanislaus Braun, my interpretation of his character, and how imagine his story might begin, end... and continue.

Be warned, for extremely disturbing things lurk within. Take heart, though: there will be no rape in this story. We can establish this as a ground rule right off the bat. After all, Braun's violations are of a different kind.

Also, I'm currently working off let's plays and the Fallout wiki for a good chunk of my information: now that my PS3's gone to meet its maker, I've tried many times to get Fallout 3 working on Steam - but alas, no luck. Please forgive any inaccuracies that may ensue, though I'll be sure to mention which ones are due to artistic licence.

Anyway, without further ado, my latest story. Read, review, and above all, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Fallout is not mine.

He wasn't sure when he first started thinking of retirement.

It seemed nonsensical under the circumstances, especially given the current socio-political tensions that were slowly bringing the planet to a boil, but nonetheless, that was the thought that kept springing to mind. The idea of finally attaining a reward that would make all his hard work worthwhile seemed to possess him at odd hours of the day, leaving him doodling in the margins of his notebook and dreaming of the impossible prize on the horizon.

The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous the concept seemed. After all, he had everything a man of his inclinations could possibly want. He had a high-paying job in the upper echelons of one of the most powerful and prestigious companies in the United States. He had a private fortune that was rapidly hurtling towards a nine-digit total, thanks to his many patents and commissions, and his salary only accelerated its ascent. His position commanded respect all over America, granting him access to a network of friends in high places that he could call upon for help at any time, the better to defend himself from the suspicions he might one day attract. Best of all, his work afforded him all the intellectual and emotional stimulation he needed to keep himself entertained.

Here and now, in these dying months of 2068, he was powerful, happy and unopposed. Why should he want more? Why should he even consider retiring, when all he would gain would be an end to the fun?

Retirement, assuming he could find it in this decomposing world, would bore him rigid, and his means of seeking entertainment in civilian life would probably end up with him being arrested. He was under no illusions: he knew that his idea of fun was considered illegal by mainstream society. So, why did he dream of one day resting on his laurels and settling down?

In the end, the only answer he could divine was this: he was getting old. As frustrating as it was to admit it, there was no denying that age was beginning to catch up with him: at over seventy years of age, it was impossible to ignore the growing frailty of his body, the pain of arthritis in his hands, his escalating weariness, the increasingly serious visits to his doctor, and most annoyingly of all, the longer breaks between private amusements.

For a time, he'd contented himself with the thought that he might find be able to find some pathway to restoring his youth, or if he was too busy, that one of the other brilliant minds in Vault-Tec's employ might do the same, but in the end, it was nothing more than a pipe dream. He wouldn't have time for experiments of that nature on the company budget, and even his personal resources couldn't secure the needed facilities and test subjects for such a project. After all, Vault-Tec wasn't in the business of preserving individuals, but humanity itself. Granted, it was a very specific vision of the species minus a few unfortunate test subjects here and there, but that was just splitting hairs when you got right down to it.

And so it was that Dr Stanislaus Braun, senior Vault-Tec executive and Director of the company's Societal Preservation Program, found himself desiring more – though he already had everything.

He gloomily looked down at the reports on his desk, each one detailing the enthralling possibilities secretly playing out across Vault-Tec's growing underground empire: California, Virginia, Maryland, Nevada, Massachusetts – all of them were due to play host to experiments that nobody outside Vault-Tec would ever hear of.

Project Safehouse, once a simple plan to protect humanity from the perils of nuclear war, now paved the way for a scientific leap forward that could end with mankind's ascension to the stars. So many of the experiments taking place within the Vaults had been of his design, but he'd never see any of them in action. Indeed, if all went according to plan, Braun would probably be dead long before they bore fruit, either of old age, or… other causes.

Turning back to the colossal windows that dominated his office, he looked out at the glittering cityscape that still buzzed with activity even at this hour of the night: Washington D.C. never slept, especially with the current political dramas simmering away.

By now, everyone with a working brain knew that the conflict in Alaska would not remain in check for long, not with retaliatory efforts already in progress: it had only been two years since the Chinese had invaded Alaska, and while media outlets were doing their best to encourage calm, already the possibility of nuclear deterrents had been whispered of among the general populace. Though public displays of patriotic bombast were still all the rage, and nobody dared speak of how hopeless the socioeconomic situation had become, everyone in America was secretly asking themselves the same question: when will it end?

As always, that was where Vault-Tec came in: candidates to populate the newly-completed Vaults were already being selected from among the many civilian petitioners, both for the common breed of shelter where the experiments would take place and for the Vaults that would house the control groups.

Elsewhere, more discreet selection processes were underway for a small number of custom-made shelters where those truly worthy of repopulating the world would reside.

Braun had already earned a place in one of the real shelters, as a reward for his many years of service. As far as Vault-Tec and its close associates in the US Government were concerned, that was the only retirement he needed. Assuming he lived long enough to see the inevitable nuclear cataclysm rain down on American soil, he would be guaranteed salvation – probably somewhere under the Rockies if they were really being serious about keeping him safe. There were more prestigious sites reserved for only the absolute cream of the nation's governmental, military and corporate crop, but unless someone felt like having a tug-of-war with Vault-Tec over vital personnel allocation, he wouldn't see any of these maximum-security bunkers up close. Of course, even if old age didn't completely overtake him before the day of his interment within a shelter, there was one major drawback to Braun's current retirement plan:

Surviving a nuclear war might just be the most boring thing that could possibly happen to him.

Most people wouldn't think of such things, being more concerned with saving themselves and their loved ones before imagining possibilities for entertainment. But Stanislaus Braun wasn't "most people," and he knew life in a government shelter would offer little joy to him. There would be no radical experiments to keep him occupied, no expendable test subjects to amuse him, no official programs that would allow him to find stimulation – except perhaps on a few white mice, which hadn't interested him since he was about ten years old.

True fallout shelters, especially ones reserved for high-ranking government officials and the intellectual elite of Vault-Tec, were meant to be safe havens for all inside their walls. Pursuing his idea of contentment among the indispensable populations would probably end with him either exiled or executed.

So, what was left to him? Should he simply wait for the bombs to fall and allow the flames to consume him as casually as they would everyone else? Was death by nuclear apocalypse preferable to death by boredom?

Braun rarely found himself troubled by the thought of dying. Somehow, the idea had never filled him with the same kind of dread it had his colleagues and test subjects. As always, he was under no illusions. He knew that he was just as mortal as any living being on the planet, and he understood the concept of death and dying just as well as he would any principle of science, but only in terms of risk vs reward. At an early age, he had learned that risking death would a mean a permanent end to his fun, so he had avoided it in much the same way that he had avoided police attention: coldly, clinically and without any real emotional connection to the matter.

Hell or eternal punishment held even less fear for him, if that were possible: after all, if there really was some unknowable, all-loving, all-despising, self-contradicting force of nature ready to swat him into perdition at the very moment his heart stopped beating, then there wasn't much point worrying about it, was there? Above all else, Braun had been trained as a realist, and there wasn't much he could do if pitted against beings that damned as arbitrarily as they saved.

No, it wasn't fear of death or fear of divine retribution that kept him from actively seeking destruction. Instead, it was once again the simple calculus of risk vs reward: if there was no reward to be gained from remaining alive, then acceptable risks would indeed encompass death. But what if he'd missed something in his calculations, some missing element that would make his retirement worth living?

What if there was a reward out there that was better than death?

There was a knock on the door. Normally, his secretary would have notified him of any visitors, but right now his secretary was at home along with most of the building's staff. Tonight, only the janitors and the most resilient of his fellow researchers remained at work.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Higgins, sir. Just the latest word from the Board, sir."

Braun barely suppressed a sigh. More memos from people incapable of doing without his advice. Didn't they have wives and mistresses they could be attending to at this hour of the night? Perhaps drug habits, or other unsavoury addictions – anything that could keep that parade of mediocrities out of what remained of his hair.

"Very good," he said, outwardly phlegmatic. "Come in."

Instantly, a Vault-Tec aide swept into the room – blond, besuited and boring as every other middle-management toady haunting the corridors of the building. To Braun's fantasy-clouded eyes, he looked as if he'd escaped from the window of a high-end clothing store and was desperately hoping for one last grab at humanity before he turned back into a mannequin at the stroke of midnight. Judging by the cut of the suit, this one was obviously angling for a more ambitious position than mouthpiece for the Board of Directors. Also, he was all but bowing his head in supplication.

The man's reverence was unsurprising, though Braun would have found it hard to call it ungratifying. He was, after all, Vault-Tec's guiding genius, their patron saint, their paragon. After all, was he not beloved by the cameras, lavished with praise by his superiors, and revered in both the scientific community and the world at large for his technological brilliance? Oh yes, there was no questioning that last bit: to the former, he was the one horizon they would never reach, the one pinnacle they could never scale, the final proof that there would always be someone better than they; to the latter, he was a saviour, the man who would shelter the people of the United States from the nuclear holocaust to come… no matter how little mercy they deserved.

He'd collected his fair share of newspaper clippings over the years, and they'd all filled him with well-deserved pride, especially the nickname the press had given him: "Vault-Tec's Sorcerer-Scientist." The scientist in him would have rolled his eyes at the moniker, but there was no denying that the name suited his genius down to the ground.

(Besides, he knew full well that he looked the part by now; years of exposure to the harsh lights and chemically-treated air of the labs had aged him even further than his considerable years. His face had long since cast off any semblance of youth, and now resembled an ancient, long-parched river-bed, baked in the sun and dotted with a hundred thousand cracks and crevasses, the lines on his forehead standing out like canyons in the antediluvian desert of his skull. His body, slim even in his youth, had withered away to the proportions of some primeval mummy: spindly arms and stick-thin legs graced a sunken torso eroded by time and missed meals, surmounted by a crooked, hunched back propping up a head that seemed far too large for his jutting shoulders and vulture-like neck. All he needed now was some flowing robes and a long white beard, and he really would be a sorcerer right out of Grimm's Fairy Tales.)

Of course, he kept such opinions on the alias to himself: people tended to respond badly when he provided honest self-assessments. They called it "bragging," "arrogance," and "narcissism," which were terms that could only be applied to lesser men. By now, Braun felt he'd more than established himself as greater than any other man this planet could offer up.

"What do the Board wish of me this evening?" he asked aloud, his voice perfectly measured and appropriately accented.

Of course, this was not his real accent: once he'd become a celebrity in America, he'd learned to soften his voice into a more stereotypically German accent to make him more palatable to the fragile palates of his adopted countrymen, eliminating any aspects they might find difficult to comprehend, smoothing out the distinctive Bavarian elements until his voice became just a step removed from a Hollywood cliché. This was another mask he wore, and so far, it had proved to be one of the most successful, for the more recognizable he was to American ears and the more palatable he appeared to the xenophobic sensibilities of the general public, the less threatening he seemed.

Certainly, Higgins didn't seem especially frightened. Awed, certainly, but not truly frightened.

"They seem to be under the impression that you're not happy with your current post-conflict housing package," he explained.

Braun thought for a moment, trying to remember if he'd voiced anything especially negative about the idea at the last meeting of Vault-Tec's Board of Directors. He couldn't recall. At the time, he'd been preoccupied with planning the latest experiments for the Vaults, so maybe he'd seemed a bit less exuberant than he should of have been. He hadn't protested, however: he'd learned very early in life that causing too much trouble in too short a space of time tended to attract unwanted attention. So, he'd kept quiet, stayed mostly agreeable, and stayed polite… but his silence had obviously been regarded with suspicion.

"And?" he asked. "Forgive me if I sound brusque, young man, but I have important matters to consider for the Societal Preservation Program and the Chinese will not wait forever, so please be brief."

Higgins frantically shuffled through his papers for a moment. "Er, well, they had some alternate ideas for housing packages. Um… if Cheyenne or the Rockies don't interest you, at least one or two Board members suggested an arrangement with the Big Mountain Research and Development Centre. From the sounds of things, they thought you'd like that, sir."

This gave Braun pause. He'd worked with the researchers at Big Mountain before, and even he couldn't help but admire them: for a private think tank, they were an impressive wellspring of liberated creativity. More importantly, he knew from experience that they might have the resources and the ruthlessness to cater for his tastes during a nuclear war, especially with an entire mountain complex of ingenious new toys to work with. But alas, he knew that he had no chance of finding a place among the legendary Think Tank: they'd happily collaborate with Vault-Tec – just as they had with Frederick Sinclair, the US military and dozens of others – but they would not permit outsiders to claim space in their stronghold.

"Tempting, but they'll never be able to come to an agreement," he said at last.

"Okay, um… there was also the possibility of giving you the position of Overseer at one of the experimental Vaults. That way you'd be able to conduct experiments more to your liking on the populace."

Braun hesitated. Was this a veiled threat of some kind? Were they thinking of disposing him in one of his own experiments?

"Which ones were they thinking of?" he asked, barely able to hide his suspicion.

"Only the safest ones, of course."

"Which ones?"

"Uh, Vault 13 for a start. Or perhaps 101."

Inwardly, Braun groaned. They weren't trying to kill him, but they were evidently trying to fob him off with whatever they could find: Vault 13 was safe, but excruciatingly dull. If he'd get any entertainment out of this retirement package, it'd have to be in secret and at the risk of garnering a lynch mob. The same went for 101.

"No to both, thank you."

"Vault 11?"

Ah, now that did have some potential. Back in the conceptual stage, Vault 11 had been based on one of Braun's ideas; in truth, he'd suggested it mainly to brighten up what had otherwise been a very boring meeting, but his superiors had liked the concept as a potential study of how human beings could respond to authority and convention. Alas, as interesting as it'd be to study the fear of the residents up close, once again, it still put him too close to the firing line.

"Thank you, but no."

"Vault 21?"

Gambling? Pah!

"Mein Gott, no."

"Vault 22?"

If anything, this was even worse. If Braun had been the slightly soppy kind of old man who grew roses, masturbated into damp holes in the ground and lived in daily terror of his sexually frustrated wife cutting the brake lines on his car, Vault 22 might have been vaguely amusing. As it was, diddling around with agricultural technologies was probably the most stultifying thing Vault-Tec had to offer so far.

"I think not."

"Vault 75?"

"No."

Again, too many possibilities for rebellion.

"Vault 87?"

"Nein."

After all this time, there were only so many ways a singular line of experimentation could occupy him.

"92? 95? 106?"

Braun shook his head. Again, the risk of rebellion was high on all three. Plus, they were all a little homogenous for his tastes: these days, he preferred more diverse thrills than weapons tests and drug-fuelled frenzies. None of the three had much in the way of real scientific value as far as he could see, but they'd been fun to concoct during the planning stage. Truth be told, he'd been deliberately posing ridiculous ideas by that point, trying to see just how much he could get away with before someone realized he wasn't taking the matter seriously anymore. But then, Vault-Tec had given the green light to these experiments, so maybe someone believed that there might be some value in torturing musicians and drug addicts.

"Vault 112?"

Again, he could only shake his head in disappointment. Cryogenics experiments! He might as well take up gardening.

And yet… the idea stirred something in him; there was the germ of a new possibility, there, something rich and fascinating. Perhaps there was a new experiment to perform, something based on a similar principle. Not long ago, he'd caught wind of some new research and development being performed at RobCo at the behest of Robert House himself; Braun's sources hadn't unveiled any precise details or motivations, but they all pointed towards the creation of a highly-sophisticated life support machine, powerful enough to preserve a human body for decades – perhaps even centuries. RobCo was hardly the first company to invest in such an invention, and Vault-Tec had its own variations on the theme, though they were nowhere near as powerful… but maybe with a bit of modification, there might be something interesting here. Question was, how could he apply this to a Vault experiment… and more importantly, how could he construct a working retirement plan from it? He couldn't just sit around hooked up to life support for the rest of his days, not with so little to occupy his mind.

Braun ground his fingernails into his palms. He needed time to think of what to do with this concept, and he couldn't focus on the matter with the dogsbody currently hovering at his shoulder.

"I think we've established that the Board has nothing among the Vaults to offer me," he sighed. "So, was there anything else?"

Higgins floundered helplessly. "Er… the Board was wondering if you had any more Vault concepts to contribute; we still have a few digits left on the random number generator to-"

"None. Next."

"There was one other item: General Chase has been asking around about the virtual reality devices developed by FutureTec-"

"Young man, if this is about virtual reality training simulations, the General can take it up with Virtual Strategic Solutions. As I understand it, they are the military's partners in that regard."

"It's not a matter of training programs, sir, he's asking about the technical limitations of the VR pods themselves: he wants to know if there are any real limitations to what can be simulated with the FutureTec model."

"Tell the General that with sufficient effort and imagination, the simulators can do almost anything. If he wants to storm Olympus, it can be accomplished. If he wants to build Heaven on Earth, it can be accomplished. All I ask is that he leave it to the programmers."

"But there were concerns about the pod life support function in converting the civilian model to a military…"

As the little toady continued bleating, Braun silently debated whether to offer the socially acceptable response or to tell Higgins that Chase could ram his concerns up his four-starred rectum… and then froze as a brainstorm swept over him.

Eureka.

It was a thunderbolt, a searing blast of inspiration piercing his skull and erupting across his brain, an explosion of possibilities flooding his psyche from all angles. It had been years since he'd felt a surge of this intensity; oh, he'd made wonders for the army and for Vault-Tec through old-fashioned hard work and the efforts of his own brilliance, but he'd never experienced such a surge of immediate, near-supernatural inspiration since he'd conceived of the GECK. Now, a new idea was forming, one that made all his previous works seem middling and pedestrian.

How had he not seen it? His division had developed the machine – he himself had designed the neural interface – but only now had the possibilities truly dawned on him. How could he have ignored the potential for so many years? How had he let such a treasure slip past him when he and his army of researchers had fashioned it in the first place?

And to think, he'd almost completely overlooked the best possible concept for retirement yet!

He cleared his throat. Instantly, Higgins fell silent, dutifully awaiting instructions.

"I did actually have one more Vault concept in mind," Braun whispered. "Tell the Board I wish to explore the potential of long term virtual-reality habitation and preservation. I will be sending them detailed specifications within the next few days, and I expect close attention be paid to all particulars."

"Very good, sir."

"And tell them that when this Vault is completed to my designs, I'd like to be appointed Overseer. Make sure they understand that I will accept no other substitutes for a retirement package."

"Of course, of course. Er, the Board also requested that you provide an up-front estimate as to the duration of this experiment, sir."

Braun offered him a thin-lipped smile. "Indefinitely," he said, savouring every syllable of the word.

Higgins paused. The man obviously wasn't a scientist, but even he was clearly wondering what kind of experiment could go on forever without anyone getting a whiff of those oh-so-precious results. Braun could almost see the beginnings of an objection forming, only to be aborted at the last minute.

There was now a uniquely contemplative look in the emissary's darting, rabbit-like eyes. He'd seen that look on the faces of thousands of underlings over the years, and it always meant that they were putting aside their own personal reservations in favour of assuming the perspective of Vault-Tec as a whole, allowing the company to think for them instead of the reverse. Braun could tell that Higgins had been appointed to negotiate on behalf of the Board as well as speak for them, and they had no doubt entrusted him to come to a mutually beneficial agreement; if he arrived with a result they wouldn't like, his career might be endangered. So now he was wondering if his superiors would agree to this specification – and if it was worth risking his job to deliver potentially bad news.

Once again, Braun was under no illusions: he knew that some unfortunately perceptive co-workers found him difficult to deal with at times, that his supposed ego occasionally overwhelmed anything he could accomplish through good manners and a few carefully delivered pats on the head. More importantly, he knew that the Board of Directors didn't want him making a nuisance of himself in the most pivotal stages of the program. No, they'd want him contented and out of the way so that they could get on with things. They wouldn't protest this retirement plan of his or the duration of this "experiment", not if they had any sense or gratitude.

They owed him everything.

Eventually, the look fell away from Higgins' face, and he returned to full consciousness with a little less individuality in place. "I'm sure they will be more than happy to accommodate your request, sir," he said – and as far as Braun was concerned, the Board had already said yes.

"Then that will be all, Higgins. Enjoy your evening."

"Very well, sir. Good night, Dr Braun."

As the aide scurried away, Stanislaus Braun sat down behind his desk and grinned to himself, gripped by the first inklings of euphoria. The germ of an idea was sprouting, growing into a vast and mighty tree within his head: he knew what virtual reality was capable of, and he knew how simple it would be to repurpose it for entertainment… and yet, he never would have imagined a long-finished project forming the basis of a Vault experiment, let alone his final reward.

He'd long ago heard the story of Alexander the Great, and how the boy general had once wept at the thought of there being infinite worlds beyond his reach and he still had not yet conquered one. Other authors had later claimed that he had wept for there were no more worlds to conquer. Somehow, it seemed Braun had found himself in a position that this reinterpreted Alexander might have envied:

Tonight, with his private world of experimentation and stimulation conquered and with nothing else to do but wait for the end, he had seen the mists before him part… and witnessed a new world waiting for him just beyond the threshold.

All he had to do now was reach out and take it.

A/N: And thus we begin; what are your thoughts so far? Read and review, dear friends...