A/N: Had to rewrite a lot of stuff.

I also got my hands on a Premium Grammarly for a few days, and man, there was a LOT of nonsensical and embarrassing mistakes in these last chapters… Fixed most of them, I believe, although I'm sure something slipped through the cracks anyway.


04

At a Crossroads


XII

Daniel knows that everyone must have jumped at the public announcement written on their terminals.

He knows he did.

His rifle rested propped on the desk.

Daniel still combed his residency for anything that could give him any inkling, any clue, as to what his father had been up to or where he was even going.

But he found nothing in his office at the medbay and nothing here too.

It led him to confirm his own decision – he began picking around for useful things, the few bullets in a box, the first-aid supply, what food and water he could carry, and atomizing everything that his Pip-Boy's could hold in storage.

It wasn't that much, a few pounds at most, and the rest, that he could easily carry, he had tossed inside a backpack and hoisted it around his shoulders.

As he paced around in search of anything he might have missed, he spotted the message on the terminal, and stopped, squinting at it before he gapes.

The Overseer would speak up about what's happening, finally…!

Everyone was in an uproar, growing increasingly hectic, the text wasn't keeping up once again, and if the elected leader hadn't said anything soon, people would be knocking on his door that quickly.

But now, he'd be speaking at the atrium, and people could come to ask questions – preferably only one per family, to avoid overcrowding.

This was probably Daniel's best chance to get to the man quickly enough.

He needed to leave.

Find his father.

Get answers.

The fact that James Cross has left the Vault had quickly spread, primarily from the clinic's staff who heard it first.

Now everyone who checked the public network was aware of it.

Daniel wasn't looking forward to any stares.

He felt so responsible, as if he could have done something – maybe if he'd paid more attention – spent more time with his dad – talked to him more often–

But he couldn't change the past anymore, nor could he hide from this. His father caused this mess. It's only right that Daniel at least found out why.

It wouldn't do to sulk in his residence and be 'the son of the man who broke their most precious tradition and mission to smithereens by nearly killing the Soul of their nation entrusted to them two centuries ago.'

Once finished, draping a holster around his chest and shoulders to carry his rifle, he closed the blinds and gave his little home one last look-around before he turned off the lights, leaving his lifetime residency.

Immediately, he feels eyes on him, and he forces himself to keep walking.

"Oh, wait a bit there! Where do you think you're going– again?!" Someone stops in front of him, a neighbor, father of two of his ex-classmates.

Daniel stops on his tracks, squaring his shoulders not to look that much smaller than the man. "I'm going out there to look for my dad."

"Dr. Cross? Back then–" There's a brief moment of confusion, before realization struck. "So, he really did this and left?!"

Daniel tries not to wince, and he hears from above, looking up and seeing an ex-classmate leaning over the railing. "It's really his fault then?!"

Then he hears other neighbors– "He did this?" "He could've gotten the Soul killed." "Maybe he did– that's what Snyder will tell us now–" "You don't know that–!" "We should hunt him down out there; this can't go unpunished…!" "Did Cross Jr. over there know–?"

"I don't know why he left, and I didn't know he'd do this!" Daniel amends quickly, if only to avoid seeing himself become a pariah in real-time. "But I'll go out there and find out why he did all of this." He walks past his neighbor.

"Alone?" A father in his own right, his neighbor never shied away from extending concern to other youngsters like Daniel himself…

He takes the stairs instead of hogging the elevator, ignoring the stares of other citizens as he went. "I don't want to cause any more trouble. I'll be fine on my own." He wasn't sure– he didn't know what was out there– but he had to do this.

What other purpose would a perpetual outsider have, anyway?


XIII

"Hey… You're my new boss now… Could you do something about this civil anxiety…?"

"Civil anxiety…?"

"Yeah… Everyone's is a nervous-wreck… It's making me too nauseated… I can't sleep with that anymore…"

The only reason Alfred hadn't lost his meal yet is that there was absolutely nothing to lose in his stomach. But the burning anxiety plaguing every inch of his being was disseminated in such a large ratio across the population that he couldn't handle it for too long…

No one was fucking calm about this. Not a single citizen was providing a hint of relief. Not even his own boss. Or the guard outside his door.

Alfred sighs, sitting up on the bed and looking around with a tired, deadened stare.

He doesn't feel rested and he feels sick, a constant lack of disposition. But it got worse, been a few minutes now. It feels distinctively like a crowd, awfully close to his position, hiking it all up to eleven…

Alfred shakes his head, rubbing his temples, breathing in and out deeply to repress nausea.

Normally… when he wakes up after a 4 or 5-hour sleep… usually after three weeks of non-stop work… he'd immediately go back to work, with energy to spare and never this sick, no matter the social unrest.

They were at war and there was no time to spare… The War Economy was helping him stay on his feet, despite the fuel prices and riots and food rationing…

No more meetings with other Nationees, no more wasting time with frivolous hobbies… The time for diplomacy and normalcy was past now that their resources are so strained…

Were strained? No… They still are.

…He doubted the oil was magically replenished in… 200 years…

Not like that mattered, though…

Alfred feels a shiver, rolling his shoulder to physically shrug it off as he focuses on the source of it. Definitely a crowd…

Lots of… anxious concern, it burns uncomfortably… Lots of negativity. No positive attitude to help him out… dammit.

It's irritating to be so debilitated, it makes him feel so much like shit, just thinking felt like a chore.

Like fighting with total low-morale… It hinders all productivity and makes his dopamine levels sink like a rock. His movements and reflexes turn so sluggish, that's not good… And on top of all of that, as if this wasn't enough, they make him sick too… Thanks…

Alfred blinked at the thought, then clicked his tongue, glaring weakly at the door. Why did he care…?

He lost the war, lost his home. He's stuck in a hole. He could be a miserably fucking snail, chemically incapable of happiness, and waste away all day, it wouldn't make a goddamn difference, would it…?!

And the anger evaporates just like that, because he literally had no energy to spend in hot emotions anymore…

With a tired sigh, he stands from the bed, feet dragging to the bathroom – like waking up hungover, yay…

The sight in the mirror annoys him too, brows dipping. He looked like shit, stress and exhaustion obvious.

Washing his face and digging around the cabinet for something to tie this messy hair with improves the situation marginally, but…

He used to look clean-cut and healthy… He can only mourn and pity himself, and he walks off with a huff.

That crowd outside is growing painfully anxious now. Alfred makes a quiet noise of helpless lamentation, and sits on the bed, grits his teeth, rubbing his temple. A headache now, great…

Knock it off, will you…? It's so unbearable…

He asked his new boss to try and stop this… But when was the last time his bosses ever cared for his misery?

That's when he spots the terminal and the radio on the desk, past the small kitchenette and in the far corner of this tiny matchbox of a house.

His curiosity be damned, he wished he could just go back to sleep… But not with this sickening anxiety burning in his body.

And thus, he finds himself looking for answers, so maybe he could at least know what was intensifying his distress…

Was that a speech out there? Was that what the crowd was about? It sure felt like it… In that case, the new boss had to have a damn way with words… He hoped those speech stutters were just present in front of Alfred…

Terminal's locked… Alfred rolled his eyes hard. Child's play, even while sick. He could probably crack this with his damn eyes closed…

But he's not in the mood… It's unlocked within half-a-minute, and he's lazily exploring its contents.

Oh…?

Alfred sits up straight with a frown. Their… network project…?

It's actually functional here?

Right there, loud and proud… Mass near-instantaneous messaging across a network of terminals…

His military was testing this thing…

It seems like it works wonders… If only they had figured out a way to implement this nation-wide for speedy communication and mass-sharing of orders and plans and research… It would have sped up logistics to an insane degree never seen before…

It wasn't so simple when they tried with bigger systems, sure, the number of servers and processing power required to make it function on such a big scale were so huge and expensive that it wasn't feasible at that point…

But if they just had time to research things more–

Wang Yao would have been crushed so much more quickly if they had an advantage like this, and then–

Alfred shakes his head hard, tempted to slap himself again.

Drop it.

You're done…

He focuses on the terminal, and he gets a frequency. He turns on the radio as well so he could hear what this emotional ruckus was actually about, and why it was so painful…

"–I'd imagine these monstrous lizards are a product of the radiation outside, mutated things, seem to have dug into the ground and reached our walls. My officers and I blocked the breach, but I cannot say the problem is fully fixed."

His new boss, yeah…? Sounded well-spoken now, addressing the public, personally… His last boss wasn't even bothering…

'Hadn't been' bothering, that is…

Probably dead by now… That incompetent asshole…

He would have left that shock-collar on…

The new boss seemed nicer, at least… Actually doing what Alfred wanted of him? Amazing.

But politicians are still politicians, yeah…?

"Now… to the… biggest disaster… To soothe your worries first, no, the Soul is not dead, I assure you." He stresses the word.

Relief floods his senses like cool water during a heatwave, it makes him relax, substantially. Alfred sits back with a hum. The stress was still there… but man… it wasn't nearly as bad as just a second ago…

It was a little easier to think now…

Just a little confirmation of his well being was enough to put such a huge dent in that state of total anxiety…

Alfred frowned. Despite the relief, the uncanny discomfort of being so directly addressed to civilians made his skin crawl anyway.

This never happened, not in this scale – and he turned off the radio with a grimace as he turned to the network for a context that didn't make him feel so odd.

It's always been a secret…

Humans can work themselves into a tizzy with safety in numbers when confronted by the unknown. Fear spreads easily.

Alfred held no grudges; they just wanted to protect each other…

But he got himself hanged three times because he was an awfully trusting child, and so he was perfectly fine with humans being unaware of his existence.

He held no grudges, but he wasn't going to get too close to the common man again. The elites practically grew up with the knowledge, so he's never felt like it was a problem with them…

Now, with everything he could read in this terminal… It was so eerie…

'He meant to say the Soul looks human?' They ask.

Judging by the chain of semi-related messages, it seems the descendants of his people figured that this could be the case, it's just that no one was truly sure…

…Here, they'd thought him formless, like a spirit… Going as far as to say he possessed humans to do work that was his own, and attributed many of America's greatest heroes to his influence…

It was an odd, if not twisted mix of truth and myth… He did influence many of those who went on to become heroes to his citizens… He never possessed them like some kind of ghost…

' The Soul is a man, then?'

'A very young-looking man…'

Alfred frowns at the screen. He's not that young-looking… He looks perfectly mature for his kind. Exhaustion made him look older, but he was still 23 in looks…

This is… 2277… 17th of August.

He's been 644-years old for a month now…

He spent his 500th year in a jar and not bragging around family like he'd always thought he'd do…

' Was Dr. Cross truly responsible for this?'

Ah… So… who's this again…? Apparently some doctor from the outside, let in by the 29th administration. Alfred's really just dealing with all of this… because some guy decided to poke around.

Alfred cursed the man in his head. If he ever sees the bastard, a good punch would feel great…

There were people outside, though… Alfred wished he knew what's left out there…

Did Wang survive? What if he did? What if he rolled over his home and conquered it? Just what is going on up there…?

'Was the Soul hurt?'

…It's weird that they care… about him, personally… and his hypothetical injuries…

'Can we see him…? Could we talk to him?'

No.

Alfred doesn't want to see anyone.

He feels too much like shitty garbage to stand the thought of anyone witnessing this sorry-excuse of a Nationee…

It seems his boss had enough sense to deny them, but then, the messages change in tone, making Alfred scowl lightly at the screen.

Some of them write– speak as if he owes them affection and love.

'Why wouldn't he want to talk? Isn't he supposed to care about us?'

Yeah, he cared deeply about his citizens… But Alfred doesn't know these citizens…

Not like he knew the American people – with whom he's been through thick and thin, for four centuries… it's not the same– not the same– nope– nah-ah.

What the fuck did they even expect from him…?! There are 200 years of nothing in between them!

…It honestly felt like betrayal… to move on… He felt like he would do just that. If these were really his people now, holding a grudge or resentment for too long sounded like an impossibility… He hated this, too…

The bitter part of him wished he was capable of clinging to that resentful indignation forever…

…He probably could do that if he were human…

The barrage of self-righteous entitlement is mixed with more understanding voices at the very least, and it seems his new boss truly had a good head on his shoulders – or at least knew the right thing to say – and this nonsense changes eventually as well.

'Let the Soul grieve,' they say…

Grieving… Yeah, grief is probably what he'll be stuck with now…

Then, words of shock and dismay and pity in the network are accompanied by a feeling of unease and anger – people's general distaste for his old contractor seemed to be skyrocketing suddenly…

As if Alfred needed the incentive to hate the traitors…

And oh. The man is just up and telling them everything that happened in the office.

And Alfred can only stand from his seat and stare in disbelief. He didn't know what to feel about this ridiculous level of transparency, maybe because he's unsure he's ever known what's like to feel such a strong sense of trust and honesty in a citizen-leader exchange…

Now he feels strangely exposed, and he's not sure he likes it…

The messages switch, people were instead outraged at 'Vault-Tec's nerve,' 'attempting such a shameful plan,' 'their treatment of the Soul was unacceptable.'

Huh… Outraged on his behalf… Alfred tilts his head at the screen, eyes narrowing in confusion. He usually had a pretty firm grasp of his own emotions and what they meant, but with this…

He wasn't sure what he was feeling about this…

The events told by the Overseer, coupled with what seemed to be decent story-telling skills, were enough to ease the anxiety and stress, despite the nature of the source of these events.

His mind cools down, slowly. Nausea grows weaker. The headache stops.

Alfred turned off the machine and ambled back to his bed. He no longer felt such unease or so unwell that rest was impossible. Maybe his new boss wasn't lying that much before…

Maybe now Alfred could actually sleep a little more. Just to let this shit sink in…


XIV

The speech was great…

Daniel kinda felt bad that he didn't vote for the guy, since he eased tensions so well.

They were still trying to clean the bloodstains, even during the speech, but the appropriate heads of management and their workers managed to get that thing to the waste-disposal-room. In pieces. Same went for its friend around the armory…

But thanks to their new Overseer, people managed to calm down despite that display…

There was some doubt still in the air, but that was quickly amended by the witnesses of the initial attack in the atrium…

It's not like they could say for sure what was the Soul really like, not before this, but… it seemed to click right… It didn't feel too far-fetched. Daniel dared say it felt appropriate, like he should have known this…

Maybe it's because he'd already seen him. Even then, when he first laid eyes on him, it felt familiar…

So, the Soul is not an it, and is, in actuality, a he.

It ends up not being so difficult to accept it and move on from there despite that brief lull of doubt. It felt right, after all, and citizens wanted to trust other citizens.

Lies are poisonous, after all. Everybody knows it.

And clearly, so is anxiety, according to everything the Overseer shared during his speech, and the Soul didn't need any more stress. They had to ease their own turmoils, they were told.

He was not happy to discover that 200 years have gone by. He wasn't happy to discover that the nation was gone, that the bombs fell… And he wasn't happy to see them.

The Soul was already awake and distressed at the state of things, much to the Protects' mortification.

Yet… he was also not fully benevolent to them, much to the Frees' despair…

But they had to keep their fears in check, the Overseer told them. Social Anxiety, the Soul called it, and asked the man to ease the people's fears. It was literally making him sick.

And at the end of that tale, both sides were so defensive against Vault-Tec's actions towards their protected entity, completely livid at how they put him in the Vault against his will, and outraged at their attempt to steal his liberty right after.

Now the Overseer's speech got everyone so eager to meet him personally and showing him that they cared, that he could trust them, that they didn't want to hurt him or make him sick…

That he could move on with them…

The Vault citizens wanted him happy and safe more than anything in the world right then.

And thus, after the speech, Daniel rushed to follow so he could request a quick meeting. Dr. Cross was his father, and he needed to speak to the Overseer about it.

They escorted him right through…

Now inside the large Office, Daniel can't help but marvel a little. It's bigger than he remembered from his childhood's school tour, and he was greeted by another officer in the corner of the room, guarding a door.

The Overseer walks to his desk in front of the large, round window, sitting behind and motioning for Daniel to approach. "Alright, kid… Start from the beginning."

"Okay…" Daniel breathes in and nods as he sits down. "I went to my residence right after the election was done, and I found a holotape Dad left, where he told me he'd be leaving the Vault. He said nothing about it before, and he didn't mention any reason in the holotape."

He was making his case.

He didn't know any of this would happen.

Snyder hums. "Can I see that holotape?"

"Sure…" A little embarrassing, it felt personal… But if it was needed to prove his innocence, then… So be it, he didn't want to be banished. He fishes it from his pocket and hands it over.

After listening to it on the terminal – while Daniel tried to keep from flushing – Snyder sighs, rubbing his face. "He had to have known he wouldn't be barred from leaving if he wished to, and he couldn't have known about the breach… so there was something he wanted down there."

Daniel frowns. Something he wanted… Oh…

"Did Dr. Cross ever… show any interest in the Soul…? Ever expressed a desire to see what's below the Vault?" Snyder asks him, eyes narrowing.

Daniel couldn't help but let out a disbelieving huff, head tilting. "To be honest, sir? He's always been the person who's least interested in that."

The man hums again, pondering. "I suppose we won't know his reasons unless he tells us himself…" Snyder crosses his arms, leaning back on his seat, then eyes him up and down. "I see you've armed yourself. You weren't expecting to be banished, were you…?"

"U-Uhm…!" He stutters. "Sorta? Maybe, I guess…" He was totally ready for it, really.

"It's fine. You didn't do anything wrong, kid."

A sigh of relief escapes him. "Thank you, but that's not why I packed up, really."

"Oh?"

Daniel straightens up. "I want to go out there and look for my father." He states firmly.

Snyder stares, then nods slowly, nudging his chin thought. "I see… You saw those monsters, didn't you? There are probably more up there."

"I understand. I still want to do this."

"…If you're so sure…" Snyder glances away, and a thought seems to come to him suddenly. "Hold that thought." He raises a finger to him and stands, walking to the door in the corner.

A nod to the officer, some very hushed words, and the door slides open with a hiss, the Overseer disappearing further inside.

Daniel watched, anxious. Was that the room…? The room where…

Several seconds go by… Then there's a thud, and then more– steps, and suddenly, he's facing those impossibly bright blue eyes again, now in a much livelier expression of apprehension. "Someone's going outside?!"

Daniel blinks, somewhat struck by awe. He barely sounds that much older than Daniel himself, and now he looked even younger, with clean clothes and hair tied.

The Soul blinks back, then frowns and points lightly. "You're a kid…" He doesn't give him time to reply and turns back to Snyder behind, still pointing. "That's a kid."

A 'child,' that is…

…Compared to him, anyone was a child…

But still. "…I'm an adult." Daniel states, a little unwilling to be dismissed as a brat so quickly.

The look he gets says his words weren't convincing. It, in fact, reminds him of his dad's admonishing looks, and it makes him look down almost on reflex. "I'm sure you'd have said the same at 10…" That's true, and a bit dismissive.

He doesn't quite trust anyone yet… Daniel wanted to protest further. He's never thought of himself as 'submissive,' but for the life of him then, he couldn't open his mouth.

Not after that look, it made him feel so much like shit suddenly, it was honestly baffling how visceral the dismissal felt.

Snyder interferes. "Daniel Cross here is not native to the Vault. He's a lot tougher than us due to his genetics."

"Oh… Is that right…?" There was something in that tone – Daniel feels the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

He's always been a bit self-conscious of this – he wasn't native – his genes weren't pure – he couldn't even have a family here–

"That was from a previous administration." Snyder admitted. "The guards heard crying on the other side of the Vault's door, and that was Dr. Cross and his son here, an infant then. The Overseer didn't have the heart to ignore a crying child…"

"Right… I've read about it…"

"The boy has always been a good citizen, however. Never caused trouble." Daniel relaxed slightly at the praise.

The Soul turns to pace a bit before turning back to Daniel, clapping his hands together. "Then… would you mind doing me a favor?" His smile is so hesitant, like he's not sure he even should be asking anything.

It's immediately exhilarating to be addressed directly–

Daniel breathes in and out to gather his wits. "Y-Yeah, of course…!" Oh, what the hell happened to his voice…?! That was weird

The Soul bites his lip. "We're in DC, right…? Could you check the state of things at Capitol Hill…? And if there's anything still standing, like the National Archives, or the Museums and everything else, could you look for, I dunno, anything? I don't know if there's anything to find, but it's worth a shot…" He was then fiddling with his hands.

The same hands he used to kill man-sized lizard monsters mere hours ago…

It was certainly hesitant… Nothing like the entity he saw standing tall before a mutated result of radiation.

It's… vulnerable… He's trusting him enough to ask… Daniel felt quite the shiver – a sense of warmth and fuzzy pride that he couldn't help but enjoy.

And just like that, there seemed to be no possible answer other than 'yes.'

So Daniel nods with a small smile. "I can do that… I'll check it out."

He gets a sense of relief in return, and it feels like heaven for a second. "Thanks… Good luck with that, but… just don't take any stupid risks, alright…?" The Soul does look exhausted, and he returns to his room, not quite waiting to hear Daniel's response.

Daniel relaxes when the door closes again. Pretty amazing to see him up close…

It was warm and comforting – he felt more at home than ever before in his life… He wanted, for a brief moment of recklessness, to hug the Soul and thank him for a bunch of things Daniel wasn't even aware of.

Snyder sits behind his desk again. "Well, as you can see… he is still mourning the old country, and I feel like he'll never recover without knowing what's happening out there. I understand you'll be searching for your father, but how do you feel about being Vault 101's scout?" Daniel turns back, wide-eyed. "You'd be required to bring information on any place the Soul wants to know about, and I'd ask you to be thorough enough to satisfy his requests, least he feels like he should go outside to see for himself. This would be a paying job, of course."

Daniel could barely even believe it…! To be given such an important task as his actual job? He's always thought he'd be nothing more than an unmarried gunsmith! "I-I'd be honored, sir!" He stands with a hesitant grin. "I'll bring as much information as I can, and I'll look for any important items still left at the Capitol!"

"I like that spirit." Snyder grinned. "See that you do, then. You can use the stock in the armory for your travels as well, if you need ammo or medicine. Play it safe, and good luck." He's given a nod with a quick salute, which Daniel returns on reflex.

With that dismissal, he is free to leave.

As he's just gotten permission, he does stop by the armory, taking a few extra supplies, and a secondary weapon in the form of a good .44 revolver, a better, more decently armored vault-suit, some combat-gloves, before heading to the entrance, passing through the atrium, going towards the Vault's main elevator.

"Danny!" He hears and turns, seeing Shirley and some of her friends– not really his, mostly hers– sitting together by the back rows, the people had dispersed a bit by now.

It wouldn't hurt to talk before leaving, so he approaches. "Hey, Shirley."

One of her friends glances at his bag. "Are you going anywhere?"

Then another with a gasp. "Were you banished because of your dad?!"

Then another with a confused frown. "That sounds illegal."

Daniel resisted the urge to rolls his eyes. Shirley did look worried, awaiting his response. "I wasn't banished, but I am actually leaving the Vault."

"Wait–" "What?" "What?!" "Danny, why?!"

"I'll just look for my dad out there. I want to know what he was thinking…"

"Why…" "Why do you care…?" "You don't know why he left?" "If he's smart, he'll stay away…"

Shirley cuts over the chatter. "But you don't even know what's out there! How can you think about going alone?! Do you really need to know that badly?"

"I do!" Daniel states. He felt like they wouldn't understand, being natives with native parents who didn't cause the biggest change in this Vault's history.

He had to do something about it.

"But that's not all I'm doing. I've got a job as the Vault's scout!"

That gets their attention – because for the Free base, expanding outside was always a big idea.

And Daniel continues before they could rattle him with questions. "So, now my job is to go out there and record the state of things, because the Overseer doesn't think the Soul will be okay with being oblivious about it. He actually asked me personally to visit specific places and look for, uh, 'anything left'? …Soul wasn't very precise on that, and he looked pretty exhausted, so I didn't press…" He trailed off with an awkward shrug at the sight of their wide eyes.

This time, Shirley actually joined in with the barrage of questions– "You…" "Talked to him?!" "You actually saw him up close?!" "How tired did he look…?!" "Was it 'sleep-deprived-tired,' or was it 'sick-tired'?"

"Sleep-deprived, mostly…"

"Holy shit, how–"

"I'm sorry, I can't stay and talk, I really gotta go!" Daniel backed away before he got roped into the gossip.

Except they try to hold him back to get more information, but thankfully, Shirley steps in between them– "He's on a mission, leave him be! Good luck, Danny!" and she turns to hug him, and it's momentarily a blissful moment, before she lets go and pushes him towards his previous path. "Be safe!"

"Right, thanks…" He waves back with a thankful smile. With that, he finally manages to slink away, back to his previous path towards the elevator.

He's on a mission.

Find Dad.

Scout the DC area.

Visit the museums and the National Archives to look for anything he could bring back.

And most importantly, don't die.

The elevator's doors open for him and then close once he clicks the top-button. First-floor.

Don't die… Easier said than done.

Only three guards meet with him at the top, before escorting him to the giant steel-doors. It's a big room…

He's… never actually seen it personally…

He looks down at the googles they handed him at the armory. Living his entire life under artificial light, they told him sunlight would most likely burn pretty badly. So he wraps it around his head whilst he's still under the protection of his home.

No one wants to say a word.

The guards give him anxious glances, one turning to the control room and approaching the terminals, the others standing with their rifles ready. They don't want to open this. Daniel almost doesn't want to, either…

However, when all the levers are pulled and buttons pushed, the alarm sounds, the lights flashing much too similar to the emergency alarm of the attack, and they step back. While Daniel approaches the catwalk leading to the door.

It whines with a grating grind as it slowly opens, and he keeps walking towards it, giving a nod and salute to the guards on his way, which they reciprocate indecisively, more bewildered by the sight of the door grinding to a stop as the blaring alarm goes quiet.

Daniel, too, stares wide-eyed at the opening, pushing past his own anxiety, and excitement.

The outside is a long corridor of polished rock and metal floor, darkened, with the doorway at the end being the only source of light. It was a blinding light, and he pulled the goggles over his eyes.

It's cold, he notes once he finally steps through, then hesitates a few steps.

"Good luck out there, kid…" He hears one of the guards, solemn, and the alarms sound again, to close the door. What if he was banished…? What if it doesn't open when he comes back? What if…

Daniel nods, breathing in deep. "Thanks." Mission. He's got a mission. An important mission.

With that, he keeps walking, even as the door screeched closed behind, and he won't look back until it's time to return home, with his mission completed successfully.

Vault Exit was written atop the doorway, a broken door busted through lain on the ground, it had a rectangular window, cracked and smudged glass. Bulletproof, but people delt it a lot of damage before the door was broken completely…

Stepping past it, Daniel only winces a bit once finally under the light outside, his vision not so obstructed thanks to the eye-gear, and then he exhales the air he'd been holding, focusing on the sight of skeletons left around this place, clothes missing…

He gulps and looks away, moving with some caution on the concrete-paved ground, past a set of stairs, towards the broken rails at the edge of the hilltop. A gloved hand rests on the rusty rail. "Oh, man…"

He could see it… Just barely recognizable from the incredible city he'd seen in the pictures and movies, in the distance…

The city, and everything he could see, it was all a wasteland…

Only bones of what it once was, with arid dust carried by the wind.

Daniel didn't feel like he'd have any good news to bring back…

.

.

.


A/N: I still feel a little dissatisfied, but I better move on or I'll get stuck. I'm sure next chapter will be uploaded faster than this one.

Also, we're practically done with the too-angsty-to-move shtick, I promise. :)