A/N: (I've changed the title of this story to be its SERIES NAME, which is what's used on AO3). Since FF dot net doesn't have the tool to create series, I decided to not split this story. It'll be split into Parts on AO3, but I'll put all of it together in a single story here.

I want this Part will have 10 chapters before I move on to Part 2, which is not pre-written at all. I only have simplified plans written down for that.

But there's still a LOT of story to get through, I think, so I guess chapters will be pretty long from now on.


05

Have Some Self-Respect


XV

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It's been a few hours now, and he already felt relatively better than before.

Alfred almost dreaded full recovery.

It was inevitable, of course…

It wasn't common for his kind, Nationees, to wallow in grief because of tragedies. There's still work to be done after all. Tragedy doesn't make their enemies disappear. It doesn't stall any threats. The world's still spinning and danger is still lurking. Nationees have to move on, quick, before they can be struck again…

You never know when idleness will be lethal.

Naturally, he expected to feel a bit restless eventually. Maybe it was just too soon for him to accept, but it didn't matter.

He no longer felt so miserable that just moving was some kind of heroic effort. His mind was recovering, whether he felt ready or not… And while anxiety still lingered like the aftermath of a bad cold, it was no longer soul-crushing.

If he were a human, mental recovery wouldn't come with such readiness… It felt like betrayal to let the descendants influence him like this.

He sits up on his bed, cross-legged, alone in his empty room, and closes his eyes for a bit, focusing with a deep breath in – he can feel…

The flow of water and energy–the force of workers–the warmth of socialization–and it's so close and intimate that he grimaces and pulls away.

Everything feels so local already, it's almost claustrophobic.

He's not used to such a tiny place with a population so crammed close together… It wasn't like this before. It never was, not even in the inner cities with millions… The connections were so knotted and tied, that while a positive holiday would probably land him on cloud nine, a single murder or tragedy would knock him off his feet for a moment…

Because everyone would feel something about it. Absolutely everyone. It would just magnify the shock when it went through him…

If only there was some distance and space to stretch his spirit a bit…

He's still in a vault, though, so there'll be no stretching for him. It's his new home, it's all he had left, and it was unyieldingly metal… At least, he's certain of his reality and these limitations until their scout came back with information. He'd have to be content with this until then– he would be content, eventually, whether he wanted to or not.

Alfred ruffled his hair, still somewhat tied, loose and messy since he slept on it, and he stood and wandered around the room to appease the growing agitation, just to kick the can down the road a bit.

It's a single-bed apartment. There's the desk in the furthest corner close to the door, which is next to a dresser, a bookcase in front of the bed, right by the bathroom's door, just like the double-bed he slept on, squeezed close to the walls with nightstands on each side, next to another door that he slid open to reveal a small storage space/utility room, right next to the compact kitchenette space…

Walls and floors were metallic and cold, with no windows. He'd miss the sun…

Alfred meandered around the room, touching and exploring mindlessly to distract himself, but that wore off quickly. He had found authors he recognized in the bookshelf – some very unknown ones that still didn't sound foreign – opened the dresser to peek – saw the blue suits he wasn't ready to wear.

But the room was too small, there's no more wandering to do, so he poked around the tiny utility room as well.

He found some basic tools, laundry machines, some stored junk, and a boxed Pip-Boy that didn't really look broken.

Hmm… Alfred turned it in his hand, raising an eyebrow, before putting it back in its place. Normal versions didn't really read him well… Tended to just glitch out unless it was modified specifically to fit him…

Not finding much of use, he started taking other junk apart as a distraction instead…

Tinkering was fun… But that didn't last either. He's still restless.

Somehow, it's not listlessness and grief that plague him most after an hour or so, it's boredom.

He genuinely hates how quickly he's recovering from the loss. Curse the nature of his kind… He feels like a disloyal dog, it's downright dirty, like he's violating the very sanctity of his old identity by still existing like this…

But he'll just have to deal with it…

Fidgety but still unwilling to leave the relative safety of the room, Alfred resorted to waiting lying down, monotonously staring at the ceiling, tossing a rubber ball he found tucked away, up and down in a repetitive task that kept him distracted enough.

For another hour, until he sensed that Snyder, his new boss, was back in the office.

Just as usual, he enters the room to check on Alfred and how he was feeling. "I'm better now…" Although Alfred keeps throwing the ball, mulling over what to do and what to say…

The anxious stress wafting from the man was kind of a discomfort, though.

"I'm sorry– Am I causing you some distress now?" The questioning words were concerned and small-toned as he entered his field of vision.

The ball hit the ceiling, bouncing back loudly, making Snyder twitch, and Alfred caught it, "You're fine." It was a mild deadpan the man found intimidating, apparently… So, Alfred sighed and sat up, tossing the ball back and forth between his hands. "But what's got you stressed, anyway?"

The question caught him off-guard, it seems. "…Well. You see–" Snyder raised a finger, drawling the words to give him time to pick his next words more carefully– typical politician trick– "I believe… the Floor Reps are getting a bit too impatient and restless."

"Ah…" So that's what was amplifying the restless feeling…

"They seem to think I'm hiding something– that something happened to you and I'm covering it up…!" Snyder gestured around generally with an awkward laugh. "But I wanted to give you time to recover, until you're comfortable, but some of them don't even believe me anymore."

Alfred frowned, somewhat repentant for causing his new boss this much political insecurity right off the bat. The guy hasn't even wronged him yet. Alfred usually has the courtesy of waiting until they show their true colors… if they hadn't as congressmen or whatever already…

But it's just occurred to him that he doesn't even know how his new system works now… He didn't know its limits, or the consequences of this political insecurity, or how far he could push it in any given direction…

He hates being politically clueless…

"Okay… First, could you explain how this government here works?"

"Oh?" Snyder stepped back and sat more comfortably in the seat by the desk. "Uhm, in its simplest terms, there's the elected head of the Vault, that'd be the Overseer who appoints the judges if any of the five seats are vacant, and then right below are the five elected representatives for each residential floor, and their voted picks for head-doctor, engineer, teacher, if there's vacancy or if everyone votes on a replacement… It's not big, doesn't have a lot of bureaucracy, but it's been working since the beginning."

"What about checks and balances?"

"There is separation of power. Each branch is mostly independent, and no one branch can really make any absolute decision on their own without the other branches weighing in."

Fairly simple… He still needs to study it more thoroughly, however… "Was it Vault-Tec that set up this government here?"

"Oh, no, no. The first Overseer appointed his successor directly back then. Fully totalitarian and with no real judicial…"

"Back when?"

"That'd be in 2085, when we locked them up and held our first election. Walter B. Wilson led the movement, he was once part of the original army before entering the Vault with his family, and he's the one who set up the system when the people voted him to be in charge."

Oh… One of his boys, then… That's sweet to hear… "And you're the 31st?"

"Some had multiple terms…"

If this is his home now… it's only right that he learns its history already…

Know its leaders, its struggles – as much as people could struggle in a hole underground…

Maybe then he'd know how to proceed. He hates stumbling around blindly… He knows nothing about these people, the descendants of his citizens…

So he keeps listening and asking, trying to plug the holes in his knowledge and trying to find common links to his old history and system.

But it's still… distant.

Alfred can have a diluted, second-hand experience from the emotions this history brings to his new boss right in front of him, and it's all very positive.

But that's just it. He didn't live through these struggles personally with these people… He was asleep the whole time…

That's the problem. It's second-hand.

On the flip-side, however…

Some of the most significant conflicts seem to have something to do with him, and most times, people involved had his wellbeing and safety at heart

Walter B. Wilson, 1st Elected Overseer, a US Army veteran, who shared the secret of his existence straight from the files with the vault's population after toppling the Vault-Tec officials in 2085…

Norman Jay Clark, 2nd Elected Overseer, once a security officer who refused to abandon him with the Vault when a critical infrastructure failure was caused by the later-executed remnants of Vault-Tec; he instead left the Vault by himself to find components through a late-stage nuclear winter in 2105 and returned successful, which prompted his landslide election victory right after… The only descendant to be allowed back in after leaving…

Randall Miller, 9th Elected Overseer, who organized the then-feeble Vault Security against a homegrown terrorist group that wanted to break into the Chamber to force the people to abandon the Vault by killing him in 2141… Essentially a civil war that lasted a whole year…

And Rebecca Winters, 19th Elected Overseer, who cleared the Vault's government of corruption and a partisan problem, then fostering post-election harmony between the factions in 2201, a cultural milestone that is still strong to this day…

And now here they are…

2277…

…The leaders who did the most for his continuous wellbeing were the most well regarded by their recorded history…

It wasn't necessarily for the Vault itself…

It wasn't really for the old nation known as the United States…

It was for… him…

It's such an odd feeling it gave him, and such a warm and uncomfortable sense of doubt.

Alfred didn't even know it was possible for him to still be alive and kicking under these circumstances. One would think a lack of nation, in the proper sense of the word, would kill the Nationee…

That… love of country was at the root of his spirit…

But now, that devotion was primarily directed at him, as a person, not so much at the country he identifies himself with, or even entirely at the Vault itself… and he was still very much alive…

…For how long, he's unsure…

Any Nationee would have said that the root – the nation – was fundamentally essential, thus, the denomination.

A Nationee was derived from the nation-state. Ergo, a Nationee needs the nation-state.

A Vault wasn't really a nation-state, not like he's known them to be…

But it's not like it was ever fully tested… No Nationee wanted to experiment with their lives on that level.

Well… The whole denomination was either imprecise, or he's really on a downward spiral and wouldn't last… Was he so eager to find out…? Should he say anything…?

Maybe he needed to find some reassurance before letting his boss know. The people here were twitchy when it came to his wellbeing and he didn't want to deal with that soul-crushing anxiety again…

He needed the numbers to reassure him.

That meant he had some work to do, first of all. And so he smiled, tossed the ball behind and clapped lightly as he stood– still a bit strained, but he's getting there– "Well, I'll leave you to it, then!" Snyder twitched at the sight and Alfred dragged him out of the room. "Good luck! I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Eh?"

Alfred grinned. "Also, I do need food, so could you get me something tasty and something sugary in the morning? Thanks." And he closed the door, not bothering to explain.

He rummaged in the storage room for what he was looking for, and then the drawer where he tucked away the trinket Vault-Tec took from him.

The small, battery-container made from his natural energy, used in the suit made to force him into submission. It was small, cylindrical, and softly glowing a sky-blue.

In his other hand, the Pip-Boy he'd found earlier.

Right, he had some work to do. Enough idleness… Time to indulge in some tinkering.


XVI

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The air was arid and dry. Uncomfortably hot. That's the first thing Daniel learned. His water would be gone after the first few hours at this rate…

He would be told, rather dryly and/or mockingly by the first outsiders he met, to get used to having less of it if he wanted to spend fewer 'caps'.

On top of that, everything was bright. The sky had a dull greenish aspect to it, undeterred by the blinding spot of light that was the Sun. Despite the goggles, he could barely stand to look at it for more than a few seconds, it warmed his skin in an irritating manner and made him uneasy.

It was nothing like the rich and clear blue from pictures. It didn't feel physically satisfying, it almost burned his exposed face. It made him want to dart into a hole for shade.

Written in his report so far, his time outside was unpleasant, and he hasn't even gone too far from the Vault yet. But he's on a mission, and so, he'd focus on recording his thoughts, transcribed into the Pip-Boy as written reports.

Other than the broken door, there weren't any other obvious signs of tampering with their home… No one has quite bothered with the skeletons, who served as enough warning to those thinking they could spend their time trying to break in.

What mattered more than the old city in the distance is what was immediately in his sights past the hilltop. A road of dark, cracked and worn pavement followed ahead towards what seemed to be a settlement? The buildings were dirty and smudged, decayed concrete, but he could see movement before going there. There were people and animals, it seems.

He couldn't hear or see much before he walked down the stairs and approached. The other end of the road led to a somewhat shoddy wall of scrap and debris and concrete, and he could see a water tower within the perimeter of this encirclement. Said perimeter seemed to marginally include the entrance to the Vault, almost on its outskirts…

The rock formation around the Vault's entrance served as just another section of the wall that protected this whole area.

Further off the water-tower, there was a ragged metal construction of sorts, like another walled spot within this settlement, and he couldn't see what was inside.

The people he saw looked normal, no extra limbs or anything, although they were pretty rugged, dirty, and wearing hardly washed assortments of clothes, put together to form something protective with some leather thrown in for good measure.

Although that's not even the half of what's worth mentioning in this one instance.

What's worth mentioning is the mutated aberration the locals used as pack-mules. Seems to have mutated from common cattle, as it's similar enough to what he's seen in books and movies, but it looks sickly and bloated, and also has two heads…

He's read that cattle-meat diet used to be pretty common, and he's always wondered what such a thing must have tasted like… He couldn't imagine ever tasting these things, though…

He tried to not grimace, but he thought all of this out loud, and the locals either scoffed or scorned at that. "Vaulties are always so damn picky with their food. They either learn to eat dirt or die," they say. Not very reassuring, and he was dismissed just that quickly as they moved on…

'Vaulties'?

He had approached them to ask his questions. To ask if they'd seen another vault citizen who left recently, and he asked about this place. He doesn't find many patient people in this area, they say they're just traders stopping by, and that maybe he should ask the actual locals instead.

So there's a small trade-hub right at the foot of their Vault now…

It has a dozen people or so, with their pack animals, bargaining and chatting with each other, resting after what might have been a long journey.

They use bottle caps as currency. Maybe because paper was too flimsy and difficult to produce to keep as currency? Were they inclined to look for something sturdier, easier enough to have in large enough quantities? Or was it just a quirk of this area?

Maybe because they didn't have the resources to mint their own coins, and because there was no centralized force to make sure they'd all work without a vast array of different types?

Maybe.

So he finds that some of these buildings are shops of sorts, one has some beds for rental and a pen to essentially park their pack-animals, and the owners are the locals. The buildings are old and simple, grey, and not very big. They remind him of what he's seen in pictures of basic military posts… The signs are only made of wood and paint.

One local greets him amicably enough. His name is Andy Stahl and he runs a restaurant for the traders here. Andy doesn't recall seeing another Vault citizen passing by, but he's heard about it from his sister apparently. She works the night-shift.

Makes sense, Dad left around 10 o'clock…

"Oh, also, do you have any know-how with kitchen appliances?" Andy asked him with a drawled tone before he could leave.

"No, sorry, that's not my area of expertise. I mostly worked with guns and terminals."

"Man, we never get lucky with vaulties… Go find Moira, then. Maybe she'll have something for you to do." He shrugged.

Andy seemed to be under the impression that Daniel was looking to stay and work. He tells him politely that since he's searching for someone, he couldn't stay for long.

Andy just smiled at him. "Yeah, but the vaulties from 101 are educated folks, and usually have some pretty useful skills. If we're helping you, it's only fair you help in return. Right?"

That 'right?' comes off as an implied 'agree or else'.

Oh… So that's how it is.

"Right… Okay… I'll– I'll do that…" Daniel agreed so he could leave without a gunshot. He doesn't know if he'd get shot, but then he remembers that these people aren't fellow citizens and it's possible some local lunatic would shoot him for such a slight…

He's told to go towards the 'Atom Shrine' to find the sheriff too. There, he'll get directions to the farms, and he'll probably find 'Sheriff Simms' there. "That's the guy with the hat. You'll know when you see him," Andy told him at last. Maybe he'd get better answers from the local authority, then…

Maybe he'd know if his 'help' was actually mandatory…

The big dome-like spot he saw before was the 'shrine'… Just follow the road. It's impossible to miss.

It's bigger when he approached it, seemed like it was made from the pieces of an airplane. There are shanty-like homes built all around it, with pipes sticking out precariously everywhere, but he doesn't know if he's allowed near this shrine of theirs, and there's someone with what looks like a scoped hunting rifle perched at the top, looking at him, so he steers clear. For all he knows, it was forbidden to outsiders.

Or it was like the Chamber back home…

The sheriff is indeed 'the guy with the hat'. He has a banged-up but functional Mr. Gutsy trailing after him. The 'farms' he's seemingly overseeing and guarding don't look bountiful and green like in pictures. They're rather meager and pathetic-looking, with a bigger pen with some deformed cattle hanging around… Most of the local diet must come from that and trade, with only a small part of the crops, as a certain amount of it seemed to feed the cattle as well.

The shanty-houses seemed to be the size of a normal apartment back home, sometimes even smaller, all stacked like deformed jigsaw constructions, with dubious-looking bridges and stairs everywhere, nothing very sturdy-looking, with lots of rusty and jagged metal edges.

Children probably scrapped themselves on those all the time…

Beyond all of that, he could see some sort of barred-gate in the wall that delimited this place. The wall was a bit sturdier here, and it had two armed guards watching it, with a big sign that said 'Follow the path – Mines off-road' in bold, clear letters.

Unfortunately, however, the sheriff dismissed his questions, saying he doesn't pay attention to everyone who passes by. Vault-dwellers are directed to be helpful in exchange for local hospitality and some money, and the sheriff is just there to make sure they do their due diligence and don't cause trouble.

"You treat my people nicely, make yourself useful, and we'll get along just fine." He said.

Daniel already knows Dad must have gone through here. Maybe he spent between a few hours to a day helping out the locals, then. So he might not be too far ahead of him… He could catch up, if he was quick enough…

He's already on the backfoot with these people, though…

Did they subtly demand cooperation from every Vault citizen who left? What would they do if he refused? He didn't actually feel the need to test it out, helping a little wasn't that much abuse or forced labor, since they were actually offering some money in return. But the 'or else' was loud and clear in-between the lines…

Dad never mentioned that their home was pretty much surrounded…

Daniel absolutely had to report this when he returned home again…

And it's embarrassing that the Sheriff notices his distaste for what they're doing, and the man does look mildly apologetic, but that's gone pretty quickly. "Things are harsh out here. 101 vaulties usually have some useful know-how, so, sorry to say, but relying on people's charity and kindness is a foolish thing. Ain't nothing to be resentful about here."

Right…

So for now, Daniel focuses on finding work and pay his way out safely, asking the locals a few questions along the way – where to find this Moira-person, and if they know how long Dad stuck around this place.

Through that endeavor, he got himself stuck in a weird conversation instead… An old man by the name of Nathan, with graying hair and an airy gleam to his eyes.

The moment Daniel asked for work, things went straight to–

"Wanna make yourself useful, new blood?" He said with a happy grin, sounding like a friendly grandpa from the Vault. "I say to toss your gun in for the Enclave! Ever heard? The last remnant of the good ol' USA!"

What…?

"…The Enclave…?" 'Last remnant'…?

"Yep! They're the American government! The Eagle!"

What in the fuck.

Daniel only listened, wide-eyed and unbelieving. The government… They were still around? But no one ever contacted the Vault again…

Not a peep, not a sound. But if the government was still out there, somewhere…

It's like Vault 101 was abandoned… Left alone and forgotten despite the importance of who they were protecting…

The citizens of the Vault learn at a young age that Vault-Tec was a traitorous faction, and that the government was largely unaware of its real nature.

Their memory was culturally maligned, but the government itself from that same time was largely seen as too preoccupied with the war and the resource crisis and building their Vault to keep the Soul of their nation safe, and also possibly led astray by malicious elements within its ranks, exacerbating existing problems, and blinding them to the incoming Chinese threat…

The traitors were to blame for everything, they learned.

"They've got flying robots all around, watching everything so they know what to do when they finally swoop in and clean this place up! And then, this nightmare will finally be over! Isn't that a good cause to fight for?" The old man beams at the hopeful thought.

And now they got tech and were watching…?

They are out there, then. So they abandoned the Soul, after leaving him to be a slave to Vault-Tec, is that really possible? Is it the original last government? Or just the traitor faction of it? Did they escape after all?

Daniel crossed his arms, trying not to scowl. "What makes you think they're legitimate?" He wonders with a challenging tone.

Nathan gasps, aghast with his suggestion. "How can you say that?! They're on the radio, have been for years! President Eden tells us everything they're doing!"

Radio…? President Eden…? Daniel glanced at his Pip-Boy. He'd have to check the frequency later…

"They could just be lying." Daniel feels a bit terrible because the poor old man sputters with astonishment and he was taught to respect his elders… But he continues anyway. "Or maybe they are 'remnants' as you say, but why do you think they're good people? If they're alive, it means they hid away as the country burned. They abandoned the country and are now pretending they have any right to it?" He leans close, not wanting to shout, but still feeling defensive, if not somewhat offended.

"Y-You're one to talk! Aren't you from a vault? Your ancestors abandoned the country too!" The man leans close to shout back, sounding terribly offended as well.

Daniel really should stop. The insult technically didn't apply to him, but… he did feel insulted for the people of the Vault. "Yeah? We're not the ones who stabbed this country's Soul in the back and then left it all to burn! This 'Enclave' did!"

"Oh, now you're just trying to confuse me with your fancy revisionist vault-education! You all are the same!"

"Whaaat?!"

It doesn't turn into a louder argument, but only because of who seems to be the man's wife interrupting and then promptly dragging him away by the ear. "You've had this argument with the vaulties from 101 countless times! Why do you keep forgetting it?!" She nags angrily on the way. "You should know they don't like to hear about that blasted Enclave!"

…As frustrating as the short conversation was, it did give him an important piece of intel…

A traitorous piece of the last government was still around, and they were called the Enclave, and they had a new President.

Daniel made sure to record it all and write a reminder to check that radio station later…

After all of this, his only lead left to check, for now, is to talk to the pub owner, from the establishment on the other side of the main road, away from the pitiable farms, and right in sight of anyone walking in through the east-side gate. It had plenty of customers inside.

In there, he met the unpleasant owner. Daniel kept the conversation succinct and straight to the point.

The man seems to have met Dad, nearly two decades ago, when he brought Daniel to the Vault… And while he knows where his father went, he refuses to tell Daniel, because 'information costs money' and what-not, and he wanted Daniel to extort someone for him…

Or pay 100 in those bottle caps…

Flat-broke and still unwilling to do this sort of dirty-work, Daniel opted for something more honest.

"Heh, you lot think you're so virtuous, eh? Good luck with that out there." The man mocked with smug derision.

Daniel could work a little extra and try to bargain with these people for a little bit. Maybe he'd spend an additional hour or two or three working, but it would probably be worth the price…

Better than extorting some girl down on her luck for this shady fellow…

Then…

While he paced away, mentally formulating his next course of action, he's beckoned by a man in a ragged suit that might have been white at some point in time, complete with a fedora in similar condition…

He looked out of place in the furthest corner of the bar… eyes hidden behind sunglasses, even though he's indoors…

Unlike him, the guy probably didn't have an excuse for that…

Daniel squashed his dread and approached, to be polite and see what the man wanted… "Can I help you with something, sir?"

"Hm, polite. I hear the folks from 101 are very civil-minded. The name's Burke, my boy." The man now named Burke offered Daniel a seat in front of him, which he took, a bit hesitantly, still listening. "101 vaulties are intelligent, but painfully naïve people as well. It is terrible how often they fall prey to the likes of Wastelanders like these…" He muttered and gestured around at the locals. "Allow me to hand you this caveat … Many of your fellow vault-dwellers never left this little eyesore of a town."

Suddenly, Daniel was tense, hyperaware of how many people were inside this building. His previous worries sprang forth, stronger and more real. Was it actually true…? Did these people ever kill citizens who refused to 'pay the toll'? But Dad went through here… He occasionally mentioned the dangers of the 'Wasteland', but he never mentioned this place…

Well, there's a lot that he didn't mention…

Daniel doesn't want to take the word of a random stranger, though… These locals need whatever talent he can offer, and maybe they were desperate enough to be forceful, but…

Resorting to murder just like that…? He was already a bit paranoid with the idea, that he could get shot for minor reasons if he crossed the wrong person, but…

Vault-citizens would generally want to help out, especially if these people are offering a leg-up in the form of money, right…?

Now that he thought about it, wouldn't these people hold the citizens in high-regard, then?

He's about to politely cut the conversation short, leave it as food-for-thought while he gathers more information from the locals, when–

"Here's a thought you could consider, however. Your vault will not be safe from these predators surrounding it, not until this place is wiped off the map."

"W-Wiped off…?!" Daniel couldn't help but hiss in outrage, itching to stand from his seat– "How many people live here–"

"Many settlements get wiped out in the Wasteland, it's not uncommon. But you can't possibly tell me you're at ease when your home is surrounded by a village built around an undetonated atomic warhead…" The man smirked, as if knowing that his words would make him stagger–

"What…?" His eyes widened in shock. "A warhead…?!"

"You didn't see it…?" Burke sounded rather baffled. "In that so-called 'shrine'? It formed a crater, and a merry band of cultists has gathered and built around it. They worship the damn thing now. It's also still active, just so you know."

An active bomb is sitting right next to them…? He's momentarily frozen. Was it true? Why lie about something that could be disproven by simply asking around a bit…?

"You can go in there and take a look if you wish to see for yourself. Mind the radiation leaking into the very soil, though." The man chuckled as if this were a joke. Then… "The vault would remain intact, should it go off. But your people would be much safer. Another generation of waiting for the radiation to dissipate, and this whole area would be yours for the taking. Land is a valuable commodity, if you can defend it."

It's true, isn't it? He's just standing next to it– if it goes off, he'll be dead– the thing that ruined the homeland, a reminder of it was still sitting next to them… Daniel cursed internally and looked around. "Everyone here knows?"

"Pah! Cultists…! Of course everyone knows, they're all in on it. What decent folk settle around a bomb? These people aren't of sound mind, my boy, mark my words." The man sat back, hand swirling the glass of liquor on the table. "With that in mind, how about an offer? My benefactor is very concerned about the local effect of this little spot, and he's willing to pay you handsomely if you can help us with this. It's much better than what pittance these people would give you for your labor under their gun."

"I… I have to go." Daniel stands, a bit shaky on his feet.

"Well, that's a shame… Pay a visit to the Tenpenny Tower south-west of here, if you ever wish to work for actual rewards."

Daniel walked back to the shrine, stopping at the entrance. The land sank just ahead, and he couldn't see anything beyond more shanties…

The sniper at the top didn't stop him from approaching further, and so he walked in, just enough to see what's at the bottom of the crater.

And there it was… At the bottom, the thing of nightmares to the citizens of the Vault.

Just sitting there, undetonated, for 200 years? Would it ever detonate? Could it? There had to be a reason why it didn't go off…

Daniel gulped and checked the compass on his Pip-Boy. From its angle, pointed in between south and south-east, he could assume it came from the north-west…

He narrowed his eyes. It was Chinese, wasn't it? Sounds like it could have flown straight past the artic from the other side of the world, if his memory of geographical maps didn't fail him…

Almost on top of their Vault… Almost like it was aimed at them…

From where he stood, he could see the people who surrounded, knelled as if in prayer, with a lone, standing old man in rags – his voice echoing across the area.

"Behold!" The old man shouts in adherence, arms strewn towards the weapon– "He is coming with the clouds! And every eye shall be blind with his glory! And every ear shall be stricken deaf to hear the thunder of his voice!"

It sounded like cruel mockery… The praise and worship of the destruction of the homeland, as if the thing that did it were some benevolent marvel, instead of an unparalleled and unselective destructive force…

"Come forth, and drink the waters of the Glow! For this ancient weapon of war is our salvation! It is the very symbol of Atom's glory! Come, come, let's drink!"

It's sickening… to watch people who're clearly suffering from the poison, prostrate themselves to cup their hands and drink more.

Daniel takes a step back, trying not to grimace. Atom? Is that what they've named their hellish entity? Unbelievable…

It has wiped out the rightful homeland of the citizens, it's only right that they– and Daniel as well– absolutely hated and abhorred this thing, and there's no doubt they should hate this Atom entity as well.

"Let it serve as a reminder of the Division that has occurred in the past–!"

A reminder! Just sitting here, in front of their home, mocking them like a prowling tiger, just waiting to finish the job…!

"There shall be no tears, no sorrow, no suffering–!"

As if there weren't enough already! What comes to mind, considering this cruelty, is the absolutely fragile hope in the Soul's eyes when asking him to check if there was anything left that he could bring back.

Any little scrap left from the past that wasn't burned to ashes by these things…

He's not going to be happy knowing that one of these was still sitting right next to them…

Daniel turns away with a huff, walking back out of this hole.

What absolute bullshit.

But such drastic measures were unnecessary, probably… Daniel was not going to take that man on his offer. He'd do nothing until he delivered his report. That thing was sitting there for two centuries, it could handle another few days…

Overseer Snyder and the Soul would know what to do about it… He's sure this issue could be solved without genociding an entire town in hellfire… Even if these people worshipped the damn thing…

He's almost marching on his way out, following through the corridor of shanty-homes around this so-called shrine, ignoring the few people walking back and forth from the farms.

Should he warn the sheriff about that man, though? What would happen, then? Would he arrest him? Both were armed, was there even a law to be respected here? What if shots were fired? What if an innocent died because of it?

His mind was busy with so many thoughts, and as he's passing under a pipe, he jumped back with a gasp when something suddenly appeared in front of him.

His brain processed it – a little girl in ragged clothing, barely a year or two older than a toddler– hanging upside down with her legs over a pipe. "Hi!" She chirps with a smile, her dark, short hair hanging.

Daniel gapes for a few seconds before recollecting his wits. "Uh, hey, hi…"

"I'm Meggie!" She swivels on the pipe to sit over it, rather easily too, giving him a quizzical look. "You're one of those vaulties!"

Did she recognize the suit by now? She seemed too young to know what it meant– she's just a little bigger than a toddler! What is she even doing up there, it's dangerous! Looking around, no one seemed to pay this scene any mind whatsoever.

Was this normal? Was it normal for Wasteland children to behave like this…?! Daniel sure didn't when he was that age!

"Doing anything good for us yet, vaultie?" She grins when he turns back.

"Huh?!" Just a little kid, but she knew about the fee?!

Her cheeks puff up as she studies him, before she jumps down– and Daniel panics for a split-second, but by the time he raises his arms to catch her, she's already on the ground, standing as if she'd jumped down a small set of stairs, still watching him as if studying a specimen, and Daniel lets her because she jumped from such a high place and he's actually not sure what to do…!

She hums, bright blue eyes narrowing at him. "There's something… about you… Hmm…"

"Meggieee!" Someone shouts somewhere.

She turns and runs in its direction. "Billy! Who's this one?!"

The man the little girl reached looked at him from where he stood down the road, raising an eyebrow, then he walked in his direction. Daniel waited– it was tense, he sees the eye-patch… Has this guy been in a scuffle? An accident?

But the guy was smiling and looked friendly. "Heeey! Look at that. Another vault-dweller! What's your name and business, stranger?" He offered a hand, which Daniel shook out of politeness.

"Daniel Cross, I'm just passing by. You, sir?"

"Billy Creel. I live here." He smirks amicably.

The little girl still stood behind his legs, partially hidden and looking up at Daniel with wide, round blue eyes– those eyes looked… familiar…?

"Welcome to our little town, then. Sorry if the people here made you feel a little cornered. It's a good little town, and it's our home, you know? We just don't want it to die." The man shrugged.

Daniel eased his expression so it wouldn't spell out his thoughts– it will die if you keep that damn bomb in the middle of it– and he nodded in understanding. "It's fine… I intended to be helpful anyway. I'm sure I'll need the money to wander out there."

"That's right! Life is easier when you got caps on you. Although, a gun sure helps!"

"Is it too bad out there…?"

"Sure! I'm pretty certain there's a nest of raiders a few stone-throws away from the Springvale Gate. So when you walk outta here, keep your gun ready and your caps hidden, gotcha?"

"Oh, gotcha! Thanks for the advice." He meant it, too. Being murdered by raiders on the way out sounded terrible…

"You're welcome, vaultie. I'll let you get back to whatever you're doing then. C'mon, kiddo." Billy waves and leads Meggie away, and Daniel looks at her on the way.

Her stare is uncomfortably intense, and he does feel like those eyes look… so familiar– an image of the Soul's impossibly bright blue eyes comes to mind– he gapes, realizing what he's seeing– same eyes, same general facial structure– then forces his mouth closed.

Aaah… So that's what it was… Just like the Soul… What.


XVII

"Hmm, this is so good~" Alfred slurped the noodles happily with a fork, not caring for the noise. "Don't even mind the lack of meat; just– actual food, man~"

And the Nuka-Cola, too…! He missed the taste so much. It had so much sugar, it energized him better than coffee.

"After 200 years, I guess you were famished…" His boss muttered rather fondly from his desk. He was still steaming with some embarrassment, ever since Alfred told him he actually did require food and water to maintain his good health.

Alfred could live without it… But he wouldn't be at his best. Not even close… He'd be essentially running on fumes there.

If he hadn't said anything, it's possible the man would have assumed otherwise. As if Alfred were some kind of perfect god with no weaknesses or human cravings…

Rather off-putting…

"Didn't notice that." Alfred shrugged. Asleep the whole time, that didn't register. "Just– During Anchorage–" He spoke in between gulps. "Nothing but MREs, for months!" Food shortage and rationing… and all of that…

The reminder dimmed his mood, so he focused on eating.

Too bad there's no cattle meat, though… What he wouldn't do for a grilled steak or a hamburger right now…

"What is this made out of again?" He wonders.

"Dough from all the grains we produce. We try to keep it as caloric and nutritious as possible."

"No animals to raise, huh?"

"Ah, that… Vault-Tec thought the risk of long-term mutation creating new diseases was too great to allow animals inside."

"Hmm." Alfred nodded, almost finished. Vault-Tec wasn't taking any risks with their pet-project, huh? "Too bad… Meat's really good."

"…I wouldn't know…"

Yeah, no one would in this Vault… He sighs, muttering. "Fantastic… The descendants of my people are basically involuntary vegetarians now…"

"…I'm sorry about that…"

"Not your fault…" Alfred amends, just to stifle the wave of shame from his accidental chastising. He didn't mean it, but…

Vegetarianism was a Commie idea made to cover the fact that they didn't have enough food to feed their own people…

He still remembers Wang screeching at the end of the table – 'They don't need their own weight in meat to be satisfied! Unlike YOUR piggish humans!'

Bah! Asshole…

Still, the irony doesn't escape Alfred and he hated it with abashed disdain, somewhat glad that Wang was too dead to laugh at him.

Well.

It's been two days since their scout left the Vault now.

Alfred had spent the first day and night and day wasting time, and then the next whole night awake, testing a very straightforward limit of his body: how long he could handle being awake.

At his peak, he could manage three weeks, before mental exhaustion started to slow him down. If he kept pushing to his absolute limit, he could pull off a whole month before falling asleep whenever he happened to close his eyes for a bit.

So far, he managed 20 hours with only a minor headache and a few yawns here and there. Not much better than a human…

While that test went on in the background, he continued to tinker with the Pip-Boy to make it functional for him, opening it up and adjusting things, and then linking it to the terminal to modify the parameters properly.

He was done with that in 3 hours.

Once it was ready, he still needed some food before letting it measure his health, so his first scan would be a baseline that would include his most basic parameters, and not just his body running on natural energy.

Unfortunately, the kitchenette was deprived of food at that moment, and so, he had to wait until morning.

For the next 5 hours, he began familiarizing himself with the culture of his new home instead…

He had spent the entire time so far mostly on music and reading from the public network, and eventually, he moved on to the books he could find in the room.

Part of him was already familiar with all of this, somewhere in his subconscious, so it wasn't hard to get used to it, despite some of its differences compared to his original culture…

…That was comforting.

He had thought that a 200-years gap would've placed him in an irreconcilable state with a near-foreign culture, but…

It wasn't so different from what was his.

His original culture was clearly at the root of everything new in the Vault.

It all turned out to fit well with his tastes and temper – mostly fondness for the lost past in the literature, with thoughts and ideas and archetypes that flattered him and adhered to his moral sensibilities; and also with the new stylistic branches of music that the youth enjoyed, arisen from some permutation and reimagining of his old style…

Everything's like a fond pat on his back, not quite forgetting the past, but certainly looking beyond it and pulling him along for the ride…

Young people trying new things without straying too far from their roots. Alfred appreciated that considerate kindness…

The music here was good for dancing, he liked these styles a lot…

One is dramatic. Strident. Sometimes a little harsh and odd. Aah, different but groovy, yeah, that's a good way to put it.

The other is wilder, older, rich and distinct, sometimes even romantic and passionate…

It wasn't hard for him to appreciate them, which surprised his boss in the morning, when Alfred still had the radio on and was reading a novel he picked at random.

Clearly, he expected Alfred to adhere to the old culture rigidly… Snyder himself was a bit of a cultural puritan on that aspect.

But Alfred wasn't feeling so inflexible these days… He liked it.

…There are no Commies here, nothing to worry about with the new now… That's one less source of stress on his shoulders, at the very least…

He could also extrapolate and assume that the same process applied to movies and any visual arts they wanted to produce. Same process, of reverent branches splintering from his original culture at the root…

He couldn't bring himself to feel any real bitterness, even if the reason for the splinter hurt.

There was never disdain or negative scrutiny in the lyrics or the narratives…

After what felt like years of criticism, pessimism, hopelessness, disappointment, disdain, and finally renouncement of everything rooted in his spirit as the riots escalated, citizens giving up on him, while his government trudged in corruption, self-interest, and blatant disregard and disrespect of his wishes or the rights his citizens were supposed to have…

The cheery propaganda was his only distraction then, encouraging him to stand tall and proud, even when it felt like everything was falling apart around him. It was his only recourse…

Of course, in his heart, he knew that's all there was to it. It was the only shred of happiness his people could show the world, their last attempt to say they weren't broken yet… even when war and death destroyed the world around them.

But this here was…

This was a sweet, loving, and welcome change of pace…

…It felt nice to not be hated by most of his own people for once…

Alfred felt it, deep in his essence, what his people had in their hearts, simmering beneath the surface… Just waiting to explode… It was there, even for those who weren't aware of it yet…

…He didn't feel worthy of this much devotion and reverence… Especially when he hasn't done much so far… He's only waited, anxiously dreading the thought of meeting these people…

It didn't feel right to accept the affection. Not when Alfred's first defensive actions were meant to protect his citizens, while he was still unaware of who exactly he was protecting… In his mind, he got it wrong, and now there was still hesitation…

These people, they weren't… they weren't his like the American people… They were just the 'descendants'…

It didn't feel right to hear all this devotion and reverence directed at him when he couldn't even reciprocate it… He couldn't be bitter, he couldn't hate them… But love them like he loved his Americans?

And he did love his Americans… Of course he did… Even when he hurt them, he was still… still trying to protect their future…

"Feeling a little better now?" Snyder wonders quietly, concerned – most likely due to his pensive silence.

Alfred sighs, his bowl empty. "Yep… Feeling a little more alive…" With a little more energy to spare…

He stands and takes it back to his room, leaving it in the sink to wash later.

Finally, he could have some decent base numbers to check. Fed and with a whole day on the clock, this is generally how he is all the time.

Heh. He never needed to check or even keep an eye on such numbers before, Alfred muses while strapping the Pip-Boy to his wrist and waiting for it to boot up, sitting down too.

It'll take a little longer than the usual for humans…

Concern nibbles the corner of his mind, and Alfred shrugs it off.

"A Pip-Boy?" His boss wonders, carrying a few boxes of food and placing it all inside the fridge.

"I wanted to check some stuff…"

"…And all these tools?" Task done, the man approaches, gesturing to the desk and the mess scattered around the terminal.

"Normal models don't work well with me. It needed some adjustments beforehand."

When it finally loads properly, the faint blue glow is visible through the screen. His current condition seemed stable, no adverse effects impacting him negatively…

A bunch of things were still loading, scrambling back and forth, slowly stabilizing as well.

When Alfred looks up, eyebrow raised at the sight, he sees his Snyder's rather baffled look. "You… you know how to program these things? Without breaking it?"

The awe was bittersweet to savor. Alfred sits cross-legged on the chair, intertwined fingers under his chin as he grins rather sardonically. "You tried messing with them, didn't you? You didn't understand how it works, I'm guessing."

How many did they break while trying to figure it out? Heh.

"W-We stopped trying years ago…!" Snyder exclaimed in astonishment. "Oh… Of course you know how they work…" He laughed awkwardly. "I suppose it's expected."

Alfred couldn't help but snicker. "Want in on a state-secret?" He smirked, piquing Snyder's interest. "Every unit produced in the US has a small component made with my life-energy, from where it draws certain functions. You have to know how it works to manage its proprieties, and I could count on one hand how many people had the know-how, including me." He tapped the screen.

"Really…?" Snyder breathed with a small smile, looking at his own device. "So we had a piece of you with us this whole time? Amazing…"

"Yeah…" Alfred rested his cheek on his knuckle, unwittingly reciprocating the fondness – damn his nature, making him get attached already… "It's this energy that lets me do certain things, although most of it I do unconsciously, like knowing a citizen's general strengths and weaknesses, what's affecting them physically, what skills they can offer, how their health is doing, the general condition of their body, how old and experienced they are, that sort of thing…"

It affects the gut-feeling he got when meeting his own people.

Which is why he could generally judge whether a citizen was lying, or how loyal, useful, dependable, fragile, or hurt a citizen actually was…

It tended to affect his judgment and decision-making when it came to how he interacted with each one.

"Oh… So these capabilities were transferred to the machine, and then it was codified a way to quantify it in numbers?"

"Yep, pretty much. The capacity to read these sorts of information is innate to this kind of energy, so it works on pretty much anyone, as long as the coding is there." Alfred is satisfied that he didn't have to explain that concept so thoroughly; the man understood it well enough, which meant he was educated enough… "Same goes for the atomizing capability, too."

"Eh? You can do that?" Snyder tilted his head, maybe confused at how that'd work.

"For me, it's not for storage." Alfred scoffed a quiet laugh. "It was something neat I could do." He smirked fondly at the thought. "I could essentially atomize myself, and move from Point A to Point B in an instant, as long as it was all within my territory."

"Teleportation?!"

Alfred nodded with a small smile. "It's the same concept, really. Except instead of staying atomized and stored, I'd just reform somewhere else." He shrugged.

Snyder looked at him, wide-eyed. "C-Can you still do that?"

"Well…" Alfred nudged his chin, and glanced at the Pip-Boy. The numbers attempting to calculate his energy reserves were still scrambled… That'd take a while to stabilize. "I'm not sure. At my peak, I could go from coast to coast about 10 consecutive times before I passed out. It's a pretty costly ability."

That was actually long before Anchorage… Years before… When he was still butting heads with everyone during Meetings…

After falling to exhaustion, though, he'd need to sleep and eat a lot to regenerate the energy spent…

He could still just wait.

It regenerated on its own naturally, if he was truly healthy. If the conditions weren't great, if he was away from home, and his energy wasn't regenerating, his physical regeneration, 'healing', would be the first to cease its function.

That said… "Right, I still need to check this…" He mutters, standing up.

"Wow… That's amazing…" His boss was a bit too awed, mostly in his own thoughts at the revelations. "It's amazing! We ought to share this as soon as possible…!" Snyder stands after him, arms spread. "What do you say, Soul? Are you well enough to finally meet the people here? I know everyone will be just as astounded!"

Of course, his boss wanted to alleviate the political pressure…

Alfred wanders to the tiny kitchenette corner opposite to him – he stops for a moment, mulling over the thought– the possibility– the whole scenario in his head.

The whole image looks wrong in his mind… He can't do this yet…

He's still missing something…

He's not worth their expectations and adoration…

He's read the messages, he's heard their songs, he knows what they're expecting… He's not it…

Alfred shakes his head. "Not yet…" He's then rifling through drawers until he finds an appropriate kitchen knife, and–

Snyder gasps and holds his wrist, pulling the blade away from his hand. "What in the blazes are you doing?!"

Alfred blinks. "I want to check something."

"Wha– Why?!" Monumental befuddlement– sorrow– fear–

"Look." Alfred relaxes. "As far as 'my kind' is– was concerned, we're tied to a nation, a territory, with borders and laws above all else. A Vault is… not exactly that… Not in the way I'm used to." He drawls. "This is one last thing I need to check to know if there's something particularly wrong with me due to that. For all I know, I could be slowly dying right now."

Like any human…

The natural energy itself has always been a bit of a mystery… No one's exactly sure where it comes from, or how Nationees generate it…

If they even generated it…

Because, despite the clearly present culture, there were still several unspecified factors he'd thought critical for his kind…

If his energy wasn't regenerating–

If it wasn't healing him–

Call him crazy, but he wasn't so sure a metal box was a suitable replacement for land. Land was a safe, stable bet. Metal wasn't.

Snyder seems to panic internally in front of him. "No–no– no. You're not dying–"

"You don't know that." Alfred shrugs and tosses the knife to the other hand with a smirk, cutting his palm before Snyder could do anything.

"Oh, no!" He ignores the immediate pang of panic from his boss who snatches the knife off his hand and runs to the bathroom.

"Ouch…" Alfred says dully, watching the blood scurry, then blinks and opens a cupboard–

"DON'T GET ANOTHER–!" Came the panicked shout from the bathroom.

"I'm not! Calm down…" With his uninjured hand, Alfred finds a small glass cup and letting the blood drip there instead.

It's bright red… That's good… His shoulders dip with some relief. So he had some of his strength, and his blood looked healthy…

Now he just had to wait to check the last thing. He tilted his head to see the Pip-Boy's screen so he wouldn't tilt the cup. Laceration damage… Bleeding…

Snyder runs back with a towel and a first-aid kit, but Alfred turns away from him. "You don't need to do that."

"Huh?! Y-You're bleeding! People will have my head on a platter if they find out you got hurt under my watch! It's not even been a week! Now, please–"

"You know, when I'm healthy, my blood doesn't really oxidize. It stays red, and that's a very good sign. I just want to take a look." He smiles knowingly.

Snyder stops, then huffs. "You're still injured. You didn't have to cut yourself with a knife for that…"

"Meh. If everything's okay, then it'll heal just fine."

"Really… And if it's not?"

Alfred shrugs, turning to him once again. "Then my demise is inevitable, I guess…" He stares blankly at his wound while his boss gapes– there's worry–fear–outrage all bundled up.

"Just– Oh Soul…"

"Just 'Alfred' is fiiine~" He sings in amusement. That concern is nice and warm… and he relaxes further in response…

But still…

If he doesn't heal up, unless they go out there and do some conquering… his life would be ticking away… Slowly draining his natural reserves… He doesn't feel strong enough for such a quick conquest…

It's taking an awfully long time to stop bleeding…

Alfred feels a cold shiver of fear for a moment, before it finally stops dripping, and he sighs quietly in relief, feeling the weight of dread being lifted.

'…I'm fine…'

"It does seem to be healing… Huh." He mutters. The bleeding stopped for the most part, and he felt the familiar burning and slight amount of steam, along with tightening of flesh as it closed slowly. "What a surprise… I guess I'm fine." He chuckles.

…He really thought it wasn't going to heal any time soon…

Glancing at the Pip-Boy, he noted the Bleeding alert was gone, at least.

"Don't do this again, please…" Snyder groused, already exhausted. "Is it normal to… smoke?"

"It's steam, actually. Burning water and calories to heal up faster. And yes. Totally normal." Alfred smiles, almost feeling apologetic, and takes the towel from a relieved Snyder and goes through the usual process of ridding himself of his own blood from a wound.

Since his blood didn't oxidize or disappear easily, flushing it down the drain in a place like this was a lousy idea…

The filters that cleaned and renewed the water weren't good enough for it.

So instead, he cleans his hands with paper that he'd burn later, before rinsing with a wet towel. "Now, I just need to wait to see what happens to that." He gestures to the small glass, now almost half-filled with bright, red blood.

A lot of people in the past would have killed for this much… He wonders how much they sucked out of his body while locking him up in this place…

He wonders if they got anything useful out of it…

Alfred scoffed and wrapped his already healing hand with gauze from the first-aid box.

"Okay, okay… You're not doing this again, correct?" His boss asked, exasperated–concerned–

"Probably not." Alfred glanced at the Pip-Boy once bandaged, finding everything mostly in order, his numbers stabilizing and rising back up, a bit slowly, though.

He's healing, and the scrambling is slowing down…

Snyder opens his mouth to complain about not getting a firm answer, before seemingly giving up. "Alright, thank you, Soul…" He sits heavily by the desk.

Alfred grimaces with a sigh, placing a saucer to cover the glass' top and carrying it to the nightstand.

It's still awkward to be referred to as something supposedly intrinsic to humans…

"Now… About what I was saying…"

Alfred sat on the bed, crossing his arms. "Still not eager to go there."

"You can't hide in here forever…"

Alfred narrows his eyes at his choice of words, crossing his legs as well. "You're probably thinking 'this is the soul of the most powerful nation ever to exist and he's cowering in a room? Gee, what a let-down.'" He can't help but grin cynically.

Snyder frowned, mouth forming an 'o' in confusion. "No, I'm not."

"That's okay… Now you're wondering 'how can't he tell what I'm really thinking?'" Alfred tilted his head, raising an eyebrow and chuckling.

His mirth infects his boss, and he lets out a breathy laugh. "Yes, I thought that one. You do realize you're undermining your own point, don't you, Soul…? Whatever that point is…?"

He can't help it, he laughs out loud – God, he feels like he hasn't laughed like this in a long time… But it's a sad laugh…

"My point is that I can't read minds…! And yet, you people seem to think I can!" He stands and paces past Snyder, gesturing along with his words. "And I can actually be petty…! And bitter! And selfish! I'm not–" He stops, eyes down. "I'm not this all-knowing, benevolent deity you people seem to think I am." He admits and turned away, head shaking lightly as he fiddles with his pinky distractedly.

He wasn't a saint. He was aware of his own hypocrisies, even if he never noticed this back then.

Hell, he wasn't even morally decent, compared to most of his people…

…If only they knew the things he did…

It's not that he's particularly remorseful… He's really not…

War is war, some unsavory things need to be done…

But…

It sure looks bad to the innocent and idealist eyes of some of these people…

They genuinely seem to think neither he nor his old government did any wrong– ever.

The only wrong was from traitors, at the very end…

"I've read the public network messages… I'm just not very eager to crush their expectations… I know how young people are, and I don't feel like dealing with their disappointment…" He turns back – and he's sure he must be looking quite pitiful then…

But despite that…

He's a tool of war. He's made to shed blood. He exists to kill and control.

He's not really a loving deity. He loved his people because they were his, but he didn't treat them like 'beloved children'; he's not a god, much less a forgiving or patient one… The naïve people here expected something else…?

He tried to be better, to be different, especially in his youth, he really did… but…

That failed spectacularly. Time, politics, and war made him bitter and cynical and neurotic.

It's easy to see it now, when there are 200 years between Alfred-Now, and Alfred-Then. His nation at the time reflected his spirit like a distorted mirror, just like everyone else.

The whole world burning was evidence of that…

He felt defeated and pathetic. The expectations were too great for him to meet anyone's eyes like this…

"I just can't talk to people right now… Not until I can actually meet some of these expectations." Alfred grits his teeth, ruffling his hair, pulling it back from his forehead. "I mean, look at me! I'm a wreck right now! I don't wanna be seen like this…!" He huffs tiredly, his balance faltering a step before he sits on the counter.

He's pathetic and weak. Defeated and humiliated.

This is why he lost everything he's ever held dear…

Now he feels like a burden who doesn't deserve to be here…

The songs and stories were too adoring and optimistic… He doesn't quite feel deserving or worth their mirth and love, not when he fucked up so badly

He sighs while Snyder looks in silence and shock. "This is embarrassing, right…?" It is embarrassing, and he feels childish, for not being able to suck it up and deal with it.

Go with the flow. Roll with the punches. Count his blessings and be happy with the fact that he's still fucking alive!

Yeah, sure!

Alive by some goddamn miracle, brought about by traitors!

In his current state, barely escaping enslavement, locked away, asleep while everything burned, for two centuries, and now here, like this, feeling like a goddamn waste.

There was something he still needed to do… He couldn't stand straight and proud until he proved this to himself and to anyone who questioned him.

And then, he senses pity– "I-I had no idea… I'm so sorry– I– You don't have to feel this way, people are really excited and worried, but you're not a disappointment–"

Fucking pity.

Alfred scowls in response, crossing his arms. "Don't give me pity. It'll just make everything infinitely worse." He forces himself to stand straight, only to maintain some sense of dignity.

The little he had left of it, at least…

Pity just offends him at the moment.

It offends his pride because he should be above pity–

Nothing hurts more than being treated like a fragile victim– he hates it…!

He's the Nationee of the US of fucking A, goddamn it!

Or… 'He was', that is…

Snyder sighs patiently. "It's not pity, I'm just trying to make this the least painful for you and I just want to understand how to do so."

Alfred wonders how long that patience will last if he kept pushing it… "I can't read minds, but I can tell when you lie."

"It is not a lie." Frustration seeps through their bond, and it's better than goddamn pity.

Finally.

So Alfred relaxes with a huff. "You'd be surprised how easily humans can lie without noticing."

His boss staggers at the admission, but recovers surprisingly quickly. "Okay… Fine. Then…" He breathes in to think before deciding what to say. "Then tell me how I can help you! In what way it doesn't feel like pity?" He stands straight, hands on his waist.

The conviction is a little stronger now… Not so hampered by submissive veneration like the feeble, awed leader Alfred had been dealing with until now…

Alfred raises an eyebrow. He's not quite used to bosses listening…

He's used to arguing… or more often, more recently for him, he's used to shutting up and following orders because everything's falling apart and there's a war too big for his government to waste time with his uncooperative bullshit.

Do as you're told and not a fucking peep about it, you hear? His last boss told him when he deigned to complain once…

So, what is helpful now…?

What will help him feel less useless? What did he want to do…?

Alfred only thinks for a second or two before the answer comes to him. "…I want to do something useful." He nods at his own assessment.

That made sense.

Snyder frowns, confusion in the air. "Like…?"

Another second of thought and he points sharply at the door leading to the Office behind. "Those things below the Vault, at the breach. I want to deal with them, thoroughly." He maintains firm eye-contact.

He needs to fight them, consciously aware of who he's protecting and why.

His boss reacts almost predictably at this point, head shaking. "What?! No! Who knows how many of those things are down there! I can't let you do that! How's that more preferable to just meeting people?!" He gestures angrily.

Alfred takes on the concern–fear–anger ball of anxiety head-on, keeping his wits and not faltering. "If I want to do this meet-and-greet without feeling like hot garbage, then I need to do something useful first!" He ignores the hesitant and angry confusion that hits back on response–

"You're not making sense…! Just– Just think about this for a second, look at what you're asking!"

"I'm asking to do what I was born to do." Alfred shoots back and raises his voice. "I'm not a trophy that needs to be kept safe in a glass box! If you people aren't safe and there's fighting to be done, then goddamn it, I want in! I can't stand being in my own skin if I can't do this!"

Alfred hates being powerless–

Helpless!

He didn't want pity – he felt pathetic and weak and he needed something to fix that – he couldn't face anyone who expected better until he was confident that he was worth something better…!

"I-I– I can't let you do this and get hurt…! This is just not right!" His boss backed away, wide-eyed and fearful– and Alfred understood he's overwhelming him, but the man needed to understand something– "You're not a weapon, we don't want to use you or risk your safety…! We're not Vault-Tec! H-Haven't you fought enough in your life–?!"

Alfred scowls and stomps the ground just hard enough to make the entire room vibrate, making Snyder shiver in involuntary fright. "I am a weapon of war, whether you like it or not. I will not lounge all day and be worshipped like a pathetic king." He hisses. "I can't respect myself if I do, and I have no right to live if that's all I'm good for. If I have to, I'd rather leave this Vault, cut all ties, and die in a hole!"

If he can't do something useful, then he can't respect himself.

If he can't respect himself, then he's worth nothing.

He doesn't deserve to live if he's worth nothing.

Because then his nation, his people, everyone died for nothing!

Horror strikes from their link– his boss approaches quickly, hands on his shoulders– "Why would you say that…?! We just want you close to us, safe and happy…! What's wrong with just living here as a part of our lives?"

It's… hurt– hurt that Alfred would seem so willing to risk what they've been doing their best to protect for so long.

His safety.

But his boss doesn't understand… Alfred backs away, lightly pulling his hands off. "Bad things happen when I do nothing… I need to do this."

"…But…" Conflicting emotions– "What if you die…?!" He's running out of protests…

Alfred breathes in and backs away further. "I won't die." He raises his bandaged hand, removing the gauze and showing it fully healed to him, before closing it into a fist.

So it's definitive now.

Everything is in working order.

"My anchor is the people of this Vault now, and as long as you're all safe and prospering, I'll heal from anything, no matter how lethal it seems. It's just in my nature." He grins, before it turns into a more vulnerable expression and he pleads. "…Just please let me do what I failed to do last time. I want to protect my citizens."

This hurt… but…

…He's giving them full continuity…

He understands the blossoming awe and shock from Snyder. He's only ever referred to them as 'you people', and 'the descendants'.

But by voicing his consent for continuity, he's taking them fully as his people, not as vault-dwellers or descendants of his people, but… actual… full-blooded Americans.

The definitive successors to his nation and inheritors of his spirit, who Alfred would protect to his dying breath.

"W-Wait– You mean that…?" Wide-eyed disbelief, which Alfred responds with affection and acceptance.

Alfred nods, patting his shoulder. "Despite how I've been acting, I am actually grateful to everyone in this Vault…" He widens his smile. "I want to meet expectations, from you all, and also my own, you see?" He walks to the dresser, rummaging inside a particular drawer.

"You shouldn't burden yourself with unrealistic expectations, Soul…" Snyder's voice came off as a bit wobbly– he was happy, almost bubbly so.

Full-acceptance must feel nice… Alfred too felt a bit less burdened…

It was flattering that the man thought Alfred's approval was so precious…

How weird… His last few presidents couldn't give less of a rat's ass about his approval…

Quite suddenly, he felt much more earnest and stable on his feet, like his path cleared a little, enough that he could see something to yearn for, something to protect with real zeal.

A wholesome feeling, one that he hasn't truly felt in a long time…

"It's not a burden…" Alfred rolls his eyes and pulls a vault-suit from the dresser, draping it over his arm and turning to Snyder again. "It's a responsibility." He pats the suit, then grins lightly. "Believe it or not, I'm a very capable soldier, perfectly capable of dealing with a few giant lizards. I'm not very realistic myself, so I'm more than willing to meet unrealistic expectations now that I know how to go about it, so long as you let me try."

Finally, Snyder desists, shoulders dropping with a sigh. "Alright, Soul… You trusted me, so… I'll trust you on this…"

"Thank you." Alfred relaxes, then tilts his head. "You could also call me by my name, you know…?" He says in jest. Mostly.

"…It feels disrespectful, to be honest."

"It's not. It's just my human name." Alfred shrugs and turns to the bathroom, to change clothes.

"Human name…?"

"That's for another time. Just get me some decent, high-caliber handguns and a decent, short blade for me, alright?"

"A-And armor?"

Long-suffering sigh. "If you have to bubble-wrap me, the lightest thing possible, please. I don't like fighting with restrictions on my movements. I do like gloves, though."

He was more of a dodge-shoot-and-slash kind of guy… But if that didn't work, he could do with a hand-to-hand brawl any day.

He never liked bleeding or being slowed down, he likes speed and strength, and he's tailored his style accordingly.

"Aah… Of course…"

With that, he smiles gratefully and closes the door, staring at himself in the mirror, holding this vault-suit – instead of his usual army fatigues…

This is no longer the US government, even if he's accepted these people are Americans…

…The US Army is gone…

…Now there's only Vault 101.

Alfred sighs. Alright then… Time to make it real…

Changing into these clothes makes him feel so incredibly odd, but he'd get used to it…

And… when he sees himself in the mirror wearing it…

Well, that seals the deal definitely. This is him now.

He sighs again, this time slower and sadder. Then he shook his head angrily, slapping his cheeks. No more mopping!

He'd take the first step to get his shit together for real now.

When he actually did something useful, he'd feel a little less like a waste of space.

Keep the whole place safe. Keep his people safe. Be dependable, his skill and power had to be absolutely unquestionable. Confidence is key.

Alfred nods at his own resolution, seeing it reflected in the mirror. Then frowns and unties his hair, this time doing so properly and neatly to keep the longest strands out of the way.

He'd have to cut it later.

As he pulled his fringe back to tie what was too long, he noticed it– what in the world?

Is that…

He pulled his fringe more thoroughly to see. A scar…? His eyes widened and he gaped.

On his forehead, right under the hairline, close to his temple, it had been hidden by the fringe.

"…What the fuck…" Alfred whispers at the deformed x-shaped scar, eyes narrowing at the looming sense of dread, before letting his hair down.

He shouldn't scar, unless…

Unless he'd been too weak, in his very essence as a Nationee, when the injury happened. But that looked like a gunshot wound…

"…I don't remember getting shot…?" He whispers to himself, tapping his chin in thought.

Right… He doesn't actually remember anything specific or accurate about those last few months after Anchorage…

Everything's a blur… He tried to focus on them. Flashes spark in his mind, only brief, for a split-second, like a TV's signal faltering–

Arthur leaned on the railing, smoking in silence–

Wang with his blade raised–

Snowy camps–

Fire–

Tapping a desk, clutching papers–

Mattie's bitter and frigid glare–

His president, wide-eyed, in his office–

Alfred exhales heavily, clutching his head, leaning on the sink. He shook his head. No. He doesn't want to think about them…

He still couldn't discern what even happened…

It's all too much of a mess…

A disturbing thought enters his mind. Someone might have tried to kill him when he was vulnerable…

When was he so vulnerable that his grip on immortality was faltering…?

He could only think of… when the bombs fell… but he wasn't awake to feel that… Someone could have tried to kill him while he was locked up below, but before he was put underwater, then.

Couldn't have been any of Vault 101's citizens– his citizens– the Chamber was always locked, for 200 years. He didn't feel like Snyder lied, and he spoke as if this were common knowledge…

That only left Vault-Tec as a suspect. The only people with access to him at that point. His memories are completely blank there.

Alfred huffs, glaring at the mirror.

Well. He'd be going down there either way. Plenty of time to investigate, especially after he cleared the problem with the breach, so it didn't matter for now.

He'd find out what happened… eventually.

.

.

.


A/N: I want to make as much progress each chapter as possible, since traffic is slow, I wouldn't want this to be too dragged out between updates, like my other story. Heh.

I hope this whole reasoning made sense. It's difficult to write what feels like a realistic 400 y.o. character like this (although he's around 600 by now, I don't really count the time spent asleep), and I hope my incorporation of my Hetalia headcanons fit will with the Fallout aspect here.

I also did some redesigning of Megaton, because why not? I'm sure many might remember the 'What do they eat?' video. I simply added another ring around it, which includes the outer cliff of Vault 101 and Springvale, although it doesn't include the bigger highway bridge. The original crater is a space for the Children of Atom, and shanty-homes were built mostly around it, although there's more to the residents in the area around than what's in the canon-version here. I went ahead and added some extra potential for future conflict right away, because why not?

Still, thank you for the few comments. I'm just happy anyone's enjoying this weird idea of mine. :3c It's greatly appreciated.