The next morning arrives, as indicated by the time on my Pip-Boy, of course. I sit on the edge of the bed.

I'm still wearing the same clothes I had on yesterday. I haven't taken them off yet. I take another deep breath. I try to calm down. I look up at the ceiling. I breathe in again. I close my eyes. I open them. I take a deep breath and exhale.

Getting back to the cafeteria in the main hall after my brand new morning routine, I notice that there aren't many people around. Most are probably sleeping.

I make my way to the food line. I stand in front of the counter, waiting for my order to be processed. I look to my left, and I see a girl. She's sitting, eating her breakfast. I look to my right, and I don't see anyone. I wait a few moments and sigh.

"Excuse me." I call out.

The waitress looks up. She smiles. Wait a second. I recognize that look. From yesterday. She even has the same busboy hat on top of the red tuff that is her hair. What's going on? Why is she working here, and why is she smiling like that? She puts the last bite of her meal into her mouth, and swallows it.

Then, she wipes the corner of her lips, and says: "Hey, Eric. How ya doin'?"

Her voice is a little higher pitched than usual. It's also kind of high-pitched. Like a cartoon character. But, that's not what's bothering me.

"How do you know my name?" I take a cautious step back from the counter, tray already in hand.

She laughs. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you forgot. You're the guy who came in here with Katrina and Nina, and then walked straight past us. Right?"

I look at her, stare then blink once, then turn away.

I turn back: "I think you've gotten me mixed up with somebody else, here."

She smirks. "No, no. That's definitely you. We were all pretty sure about that. And, we all saw your face when Katrina was showing off those two Caliente sisters. I mean, they're hot. They just got their driver's licenses, and they both have red hair, and green eyes, and tan skin. Can't miss 'em, can you?"

I shake my head, swallowing the spit stuck in between my throat as I look away. I hear a soft giggle behind me, and I spin around.

"Well, first off-" I turn back to the eccentric woman, who has a big smile plastered across her face, and whose eyes are twinkling.

"-I'm glad to see you, too. And, secondly, how did you get a job here, anyway?" She waves her fork in the air, and points. "See this sign over there, by the door? See that?"

I look at where she seems to be pointing, impatience already swirling up inside me like a cauldron of mixed chemicals. I look down. There is a sign by the entrance to the cafeteria.

It reads:

"FRIENDS OF THE CAFETERIA"

"We will always remember the time spent in the company of our friends."

"And so, if you ever need someone to talk to, or some friendly conversation, please feel free to stop by the Friends of the Cafeteria."

I look back up at the waitress. She's still grinning. I look back down, then find the time to read the words again.

"I'd like to have some bacon, eggs and toast, please." I tell her.

"You betcha. Bacon and eggs for the gentleman. How would you like your bacon cooked?" She asks.

"I don't know, crisp? Crispy?" I reply, demanding to get this tiresome conversation over with.

She smiles a little wider. Then she says: "Sure thing! How about some crispy bacon? A side of sunny-side up egg? Some hash browns? Maybe a few slices of ham? Toast? Yeah, that sounds good!" She smiles even more widely now.

"I'll have them all, with a side of orange juice if you don't mind." I reply nicer this time.

"Of course! Anything for you, sir?" Her voice is warm, inviting and kind.

"Thank you," I say, trying to force a smile.

"My pleasure, friend!" She replies cheerfully.

As she hands me the food items I had ordered, I notice her name tag:

"Catarina Lynx?" I posit to her with both hands in between the tray.

Her eyes widen, however, and she begins shaking her head. "Yup. Catarina Lynx. That's what my mom calls me. She's a real sweetie, and I love her dearly. But, when it comes to names, I prefer to call myself... Cate. Or, Catey. You can do whatever you want, though. I don't care. Just as long as you're nice to me. Oh, and I'm sorry if my manners are a bit rough around the edges sometimes."

"Sure, I mean, it takes a while to get used to this new life of ours, right?" I tell Cate.

"Yeah. It sure does. Well, thanks for being a friend, Eric. Here's a tip: If you ever come across a cat in the road, make sure not to hit him. Cats are sensitive creatures, and they really hate it when people run over them. And, if you see a dog in the road, try to avoid hitting that, too. Dogs are a lot tougher than cats. They tend to take a lot of damage before dying, and dogs are a lot harder to kill. So, just be careful out there, okay? And, one last thing. Don't eat the cats. Okay?"

I nod. "I hope that we DON'T HAVE TO." I recoil a bit, seemingly terrified by the mere weight of those words alone. Especially the last bit. But I am soon calmed by a stray "meow" off to the side. Looking towards the ground, a white Siamese cat with blue eyes has its back arched, showing me the full extent of its body. Its tail twitches, slowly.

"Is that... IS that a freakin' cat?"

I turn back to face the waitress. She smiles at me, and I return the gesture.

"Yep. A Siamese. He's an indoor-only kitty, but he loves to go outside. He doesn't like the heat, so I keep his water bowl on the counter. I'll bring you some if you like."

"On the- BUT THAT'S WHERE THE FOOD COMES FROM!" I exclaim to Cate wildly, highlighting her lack of health concerns or at the very least- toxoplasmosis gondii.

She smiles again. "Oh, don't worry about that. There's no way a cat could carry that disease. Besides, I've seen a dog with a stomachache from eating a cat. The dog died, though. No telling how a cat would react. Anyway, here's your food. Enjoy!"

"Thanks," I say, pulling out the cord from my Pip-Boy once again: "How much?"

"It's five bucks," she replies.

"Sounds like a steal, miss. You sure about that?" I hand Cate my wire to conduct the transaction.

"What, you think I should charge you ten?" She asks me with a grin.

"...No?" I answer rather sheepishly.

"Good. Then I guess I'm good to go. Thanks for the tip, friend. Take care, now. Bye, bye, baby." Cate says to me as she walks away.

After a few seconds, I realize that I haven't fully paid her yet. I look around me and notice Cate has left without paying me.

"Hey! Wait up!" I yell after her.

Cate turns, and I notice her eyes widen. She looks down, and then up at me, and I can see her eyes are wet.

"I didn't mean to upset you. I was just joking." She says to me.

She grabs a hold of my cord as I say with genuine concern: "I hope whoever lives with you, finds its pleasant."

"Thank you, Eric. You're a great guy." Cate tells me.

I look back at her with my tray just to see if this cat lady's joshing me. But it seems that she isn't. Her smile is real. And it makes me feel better.

Somehow.


Before I knew it, I was back in education. High school, to be more exact.

The classroom itself is pretty small. Not quite a broom closet, but not a lecture hall, either. It's a little bigger than the average lunchroom, and it is filled to the brim with students. Some are sitting, some are standing, and a lot of them are talking. Most of the seats are taken by girls, and most of the chairs are occupied by boys. There are a lot of people in the room, but I barely recognize any of them. It's a strange feeling to be surrounded by strangers, especially when they all know each other.

Fuck me, this is a nightmare.

I take a seat near the back, and I quickly scan the class to find the teacher. I spot him immediately. He's tall, and he's thin, and he's wearing a jumpsuit as well, funnily enough.

I turn back to the front of the class.

The teacher quiets the atmosphere down a peg: "Alright, who wants to tell us why we have to learn this stuff? We've got plenty of time, so let's hear your reasons."

A boy stands up. "Sir, I want to become an engineer, so I need to study engineering."

"And what do engineers use, son?" The teacher asks.

"They make machines, sir."

"So, you'll be building things. That sounds like fun. What else does an engineer build?"

"Well, I don't know." The lad pipes up rather honestly, "But I think I'd like to work on vehicles, maybe even a tank or something. Maybe a plane, too. I've always wanted to fly one. I don't really care about anything else. I'm just interested in making things. I could never get bored, that's for sure. I don't mind working hard, I've been doing a lot of chores since I was a kid, I've grown up helping my father on the farm. I don't think there's a job out there that I couldn't handle."

He had my curiosity, but now has my attention.

So is the teacher's: "What is your name, son?" He asks.

"My name's John. I'm a high school student. I went to Oasis Springs High School."

The teacher raises his eyebrows and looks at me.

"What about you?" He asks, waving a finger as he points it upfront.

The whole class stares darts at me as soon as John sits back down. They seem to be waiting for my answer.

"I... Well, I'm Eric. Eric Rogers." I stutter for a brief moment solely out of shock. "And I'm... *huff* A certified Junior Scientist."

"You're a scientist, huh? So, you know about science, right, Mr. Science-y-boy?" One girl in the crowd chimes in.

"I GET PAID FOR DUE TIME-"

I snap back at the girl, tilting my head off to the side, "- if that's what you're ASKIN'." Glaring unflinchingly while doing so. I can't believe how much I hate these people right now. I mean, I've never met them before, but I can't stand their attitudes right about now.

The girl gets the message. She shuts up.

The teacher smiles. "Alright, kids, settle down. I think I see some other interested parties here. Let's go around the room and introduce ourselves to the newbie, shall we?"

The teacher starts calling names from the front of the class and the students line up. The first person to get called is a guy with long hair. He turns and gives a big smile to the teacher.

"Hi, I'm Tommy. Nice to meet ya."

The teacher extends a hand. "It's nice to meet you, too. I'm the teacher here. My name is Teacher. How are you, Tommy?"

"I'm great! I'm glad I got to see you today. You look different than I thought."

The teacher laughs. "I guess I do. I'm not used to this yet, but I like it. It's a good change of pace." The teacher calls the next name.

"I'm Robert. What's up, dude?"

I stare at the back of the boy's head, trying to memorize every single detail.

Robert introduces himself, then says, "I'm gonna be an architect. I want to design buildings."

"Oh, that's cool. I like that idea, too. Do you know anything about architecture? Have you ever studied it?"

"No sir. But I'll learn as I go. I'm excited to start. I'm also looking forward to getting to know everyone."

The teacher asks, "Who else wants to say something about themselves?"

A few more boys turn to face him.

One boy stands up. Apparently, he's the Landgraab family's son.

"My name's Malcolm. I like cars and planes. I wanna make a car that goes really fast, but I also wanna make a plane that flies really high."

The teacher nods. "That's a very interesting goal. You have a lot of potential. I like that."

Malcolm's green eyes light up. His blonde fade is enough for me to want to retch out in disgust, coupled with his tan, thin frame. He looks like a skeleton that was spray-painted orange.

Another student, a girl, steps forward. Her hair is long and blonde.

"Hello, my name's Jennifer. I like science, too."

As the roll call keeps churning out more new names to feed, I accidentally made eye contact with some rotund kid, who gave me a strange look. I don't think I've seen him before. I'm so bored. I wish they would hurry it up already.

Out of the blue, the same kid calls out to me rather softly: "Hey, you're new, right?"

He has long brown hair. Long enough for it to be an undercut just like 90's Dicaprio, except fat. His facial features are quite ordinary.

I nod once.

"Cool. Well, you might find this funny, but I went through a similar situation. I was in a class with a bunch of people, and we were all talking. Then, one of them said, 'We should play a game.' So, I agreed. We played a game, and I won. And now, I'm here."

"Wow," is all I can muster in response. This guy is weirdly friendly though. I could tell through sight alone that he was tense, but he's a bit of a chatterbox, and he's acting normal. He's probably not a bad person.

"What's your name, buddy?"

"What's my name?!" I hiss back at the boy adjacent to my seat. "What the hell's yours?"

The boy turns around.

"I'm Hugo. What's your name?"

"Eric. Eric- weren't you paying attention just then?" I ask of Hugo.

"I wasn't. I was busy trying to figure out how I'm gonna get you expelled. I'm not stupid. I saw you staring at the new kids. You looked like you wanted to say something to us, but you didn't. You kept looking away. You must not like the new students. That's fine. I'm not going to do anything to you. I'm not like those guys over there. I'm a nice guy." Hugo says this while pointing at the other side of the room where the boys are sitting.

I look at the group of boys. They seem to be friends, but it doesn't take much to see that they're the type of boys that would bully someone.

Typical.

"Whatever man. What's your deal, anyways?" I ask again of Hugo.

Hugo says, "It's cool. I'm used to being picked on. It's actually kinda fun. I'm glad I'm in the new school. I'm sure that I'm going to make lots of friends."

The teacher continues by way of finally beginning with what we're about to learn in class: "Today, we will learn about the history of the world, starting from prehistory."

Prehistory?

Hugo raises his hand. The teacher nods.

"Yes, Mr. Villareal?"

"Is that like prehistoric?"

The teacher smiles. "That's correct. You'll learn about everything that happened before our time. You're a very smart boy. I like that."

"Thanks."

The teacher's smile broadens. "Well, let's begin. You may have heard the term 'prehistoric' before, and you know the definition. However, I'd like to go a little deeper into the meaning. Let's start with the word 'pre'."

"Pee." A kid calls out, which inexplicably makes the whole class erupt with laughter.

"That's right. Pre. P-R-E. 'To come first.'" The teacher pauses for a moment.

"Okay, so the past is the present. But the future is still to come. When we talk about the past, we mean things that came before this very second. So, if you think of this classroom as a timeline, it starts with this exact spot. And you can trace it back to the Big Bang, or you could even trace it back to the dawn of life. That's a lot to think about, right?"

"Yeah. I'm totally lost," Sofia admits off to the side.

"I understand, but you're doing great! Now, think of the past and the present as two sides of a coin: one side is the past, and the other is the future. You flip the coin and the other side shows up. If the past and the future were the same thing, then the opposite side of the coin would also show up. This isn't always the case, but the truth is, the past and the future are different. We don't yet know what the future holds, but the past has already been written. This means that the past and the future are separate, distinct entities. That's why the past and the future aren't the same. This is important to remember. Okay, now, let's move on to some vocabulary words. Words related to the past and the future."

"Future. Future is a noun. It refers to a possible event. For example, the future is when my sister is going to get married. Or maybe, when I am going to graduate from high school. Those events haven't happened yet. They're in the future."

"Past. Past is a verb. It's an action. It's something that was done in the past. Something that was made in the past. In other words, it's something that happened before this very second."

"The past. The past. The past. What does the past do?" Hugo asks while raising his hand.

"It's something that happened in the past. Like, it happened yesterday. The past is the story of all the good stuff that happened before this very second."

"So, the past is a story. A narrative. Right? That's how we define the past." A blonde boy with thin earrings asks.

"Exactly. And that's exactly what I'm going to teach you today."

I look at the clock.

It's not even almost time for lunch.


Before I even knew it, it's gym time. Physical education in session. Would've been fine for the lads to romp about, if it weren't for the fact that we were still confined to our Vault 74 jumpsuits.

So is our fitness instructor, Jade Rosa.

"Ladies, please line up!" she calls out.

Jade is a petite woman in her early twenties. She's a bit of a tomboy, and a fitness enthusiast. Her hair is a dark brown, with a ponytail off to her right side.

With a smile, she walks over to us.

"Hello, Miss. My name is Jade. I'll be your physical education teacher. Today, we will focus on cardio exercises. Let's begin by doing a warm-up routine, shall we?"

She seems to be a bit overeager for her first day- I'll give her that. More so than the males practically lusting for her at every whim, as far as I can tell. At least, they seem to like her.

But, no. That's just a figment of my imagination.

Anyway-

We follow Jade's instructions and jog around in circles. Then, we take turns jumping rope. That failed spectacularly for me, my legs might as well have been classified as springy spaghetti.

Afterwards, we perform a series of stretches. And then, some calisthenics. By the end of the hour, we are all sweaty and exhausted. However, there's a sense of accomplishment.

All of a sudden, a voice echoes throughout the room. Jade's, in particular.

"Hey, kids! You guys did great. But, you know, you should stretch a little more. You're supposed to make sure that the muscles are loose and limber. You don't want to injure yourself, do you?"

Everyone looks up. They're confused.

"Umm, Miss?" A girl with long, brown wavy hair childishly calls out.

"Yeah, what's up, miss?" A girl with black pigtails and glasses goes.

That sight. Back when I had dinner from last night.

That's Bella Goth's daughter.

"What are you talking about?" Jade asks.

"Well... We haven't stretched yet," the girl with black hair says.

"Oh, right..." Jade replies.

"You see, stretching loosens the muscle fibers and helps blood flow. It also improves circulation and makes the body feel better."

"Really? That's interesting. I didn't know that. Thanks."

"Why are you thanking her, though?" another boy asks.

He's a tall and muscular guy with short, spiked blonde hair.

Jade addresses him: "Because, young man, I'm a professional. And, if a pro tells you something, it's worth listening to. Now, let's get back to work. Take a break, ladies. Stretch. Get ready for the next round. Come on, now, move. Move!"

The class breaks into small groups and begins to stretch.

"I think she's a bit too enthusiastic, but I guess she's passionate about her job. At least, compared to the other teachers here. She's pretty good at teaching, actually. I mean, she doesn't have much experience, but that's probably because it's her first time. She was hired yesterday, after all. I'm glad I got to meet her. I'm not really a fan of gym classes, anyway. I prefer to stay indoors, reading. Or, I'd rather watch TV. I'm not very athletic, either. The only exercise I need is walking. So, why am I even here?" A black kid with a lame black goatee and curls for hair admits.

"Same. I hate gym. I always try to avoid going, unless I absolutely have to. I can't stand those boring exercises. They bore me to tears. I just want to read a book or play a video game. I'm not a big fan of sports, either. I like to watch, though. I love to watch baseball. I've seen every World Series. I know who won each year. I even know how many home runs were hit. I know everything there is to know."

I turn after sighing in pain from overstretching my leg, only to see that the one responsible for talking was that guy with a brown paper bag over his head.

The air goes still from this interaction alone.

Tommy, the guy with the long hair, chastises the paper bag kid for his appearance and lack of fanatical baseball knowledge, immediately trying to out him by calling his bluff.

"Hey, 'Marshmello', did you know that the Cleveland Indians are the champions of the American League for the past three years in a row, since 1995? Did you know that the New York Yankees are the best team in the AL East, having never lost a division title in the last twenty-five seasons? Have you ever heard of the Oakland Athletics, the Seattle Mariners, the Boston Red Sox, the Chicago Cubs, the Los Angeles Dodgers, the Arizona Diamondbacks, the Tampa Bay Rays, the Houston Astros, and the Kansas City Royals? No, you haven't. Because, you're an idiot. You're also a moron. You're a complete and total imbecile."

"You're the biggest idiot I've ever met. I don't even want you near me. I wouldn't let you anywhere near me. I would kill you. I want you dead. I want you gone. I don't care if you're alive. I want you dead. I'll take you down myself. I don't want you breathing the same air as me, and I certainly don't want your germs infecting me." Tommy nudges the frowny bag boy and whispers: "You see that, guys? He's a freakin' nutjob. I'm telling you, he's a freakin' psycho. I'm scared to be around him."

The class begins to laugh at Tommy's words.

"Yeah, I bet you are. I'm gonna tell on you, you little punk. I'm gonna spread rumors about you. I'm gonna say that you tried to molest me. I'm gonna say you're a pervert. I'm gonna make sure everyone knows what a creep you really are. I'm gonna call the cops. I'm gonna report you. I'm gonna get the school to expel you. I'm gonna do whatever I can to ruin your life. I'm going to destroy you. I'm gonna hurt you. I'm gonna piss on you. I'm gonna shit on you. I'm gonna stab you. I'm gonna shoot you. I'm gonna rape you, and then I'm gonna bury you in a shallow grave."

"Woah man, calm down already. This ain't gonna help for your circumstance as is." I call out to him. "What's your name, huh?"

"Jebediah Harris. What's yours?"

John quickly interjects before I even get a chance to answer.

"I'm John Smith. I'm a friend of Jeb's. I'm a good guy. I'm a decent person. I'm a good student. I'm a great athlete. I'm a good listener. I'm a hard worker. I'm a good cook. I'm a caring, loving, kind, gentle, compassionate, generous, understanding, honest, trustworthy, loyal, faithful, romantic, and I'm a good lover. So there's no way in hell you can beat me. You're nothing but an ignorant, pathetic loser who thinks he has any power over people. You have zero skills. I'm better than you. I'm smarter. I'm stronger. I'm more handsome. I have a much bigger penis. I'm so superior, it's not even funny. I'm a real winner. I've got all the money. I've got all the fame. I've got all the women. I'm a super-duper-mega-superstar."

Malcolm decides to meet us in the middle, to join our conversation.

"Well, well, well, look who we have here. It's the famous John Smith. I've heard a lot of stories about you. I'm surprised to find out you're a total faggot. I didn't know you had a dick. I thought you were just a regular, ordinary, everyday, run of the mill, straight, boring, boring, boring, normal, average, uninteresting, vanilla, bland, vanilla, boring, dull, stupid, brainless, moronic, worthless piece of shit."

John's face is red with anger. He begins to scream at Malcolm. "You're a fucking retard! I'm a good guy. I'm a decent person. I'm a good student. I'm a great athlete. I'm a good listener. I'm a hard worker. I'm a good cook. I'm a caring, loving, kind, gentle, compassionate, understanding, honest, trusting, loyal, faithful, romantic, and I'm a good lover. I'm a great singer."

"Can't you guys shut the-" I ask aloud, as Jade storms up towards the scene. She's furious.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of this," she says confidently. Then, she turns back to the two men. "Are you going to stand for that? Are you really that weak that you can't handle being called a gay boy?" She asks them.

"What are you talking about?" John replies.

"I said I'd take care of this. I'm gonna teach these two a lesson. I'm gonna show 'em how to act like a man. I'm gonna make sure they never talk to me again. I'm gonna tell everyone what kind of losers they are. I'm gonna humiliate them. I'm gonna ruin their lives. They should be ashamed. I'm gonna give 'em a taste of their own medicine. You won't even remember their names. That's it. I hate to see such a beautiful girl waste her time with a couple of useless assholes. I hope you enjoy your pathetic little lives. I will not tolerate any more bullshit from you." Jade has tears in her eyes.

She looks like a tornado is about to blow through town. She's got fire in her eyes. She's ready to fight. She's about to go crazy. She's about to destroy everything. She's about to kill someone. She's about to cause a disaster. Her eyes have a scary intensity. I've never seen anyone with so much rage. I'm scared. I'm petrified. I don't want to get involved. I don't want to get hurt.

Our physical education teacher demonstrates her authority by grabbing John's hair and pulling him to his feet. He screams in pain. His head hurts. I feel sick to my stomach. The tension builds. I look over at Jade. She's staring daggers into John's eyes. Her teeth are clenched together. Her hands are balled into fists. Her jaw muscles are tense. Her lips are trembling. Her brows are furrowed. Her nostrils flare. Her breath comes out in short gasps. Her whole body is shaking. Jade sees Malcolm snickering on at the corner, watching us. She glares at him. She points a finger directly at his face.

"You're dead, ASSHOLE!"

She snatches Malcolm's arm, and pulls him away. She shoves him against a wall. She's breathing heavily. Her chest is heaving. Her arms are quivering. Her fingers are curled tightly. She's enraged. She's pissed off. Her eyes are burning with anger. Her cheeks are flushed. Her neck is red. Her forehead is hot. Her mouth is open. Her throat is dry. She's panting. She's angry. She's furious. She's livid. She's incensed. She's raging. She's seething. She's fuming. She's steaming. She's boiling. She's frothing. She's frothy. She's foamy. She's going to explode. She's about to explode.

"Let go of me, bitch! I'll fucking crush you, I swear to god. I'll-"

"Shut up, you piece of shit. Don't you dare say another word. I'll kill you, you hear me? I'll rip you limb from limb, you motherfucker. You think you can just walk up to people, you think you can push them around, you-"

"I'm gonna-"

"SHUT UP, YOU LITTLE BITCH!" Jade grabs Malcolm, throws him across the room as he whimpers hysterically like a floundering fish, and pins him to the ground. She leans down to his ear. "Do not ever threaten me again."

Jade looks at our class. She takes a deep breath. She releases it slowly. Her hands unclench. Her shoulders relax. Her eyebrows smooth. Her lips part. Her jaw loosens. Her pupils dilate. Her nostrils flare. Her breathing slows. She sighs. She exhales. Her heart rate returns to normal. Her facial expression softens. Her posture straightens. She smiles. She grins. She even giggles.

"Good job, everyone. That was a great way to get your point across. Thanks for taking control of that situation. It would have been bad if things got any more heated. Well done. Nice work.

-Class dismissed."

The teacher's voice is warm and soothing. Her smile is genuine. Her tone is gentle. Her gestures are reassuring. Her eyes are kind. Her hands are open. Her body language is inviting. John's face turns bright red. He's sweating. His hair is mussed.

I could only look on in pensive terror with the rest of my class as both he and Malcolm were dragged away by Jade. They disappeared into the hallway. The bell in my mind soon rang repeatedly. Class was over. We all filed out of the classroom. I was relieved, giddy. Almost jubilant.


Lunchtime.

I nervously fidget as I walk up and grab a tray in the cafeteria. It's really packed in this time of the hour. There's a line. I'm standing behind some kids. Some of them were from my class, others clearly not so much. Coming across a black man with a buzzcut and full black mustache and beard, both of which are interlocked with one another like a bicycle to a bicycle chain.

He's the caterer this time around, at least 'this time' doesn't consist of cats near the food area. But I still don't trust that guy. I don't know what's going on, but I'm sure something's up. I'm sure that's why they called in the big guns. I'm sure that's why we're having these classes. I'm sure that's why I'm being forced to be here. I don't want to be here anymore than anyone else wants to be here. But the thought of leaving school early is terrifying, especially when I don't even know where the hell I'm supposed to go.

The cook looks up to me with a weird look, almost like he knows me. Like he recognizes me. Maybe he does. Maybe he just sees me as someone who has a lot of problems. I look back down at the options for lunch. There's a whole bunch of different foods to choose from, including a vegetarian option, a vegan option, a gluten free option, and a nutritionally balanced option.

The examples include:

"Chicken breast, baked potato, salad" "Vegetarian lasagna, mixed vegetables" "Gluten-free pizza, steamed broccoli" "Nutritionally Balanced"

"Protein bar, apple, carrot" "Fruit bowl" "Chocolate pudding" "Ice cream" "Salad" "Waffle" "Cake" "Cheese" "Peanut butter" "Oatmeal" "Bagel" "Sandwich"

"Um... what's the 'Nutritionally Balanced' food supposed to be... Bob?" I ask of him after reading the name tag: "Bob Pancakes".

He chuckles. It sounds a little condescending. It's also a bit creepy.

"It's a good choice," he says. Bob is looking directly at me now.

"Okay... I'll just have Chicken breast, baked potato and salad, please." I ask of Bob hesitantly.

Bob nods.

"And you?" He asks of a girl. She shakes her head.

"Me too." She replies.

The cook looks at us.

"You two should probably eat together."

I turn to see who the girl is, and I realize it's Jade. I look at Jade. Jade smiles. I look back at the cook.

"What do I have to do? Do I need to pay extra or something?"

Bob laughs. I think I hear Jade chuckle. I look at Jade again. Jade's eyes are wide. I look back at the cook.

"No, no. No charge. You can get your own meal. Just tell the cashier. I will make sure you get the best of the best. I hope you enjoy the service!" Bob proceeds to act like a slob by making a mess of his tray, spilling everything all over the floor.

The whole area goes dead silent after this brief mishap. We watch as he wipes up the spilled items, puts them on a new tray, and walks away.

"This guy's a fucking idiot. And a pervert. How the hell did he become a caterer, anyway?"

Jade whispers to me. I recoil back as another cook, this time of the elderly variety, a black grandma with a grey buzzcut. A little plump, but not obese. She's wearing an old lady smile. She's got an air about her, one that makes me feel comfortable. She's the only person in the room that I would consider to be pleasant.

Vivian Lewis is her name, as she picks up from where her peer left off, starting off by serving me my lunch through a tray: "Here's your chicken breast, baked potato and salad. Enjoy!"

She then turns to Jade and says, "Hello there, young lady. My son told me so much about you. She said you're very talented, and beautiful. Would you care to join me for a bite to eat?"

Jade looks at Vivian, and says, "Sure, Mrs. Lewis! I'd love to have some of your famous Southern cooking. Please call me, uh... J-Jade. Thanks, ma'am. It's nice to meet you."

Mrs. Lewis grins. She's a kind woman. I hand her my Pip-Boy's cord graciously to pay for my meal. The total cost of it being $4.95.

"Thank you, Mr. Johnson. That's quite alright. Come, sit with me. Let's chat while we eat. We've got a lot to talk about. I'm Vivian. What's your name, young man?"

"I'm Eric Rogers- ma'am. I'm not the Director you're looking for, unfortunately." I admit rather awkwardly to Vivian.

Vivian chuckles a bit. She places a plate full of food in front of Jade before turning to me once more. "Well, Eric. Looks like I'll have to find someone else to take care of these matters. I'm sorry to say, but I don't think I have the time to deal with such trivial things right now. So, why don't you just go ahead and enjoy your food, and let me know if there's anything I can do to make your stay here better. Oh, and I hope you like the taste of our home cooked meals. They are made with a secret recipe, and I promise they are delicious!"

"They certainly have quite the touch to them, Mr. Lewis. If yesterday was a good enough of an indicator. Thanks." I wave her off.

Vivian smiles and nods as I leave the cafeteria.


While attempting to find a sparsely populated table, I hear Sofia call out of bloody nowhere: "Hey, stranger! You look lost. Want to come over and hang out? Maybe play a few rounds of pool or something?"

My eyes widen in surprise and confusion. I follow the sound of her voice, and end up finding a corner booth with a small group of people sitting around it. As soon as I walk in, everyone's attention is on me. Some are confused, others seem to be enjoying themselves.

Sofia is with her girl pals, an older black lady with long black braided hair off to one side. She's most definitely the most mature one of the table, based off of countenance alone. The rest of them consists of our classmates, and their friends. Everyone is friendly, and it seems that Sofia is popular amongst all of them. Somehow, it feels awkward and uncomfortable, though it doesn't feel forced.

That last part was a lie, how could it not be?

Sofia sees me and waves her hand in greeting. "Hi, Eric! Over here!"

I look both ways before I cross the dreaded tinge that is the stuffy atmosphere, looking back to see Sofia waving at me.

When I get closer to her, she asks me: "What brings you here, buddy?"

"...Lunch? To satiate my hunger?" I answer meekly in front of Sofia and her group, hoping for the best at this point.

"Oh, you're so funny. I could tell you were hungry by your aura. I bet you haven't eaten since breakfast, huh?"

"Uh, no?" I answer sarcastically while standing right beside her table, tray in both hands.

Sofia then looks at me and says "Hahaha. Well then, you're gonna love what I've got for you today! It's Southern cooking at its finest. Just try to keep your mouth shut, okay?" She then turns to her companions and says "Alright, ladies. Let's eat! Grab your plates and dig in! I want to thank you for coming out of your way to help me, girls. Thank you so much!"

She then turns to me and says: "Eric, I'd like to introduce you to my friends. This is Siobhan Fyres. She's an office assistant, and a really nice person. And this is Luna Villareal. She's a senior, and also a really cool girl. She's a little shy, but I'm sure we'll get along fine. Last, and probably least, is our resident loner, Sergio Romeo. He's a Junior Educator, just like Jade and he's actually a really good guy. I hope you will like him. Oh, and I'll let you in on a secret. They are all lesbians."

Siobhan is in clear disbelief, with a smile on her face. Luna, on the other hand, has a strange expression on her face. She's clearly shocked, and not in a pleasant manner. She's staring straight into Sofia's eyes, with a blank stare. The only thing she's saying is, "...Lesbians..." over and over again.

As soon as Sofia finishes introducing them, they all start talking about something else.

I'm still standing idly at this point.

"So, do you wanna come hang with us? You can sit next to Siobhan," Luna tells me.

I look anxiously at Siobhan, then at Luna, finally at Sofia. All in that order. Sofia smiles and nods.

I inch on over and sit where I'm designated.

"Thanks." I reply, eating my lunch instantaneously.

The rest of the meal is pretty normal, aside from some awkward silences, and weird stares.

"Did you guys see Jade back there with John and Malcolm?" I ask aloud to them.

"Yeah, we saw her. She's a total bitch, man. She's always been like that, and it's getting worse now. She's obsessed with those two. She's trying to steal their girlfriends away. She's going to be a real problem. She needs to go to therapy, stat. I don't know why her parents didn't send her to one before now. If it wasn't for her brother's connections, she wouldn't have gotten in. She's a nightmare. It's bad enough when she's around, but if she gets any more power, who knows what could happen. She's a ticking time bomb. We need to watch her closely, or she's gonna blow up in our faces. What a waste of a human life. She's a freak, and a monster, and everyone should hate her. But no one does. She's got all these friends, who love her unconditionally...even though she's a piece of shit."

"She's a disgrace to humanity, and I swear, if I ever meet her in person, I'm gonna beat the living hell outta her. She's a fucking psychopath, and I hope she dies a slow, agonizing death. She's so evil, I can barely stand to look at her. I wish someone would just kill her already. She's a disgusting, evil, pathetic excuse for a woman, and I hope she goes to Hell. I hope God smites her down, and burns her alive. I want her to suffer. I'd pay money to make sure that happens. I'd even give her my own mother's ashes." Sofia spews out this venomous hatred towards Jade, and it makes my blood run cold.

I've never heard anyone speak so badly about another person. I couldn't believe it was coming out of the mouth of such a beautiful girl. It's almost as if she's possessed by a demon. She's so hateful, I feel like I want to slap her. She's a menace to society. She's a menace to everything good, and decent people hold dear. She deserves nothing but contempt for what she's done to so many innocent lives.

But Siobhan quickly stops her, and looks right at Sofia. "You're a terrible liar, Sofia. You're not lying. And you shouldn't lie. You'll get caught. Besides, you sound like a complete psycho. Who are you, anyway? Are you a student here?"

Sofia's face turns bright red. She's embarrassed, and clearly doesn't want to admit that she's a fake.

"No, I'm not! I live in town!" She lies again, and tries to cover it with an awkward laugh.

"Uh huh..." I spout out doubtfully.

Sofia: "Yeah, I am. I work in Windenburg. My dad is an Agent Handler. He works in a agency. That's where he met Mom. They had me and Elsa when they were in high school. Then Dad got transferred to California, and we moved. We lived in a really nice house in Westwind. It's on top of a hill, and it has a great view of Windenburg Bay. The neighborhood is very quiet and safe. There are a lot of trees, and a creek runs through our backyard. Our neighbors are all old, rich families. We have lots of fun together. Like, when we were little, and Elsa and I made a fort in our yard, and pretended we lived in a castle."

"Or, when Elsa and I played in the woods, and built a treehouse, and hid in it, and then jumped out and scared each other. I miss those days. When Elsa and I used to play dress-up, or pretend to be princesses. We used to go shopping in Windenburg. We loved going to the mall. We bought tons of clothes. We always dressed up for parties. We'd wear pretty dresses and jewelry, and makeup. We went to a party at a friend's house, once. She was a famous actress. We wore our best outfits, and everyone complimented us. We both felt so special. We could do no wrong. We looked amazing. We danced and drank and laughed. We didn't realize that the guy who was hitting on her, and trying to kiss her, wasn't even a real actor."

"Wait- an actor was tryin' to smooch your UNDERAGE SISTER!?" I blurt out abruptly, slamming my fist against the table.

Siobhan looks shocked, too. But she recovers faster than me, and just smirks at Sofia. "I don't think this girl can handle reality. Maybe she should spend more time with her imaginary friends, instead of pretending to live in a fantasy world. This whole story sounds insane. You're crazy. What kind of parents would let their children run around, pretending to be royalty? Do you know how dangerous that is?"

Sofia starts crying. "It's not like that. I'm a good person. She's a genius, and she's a role model. I'm a brilliant musician, and an awesome singer. I'm a fantastic guitarist. She's a good dancer, and a natural athlete. She's a really hard worker. And, and, and..." Sofia stammers.

She stops talking, and shakes her head. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't talk about her. She's... She's a wonderful, beautiful, talented, smart, amazing woman. She's a great sister. A great daughter. Her name is Elsa Bjergsen. That's her full legal name. Her mother is Clara Bjergsen. She's a great mom. I love her to death. I mean, I wish I had a better relationship with her, but it's complicated. She's very busy. Her job is really important to her."

"She doesn't have much free time. So, sometimes I feel left out. Sometimes I get jealous of her, because we have different interests. She likes to study. She's a math geek. She's never been interested in music, and acting, and dancing. She's a normal, average, boring, everyday, ordinary, mediocre, non-magical, human being. She's a regular person. She's a plain Jane. She's a nobody. She's a nobody, who deserves to be somebody. Somebody special. Elsa Bjergsen is the most special person in the entire world!"

"You're right, Siobhan. She is special. And so are you." Sergio nods, smiling gently.

Luna smiles softly, and reaches out to touch Sofia's hand. Sofia hugs her back. I could only sympathize for the poor girl- reminiscing about times on the surface that she may never have the chance to relive.

This was... one helluva luncheon.


After the rest of class, I get some downtime by walking around this new home of mine. It's actually quite nice. There's a lot of open space, and it's got all kinds of amenities. The kitchen is fully stocked, and there's even a small gymnasium, and a swimming pool. I've decided to consider taking a few lessons on how to cook, and clean. I'll need to learn those skills if I want to survive.

The area is also equipped with a bunch of surveillance cameras. They're scattered throughout. I wonder what they're recording, and how many people are watching it.

It's kinda creepy.

But, whatever.

Time to go to work.

There are a couple of things I'd like to do today. I head back to the gymnasium from before, in an attempt to get used to my bearings. As I walk through, I notice something odd.

All of these children are wearing masks. They look like bandanas. Maybe they're hiding their faces, or maybe they just don't like them.

Whatever.

I decide to ask a question while walking over to the stairwell that leads downstairs.

"What are you guys doing?"

A young boy answers. "We're practicing our martial arts. We're learning to fight. If someone attacks us, we have to defend ourselves. So, we practice, and train, and try to master the art. But, we don't like it. It's not fun. So, we don't like to wear the mask."

"Then why bother with wearing them?" I ask again as I creep closer down the stairs to see my classmates eagerly participating in this romp as well.

The blonde boy with heavy eye makeup pats to what seems to be is younger brother, Lucas to signal him to something at the combat zone where militants are busy training: "Look, Lucas! It's Gunther- he's the best fighter!"

Lucas looks up, excitedly.

That makes sense.

Gunther is his big brother, flailing about pathetically alongside the other candidates. So, Lucas is Gunther's little brother. I'm starting to understand now.

And the other kids?

Busy watching the drill sergeant sound off at the fresh meat that is her new cadets.

Greenies with one probable cause.

No more than the others. They're all the same. The black woman from yesterday, equipped with the same dark armor as before, watches her comrades thoroughly.

She's the leader of the group. I can tell.

I feel a chill run up my spine. This is a dangerous place. I shouldn't hang out here. These aren't the kind of people I should associate with.

Still.

She proceeds to walk across the hall, right at her candidates, who seem to be busy with their own physically draining drills, and then she stops. Her eyes lock with a lady soldier with a mole on her right cheek. The girl stares back, and then nods.

"You have the same mark. You must be the same person. What's your name, and what's the reason for your presence here?"

The girl, who's a bit taller, and has a lot of muscle, gives the greenie a wry smile.

"I'm Lilith," says the girl.

"R-r-right. Lilith- who?!" The sergeant booms at the top of her lungs.

The rest of her squad is surprised, all of them encumbered with weapons, armor and equipment, but they quickly regain control of themselves.

The black woman continues to stare at her, and then asks, "What are you doing here, and what's your purpose?"

Lilith smiles, and shrugs.

"I want to learn how to fight. I've never had any experience with it. And, if you're going to teach me, I'd like to join your unit. Will that be okay?"

The black woman, who has dark shades on, is clearly cross with how Lilith seems to be addressing her superior:

"Who do you think you are?! Why are you in my class, and why are you in my unit? Do I look like a fool to you? I'll decide whom I accept, and I won't take no for an answer. Now, are you gonna be my bitch, or not?"

"I don't know what you mean by 'bitch'," replies the young girl.

"Shut up, you idiot!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Don't you dare talk back to me, you stupid, ignorant, worthless, weak, worthless piece of shit!"

"I didn't say anything, ma'am."

"Well, I heard it! Who the hell are you to call me a dumbass, you little brat?"

"I said nothing. But since you asked, I will explain myself. My name is Lilith. Lilith Vatore. As far as I am aware, this is a school for military training. If I were a civilian, I would probably attend a normal university, but because of certain circumstances, I was forced into a life of decadence. So, until I graduate from here, and become a fully-fledged adult, I have nowhere else to go. Therefore, I decided to enroll at a place of learning, where I could get a proper education and become a productive member of society. That's all there is to it. Is there a problem?"

"It's a problem, alright. A fucking big one. You are a student, and yet, you're in our unit. You are a soldier, and yet, you refuse to follow orders. You are a coward, and yet, you have the gall to stand before me and tell me off. How about we see just how good a fighter you are, huh?" The sergeant removes her shades deftly for not addressing her properly, and then she looks at the young girl with contempt.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to insult you. I only wanted to learn how to fight. I did not intend to cause a ruckus. I promise. I will be obedient. I will obey the rules. I will abide by the regulations. I swear. I will be a model student. I will be a soldier who follows the chain of command and does as she is told. Please forgive me. I apologize."

But the superior isn't having any of it, sounding off her one concern to Lilith plain, cut and dry: "I'm telling you right now, if you try and run away, I'm going to put a bullet through your head. Do you understand? Are you listening to me, bitch?!"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm listening," Lilith says, and the sergeant sighs.

"You want to learn to fight, Lilith? Fine. Then, show me what you got. I'm gonna give you a chance, and you better make the most of it. Do whatever you can to impress me. I'll let you stay in my unit, if you do. And, if you're really that serious, then you'd better prove to me that you're worth keeping around. And, if you don't, then I might be inclined to throw you out on your ass. Clear?"

"Clear, ma'am. Thank you. I won't disappoint you. I promise. I will be worthy of your trust. I will be a good soldier. I will be a great soldier. I will be a perfect soldier. In fact, I think you should give me a special assignment. I believe I will best serve the United States of America as a scout. Yes, ma'am. Scout. That is exactly what I need. A job like that is tailor made for me. It is a perfect fit. Thank you, ma'am. I am honored. Your faith in me is a blessing. I appreciate it. I am grateful, ma'am. I thank you from the bottom of my heart." Lilith bows her head down low.

The drill sergeant nods. She turns around and walks up to another recruit. The rest of them are busy continuing with their drills by this point, too.

All of recruits are in vault jumpsuits, however the amount of objects on their persons is obscene. They carry weapons, ammunition, grenades, gas masks, radios, walkie-talkies, knives, flashlights, torches, first aid kits, flasks of water, a variety of other supplies. One of the recruits carries a heavy, metal-reinforced backpack, filled with a ton of equipment. Another is carrying a large, black, reinforced duffel bag. The others have a mix of those things as well.


She gets up close and personal with one particular Private, a middle-aged woman with light ear piercings, red, flowing hair and blue eyes.

"Private First Class Jenna Akiyama. What's the matter with you? You look like a goddamn zombie! Why are you still alive? I thought zombies didn't exist anymore!"

"Ma'am... I mean, Sergeant. I'm sorry. I'm just a little tired. I'm a bit dehydrated. Ma'am. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

But the sergeant herself isn't having any of it: "You listen to me, Private. I'm not going to say this again. If I hear you say 'I'm sorry', I'm putting a bullet through your fucking skull. Do you understand me? Is that clear enough for ya?"

"Yes, ma'am. I understand." Jenna answers, and the sergeant sighs.

"You want to learn to fight, Jenna? Fine. Then, show me what you got. I'm gonna give you a chance, and you better make the most of it. Do whatever you can to impress me. I'll let you stay in my unit, if you do. And, if you're really that serious, then you'd better prove to me that you're worth keeping around. And, if you don't, then I might be inclined to throw you out on your ass. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR, PRIVATE AKIYAMA!?" she roars out ferociously.

"Yes, ma'am. I understand. I will try my best. Thank you, ma'am. I appreciate your offer. I will work hard to be a good soldier. I promise. I will be worthy of your trust. I will be a good soldier. I will be a great soldier. I will be a perfect soldier. In fact, I think you should give me a special assignment. I believe I will best serve the United States of America as a soldier. Yes, ma'am." Jenna astutely replies.

"All right. Let's get started. We've got a lot of work ahead of us. But first, we gotta take care of some business. Go grab a bucket and a mop, and come back here. You know where this is. Clean up the mess. Don't worry about getting dirty. Just clean up. Got it?"

Lucas begins to pipe up right beside us, towards his elder brother: "Wolfgang, ain't 'Akiyama' a 'commie' name?"

He replies in turn: "She's a commie. A commie spy. That's why they call her 'Commie-girl'. They use her for their propaganda. Don't wanna admit it, but she's a Commie-spy. Otherwise, she would've wised up and changed her goddamn surname by now."

"Wolfgang, tell Gunther, bro." He tugs against his brothers jumpsuit. "Tell him he's wrong. He's just a kid. He doesn't know anything. He's just a dumb kid. He's a stupid kid. He's an ignorant kid. He's a naïve kid. He's a naïve boy."

Suddenly, an adult with light, dull body armor comes up to us from the front, blocking our view of the privates being hammered upon: "What's going on here? This is a restricted area. The military police are on patrol. You need to move along. Now. There's nothing to see here. Move along. We have a lot of work to do. We're all busy. Get lost. Go away. Just go. Leave. All of you. Move along. Now. It's time to leave. Go. Away. From here. Go now."

The man's voice is heavy and grave, with a sharp edge to it. He seems like a stern person who is very focused. Blonde hair, brown eyes, spectacles covering them like a tight visor across his face. Middle-aged, too. His mustache is thick and well groomed, and has a large, silver-colored gun strapped to his waist.

He continues on in front of the kids, this time in a polite manner, coffee cup in one hand: "I am Captain Geoffrey Landgraab. I'm the commanding officer of this unit. I'm sorry that we were unable to meet you at the entrance, but I'm afraid that this place is not open for public viewing. If you would kindly step aside, I'll escort you to the next location. I'm sure you can find plenty to amuse yourselves in the other areas. I'm sorry for the inconvenience. Good day."

He takes one slight sip of his cup, lips pressed gently against it.

"Good day, sir. I'm sorry to trouble you." Hugo replies politely amongst the rest, and the captain nods and smiles.

"Thank you. Come. I'm sorry for the wait. I hope you enjoyed your visit. I'm looking forward to seeing you again soon. Please enjoy the rest of your stay."

We follow behind, going back up the stairs and gradually disperse back at the gymnasium.


Back at the research and development section, Dr. Williams greets us all once more in the middle of our gathering: "Well done. I can see how much you've learned. You've come so far since last night. You are becoming quite the team. Well done. Your progress has been truly remarkable. You are making great strides. Congratulations. You are doing wonderfully. You are excelling. You are achieving. You are progressing. You are improving. You are growing."

He makes a great effort to walk around and about to look us all in the eye, then reveals the next task that we have to fix:

"You will be repairing the robot that patrol various sectors around the Vault. The repair should take approximately thirty minutes. Once completed, the systems will resume normal operation and the robots will return to their previous tasks. The repairs are simple, and there's no need to hurry. Take as long as you need. No rush. Enjoy the process. It's important to take your time and enjoy the work. By the way, we'll be splitting you into groups of five, each will be headed by a manager of their own. The lists of groups are on the wall. Pick whichever group you'd prefer. Have fun."

Dr. Williams walks off towards another room, leaving us with our new managers.

The list of names of our groups looks like pieces of paper attached to a bulletin board.

Group 1.

Manager: Professor Oskar Hans

Assistants: Leslie Holland, Eric Rogers, Cameron Fletcher, Bella Goth, Travis Scott.

Bingo.

Professor Oskar Hans is a very tall and thin man. He has a huge nose and a small mouth. He's wearing a white lab coat, with a black tie. He's got a pair of spectacles on. He's bald, with a short beard. He's an old man. Likewise, we follow the same linear paths of the blue arrows on the pristine floor, with Professor Oskar Hans himself leading the way.

"I am pleased that you have made such rapid progress. You are a fine team, and I am proud to be part of this organization. I do not think that any other vault would accept a group of people who had never met before. However, in my opinion, you represent a rare opportunity. There is a lot that can be gained from working together. This is why I was willing to let you join." The old man thus turns back to face us, heeding us with a fair warning.

"However, I must warn you that this will be a difficult challenge. Your primary mission is to repair a robot that patrols a number of sectors around the Vault. In order to accomplish that, you must first get past a series of obstacles that is designed to test your abilities. Each obstacle is a different kind of puzzle that is designed to measure a certain aspect of your skills. If you fail at one, you may simply move on to the next. But if you succeed, you will receive a prize. That BEING MY GRACIOUS GRATITUTE. So, keep in mind that it is best to tackle these puzzles in an organized manner. Try to solve them in the following order. Finally, you will make your way to the robot and repair it. Once you've accomplished all of those things, you will successfully complete your assignment. Good luck."

We head into another subsection of the lab, filled to the brim with malfunctioned robots all around.

"This is your starting point."

Professor Oskar Hans leads us through the maze of broken machines. They are also supposed to help us out during emergencies. We've been tasked with fixing the robots so they can start functioning again.

We walk down the hallway, passing by the many different models of the robotic arms. Some of the robots are damaged beyond recognition. Others seem to be in perfect condition, but still refuse to function properly.

Oskar: "Now, your task will begin here. It's simple. Fix the robots. That's your job. The robots will tell you how to fix themselves. Just follow the instructions. Once the robot has finished repairing itself, you will be able to continue your journey. Have fun!"

The robots' eyes are glowing, and their mechanical bodies are moving. They are slowly getting up and walking towards us.

The blonde college guy, Travis Scott- asks aloud: "What should we do?"

Cameron: "Just leave the robots alone. Let them work on themselves. They'll take care of everything."

Bella: "Yeah. Leave them to it. These guys aren't going anywhere."

Cameron: "You're right. Why don't we go to our room and grab some food? Then we can come back and check on the robots later. Maybe there's something else we can do while we wait for them to finish. Like play some games or something. Or watch a movie. What do you say, Professor Oskar Hans?"

"Come on you guys!" I exclaim to my new reluctant team. "We've all got jobs to do, and besides, we haven't got much resources left down here, now do we?"

I turn to look at Bella and Cameron.

"Well, I guess not," says Cameron.

"And what about you, Professor Oskar Hans?" Bella inquires.

He shakes his head, and then answers in a monotone voice: "No, no, no. I'm afraid you are mistaken. There are plenty of resources available in this area, and more than enough time to use them. Now, let's get started, shall we?"

I sigh.

"All right, fine." Travis shrugs. "Let's go. But if any of those things attack us, we're gonna kick their asses."

We all nod. But in my case, I was just steering clear of the wrath of the bandwagon.

As per usual, we spread out, with myself being busy with choosing which robot to serve first. I spot the broken down Protectron from yesterday that Bella and I worked on, and decide to repair him first. It takes me a few minutes, and the other three are already working on adjacent bots. So, I sit down and wait.

After a little bit, I get back to inspecting two things at once.

Protectrons have a glass dome on top of their heads that acts as an ocular lens that allows the Protectron to scan its surroundings and act accordingly. This glass dome also houses a laser emitter that shoots a high-powered laser beam. The same type of laser is mounted in both of the Protectron's "hands/claws". Although Protectrons are rather slow and ponderous, their upper body can swivel up to about 90 degrees to either side before having to step into a different position, which means that they can easily keep track of their target.

I pull up the bad boy from the front, exposing the combat inhibitor mounted on its back. This allows it to selectively target opponents, depending on pre-programmed guidelines. Safely prying it off with the proper equipment, I attach the device towards the nearest terminal, and make sure the power supply lines are connected properly. It only took me a couple of seconds.

A loud metallic clang echoes through the lab. The robot's eyes light up, and it begins moving sporadically towards the source.

I stand up and walk over to the robot, and inspect the damage.

The robot has been completely destroyed. Its head has been smashed, and the internal mechanisms are totally wrecked.

I examine the wreckage, and find the cause.

The robot had been hit by the laser beam on its dome, and the energy stored inside the battery unit had exploded. The explosion must have caused the robot's circuits to short out, and the resulting electrical discharge melted the metal parts of the bot. The robot's head has been blasted away, and it's now nothing but scrap. This poor thing probably wasn't programmed to protect itself.

I look up and see the Protectron approaching the inhibitor on table. I stay silent, fingers clacking away at the keyboard to rewire the damaged system.

Bella and Cameron finish their tasks, and approach. They're curious to know what I've found.

"Well, I've repaired the Eyebot- " Cameron says, "but I don't think he'll be doing much good."

Bella nods her agreement: "Yeah, I don't think so."

"So, you fixed the one you were working on?" asks Cameron.

"Yes. I was able to restore his functionality, and even improved on some of the features. But, there's no way this guy will survive in battle. His armor is too weak, his weapons are non-existent, and his movements are extremely sluggish." I reply while looking at Bella and Cameron respectively, staying seated.

"You mean, like, his speed is really slow? Like, slower than when he's walking around town?" Travis asks.

"Exactly. His speed is so slow, that it's almost impossible for him to dodge any attacks. If someone throws a rock at him, it's going to shatter against his shell." Bella explains a bit of what I taught her from the previous day.

"Wow, that's crazy. So, do we just leave him here then?" Cameron inquires.

"What about the other robots?" Bella points out.

Leslie Holland shrugs her shoulders off to the other end of the room, fine-tuning a Sentry bot. "They aren't as powerful, or as well-equipped as this one was. And, they won't last long in a real war anyway."

"Then why not take them outside and use them in a mock-up scenario?" Travis jokes, pointing at a few bots lined up near a wall.

"Why would we want to waste our time with that? We can program a computer to simulate a battlefield, and give each bot a random set of parameters. That's enough to make them perform in a realistic manner. Plus, if a bot gets hurt or destroyed, it's easy to replace. Just buy a new one. It's a lot cheaper that way, and a lot more efficient. Besides, the computer simulation is a great learning tool. You get a better idea how a machine works, and it's easier to teach. What's wrong with that?" Leslie argues.

"But, isn't that cheating? Aren't you using a computer to beat a robot? How is that fair?" Travis questions.

"It's a computer, it's supposed to be a computer. A human is a computer, a robot is a computer. There's no difference between them."

"Come on, that doesn't make sense," Cameron states.

"Look, you guys are all young, but you have to understand. The world has changed. Computers are everywhere now, and the people who run the computers have the power to control the entire planet. This is the future. The humans have to learn to work together, and to cooperate, because the machines are smarter, faster, and stronger than us. The only thing a person can do to compete with a robot is to be even smarter, and faster."

"The same goes for the robots; it's the only advantage they have. In the past, the robots had no chance. Now, they're starting to level the playing field. They've got the edge, and the smart people are the ones who are going to survive. That's the truth, and everyone knows it. All we need to do is accept it, and adapt. If we don't, the machines will wipe us out." Leslie states as such to all of us, with her arms crossed while facing us.

Travis and Cameron exchange glances before saying anything.

"Alright, alright... I guess that makes some sort of sense." Travis muses.

Just then, Professor Oskar Hans butts in, like a nosy parent up against 5 bratty siblings who were currently at each other's throats.

"So, what are your plans, boys and girls?" He asks, with his hands on his hips.

"Professor Hans." I stand up, meeting his gaze instantaneously. "I understand that it's a bit much, but I need to fix this Protectron."

He blinks, once.

"Right here." I add, quivering at everyone as I go about it.

Everyone stands still, except for me. I was staring at my legs in shock. Everyone else seems pretty confused, until Professor Hans gives a nod.

"Very well, let's get started. We'll start with the basics, shall we?" He says, looking around. His eyes settle onto mine, and he smiles. It's not a nice smile. Not a friendly one. His eyes are cold, and empty. Like a shark.

"The first order of business, is that you must remove the virus from the processor, or it's useless. Once that's done, we'll move to a more advanced programming. We can use that to create a new, improved, and highly efficient model of the Protectrons. One that can actually perform its task." He explains, with a hand to his chin.

"What does that entail?" Travis asks, with a hint of suspicion in his voice.

"Well, we'll have to reverse-engineer the code. We'll need to analyze every single part of the program, and figure out how they work. Then, we can see how to improve it. You know, make it better. Faster. Stronger. More efficient. But, that's just the beginning of it. We can also make it more efficient, and more accurate. It's all about the numbers. You can make a computer program faster by adding loops to it, or making it more efficient by removing unnecessary code. It's the same with a robot, and it's something that we call 'optimization'."

Oskar looks at me, then at the ruined Protectron at my side. He clears his throat.

"But let me make one thing clear. There are no shortcuts, and there are no easy solutions. The only way to make a robot is to learn to build them. And, to do that, you have to learn the fundamentals. Programming is the foundation. It is the building block. Without it, you cannot make anything. Do you understand?"

Cameron nods.

"Good. Now, come over to the computer. Let's begin."

I walk over to him, feeling very uncomfortable. As I approach, he turns around and faces me. He takes off his glasses, revealing his eyes. They're dark brown and sharp, like a hawk's.

"Now listen carefully, boy." He begins, in a deep, booming voice. "You will follow every command I give, without question. If I tell you to jump, you will jump. If I tell you to run, you will run. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." I reply, nervously.

He grunts.

"That's good."

"But what about the Protectron-" I add sheepishly.

"I don't care what happens to that piece of junk. It's broken beyond repair, and I'm sure as hell not going to waste any time fixing it. I've got bigger fish to fry. So, get your ass in here, and take a seat."

Dr. Jones steps in the midst of our conversation by the entrance: "I wouldn't bother. I doubt that it's even salvageable."

"Oh, it's fine. I'd rather have a working Protectron, than an old one that doesn't work." Professor Hans responds at 'The Engineer', with confidence.

But Dr. Jones teeters closer, and places one foot on the floor.

"The problem is, we can't fix it. The whole system is fried. We could try, but we'll never get the processor back online again." Hans says, matter-of-factly.

"Well, we'll just have to see about that." Jones replies, confidently.

"How?"

The Engineer stares right at me. Dead center, like an arrow hitting a bullseye.

"We'll just have to see, won't we? That'll be the best part, though. Seeing how far we can push this thing. How much we can improve its performance, and how long we can keep the power running. We'll have to test that, too. See how many times the battery can last. Can we charge it, or should we replace the batteries?" He asks, excitedly so.

I smile, but Hans is otherwise: "It's not funny, Director. We can't do a damn thing. Not a single thing. This machine has been through the wringer. It's dead as a doornail. We can't make it work. We can't make it better, faster, nor stronger."

Jones quips back: "Maybe we can make it smarter. We can teach it to use the toilet!"

Hans' face instantly changes from a serious expression to a smirk.

"Yeah, we can make it smart. But, it's still a robot. It's a machine. It can't think. It can't feel. It can't learn. And, it can't make decisions. It's a simple program. A set of instructions that tells the robot to move forward and hit things. It's a very basic program. It's all we need to do. All that's left to do. And, that's exactly what we're going to do."

"What do you mean?" Cameron inquires the Director.

He simply responds: "I'm going to write a new instruction. An advanced, more complex, and improved version of the original. I am going to rewrite the entire code, and reroute it to the Processor. Then, I will transfer the data to it, and make the robot run."

"That's impossible. You can't modify the code, and you certainly can't change it. The processor's completely destroyed."

"I know that."

"Then, why are you doing it?"

Jones' answer, however, is less conventional than one would think. He stares back at the run-down Protectron that I'm working on: "Because I want to. Because I'm curious to find out if it's possible. If it's not, then I'll just go ahead and create another one. Maybe, I can even build something that's superior to the first. It's worth the risk. I'm sure of it."

"I'm not. I don't believe in your bullshit."

"I'm not asking for your faith. I don't care about that, either way. I'm just telling you what's going to happen."

For the first time, my eyes shine luminous in such an advent.

I bow slightly: "Thank you so much, Director! I swear, you won't come to regret this!"

"I already have." Hans laments rather bluntly.

"Not yet. There's still hope. We can fix it. We can make it work. We can make it better. We can make it smarter. We can even make it stronger. We can turn it into the best machine in the world. We can do anything we put our minds to."

"You sound like a broken record."

"I've always said it. And, now it's the truth."

Hans grumbles, folding his arms in defeat.

"I'll give you one chance to prove me wrong. Just this once. One final attempt. Do it. Make it work. Or else, you'll be sorry. I'll destroy the last of the processors, and the last of the robots. I'll wipe them from existence. They'll be gone, forever. Not a trace of them left. And, you'll be the ones to blame. For the rest of your life. I'll be the only one who knows how to repair them, and that'll make it all that much worse. It'll be a living hell. You'll never be able to get the parts. It's a waste. A total loss. You'll have to live with the knowledge, the shame, the guilt, and the regret. I'll do it. It's the least I can do. To make up for what happens. What WILL HAPPEN."

I can't respond for the rest of the team, but-

"That's a promise, that I intend to keep."


After dinner, I couldn't help but pull up by the Lounge, where a performance is expected to be held soon. As a result, there are a lot of people hanging around, waiting. If I were to walk up and down the hallway, trying to look as casual as possible, then I'd probably draw a few looks. People are curious. It was a while ago when I saw a group of four men enter, and they're standing right outside of the lounge door. The entrance is wide open, and there's security anywhere nearby.

A guard walks up to me and asks: "What are you doing here, kid?"

"I'm here to see the play, or performance- or whatever. How much?" I ask.

The guard doesn't answer, he just points at the doorway. I shrug, then I turn around and head towards the door to enter. Free admissions? Sounds kinda suspect.

A Mr. Handy hovers over to me in a more energetic tone: "Hey, bud! You here to see the show?"

"Yeah. Sure." I reply in a much softer tone.

"Then, I'm gonna take you up on that offer. But, I gotta warn you, it's not for the faint of heart." The robot insists, shaking his head.

I notice a stack of pamphlets attached to its grabber claw, as it hands me one out of solidarity: "Here ya go. This will tell you everything you need to know about what's about to happen. Don't miss it! Come early, come often!"

I glance down to read the pamphlet, which has some information about the production.

"Thanks."

"No problem, man. Enjoy the show!"

I nod, then I start to find myself a seat amongst an ocean of people, all gathering in front of a wide stage, eager to witness the event. I sit in the back row. There's no way I could fit into the middle, no less at the front.

There's a long table in the center of the room, filled with refreshments.

At the end of the stage, there's a podium. On the opposite side of the stage, is a large screen.

As the lights dimmed, the audience began to settle in their seats.

And finally...

"Welcome everyone!"

The crowd responds in unison.

While everyone was riled up in awe at the incoming spectacle, I tilt my head down; silently observing the pamphlet from before- out of curiosity.

CAST

'Judith Ward' as 'Lena', the lead actress.

'Thorne Bailey' as 'Lead Musician'.

'Octavia Moon' as 'Secondary Musician'.

'Ian Moody' as 'Supporting Actor'.

'Dominic Fyres' as 'DJ Mixer #1'.

'Joaquin Le Chien' as 'DJ Mixer #2'.

'Vladislaus Straud' as 'Robot Security Guard'.

'Alice Martin' as 'Musician...

That's all that I could read for the moment, but I'll be sure to update this after I've had a chance to watch the performance.

The curtains open, revealing a giant set. It's the theatre with a balcony and a stage.

A red carpet leads to the entrance, where a blonde woman is standing. She's wearing a black dress, and she's holding her hand to the glass door.

Judith Ward.

The snobbish cunt.

She opens it and steps inside, as a spotlight illuminates her.

Everyone applauds.

Judith walks over to the centre of the stage, as the applause subsides.

She turns around, and looks out into the audience. Her eyes meet mine.

She smiles.

Then, without warning, Judith starts singing.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh..."

Judith's voice is soft and sweet. It carries throughout the auditorium.

I look away from Judith.

Why am I so interested in a bitch like her?

Judith finishes her song, and bows.

After a short pause, Thorne begins playing. He plays a melody, which is echoed by Octavia.

I take another glance at Judith. What's wrong with me? Why do I care about a bitch like her? I can't believe I'm sitting here, watching some bullshit show.

Then again, it's not like I've got anything better to do down here anyways...

However, something feels off.

No.

Something SOUNDS off.

I look back up from the trance of shame, immediately noticing the fault at play here, akin to a detective spotting an obvious clue. Or in this particular case, the fault of ONE STAR.

Thorne.

By the gods.

I've heard nothing but rumors up to this point, but- Did we really have to trade jazz for poopy, pompous, pandered pop?

Thorne motherfucking Bailey.

How did he get on the same stage as his darling- Octavia Moon?

The one with ACTUAL BRAINS, mind you. And how is she still alive, let alone a star? Octavia's a fucking legend. She's the real deal! She's the one who brought the genre of musical theater to the forefront. She's the one who made everything possible. And now, she's just a goddamn pop singer who's been stuck in the past.

Fuck the bombs for a minute-

Just what the hell happened?

Octavia's face lights up when she sees Thorne begin his performance. She's not just flustered or anything, her expression just screams:

'CRINGE.'

The dour tunes from the man himself, are instantly replaced by the sultry tones of the woman herself. They're both amazing, but the difference between them is clear.

Octavia's music has a dark, brooding tone. It's a simple, yet beautiful, arrangement. But it's her guitar work that truly sets her apart. Her guitar is a masterpiece.

Octavia's music is a symphony of notes and chords.

But Thorne's instrument is a collection of sounds.

Octavia's is a series of strings, strung together and plucked to create a melodic line.

Thorne?

His guitar is a single note, played over and over, until it's a cacophony. A noise that would make a cat run for its life. He's a master at creating a sound that is so painful, it's almost cathartic. Thorne's guitar is a scream. A cry for help that never reaches anyone. The only thing it's reaching?

The audience, and they're all too busy laughing.

The song is called "My Girlfriend's a Diva".

I don't know why I expected anything different. It's a typical love ballad. All the elements are there. Lyrics, melody, and a chorus that could be sung by a choir of angels.

So, what's wrong with it? I mean, I can see where Thorne might want to write a song about his 'supposed' ex-girlfriend. He's got a lot of pent up emotions. But that's not the issue.

I'm sure that if he wrote a song like this, he'd probably put in some lyrics that were a bit more honest than those in this piece of shit. But, since Thorne was such a media darling, he's not going to do something as obvious and cliche as having Octavia's boyfriend punch her in the stomach and steal her voice.

That's just a cheap way out. Thorne's musical acumen is far inferior to that of Octavia's. Which is why he's getting laughs. This is a classic example of a bad joke. Thorne's obviously trying to emulate Octavia's style.

I almost feel bad for the guy.

Really, I am.

The crowd jeers and jests at this lackluster performance, just like the ex-girlfriend, with what was once thought to have been an unstoppable power couple being needlessly relegated to a circus troupe.

And then, the final act.

The curtain falls on the pathetic performance, and the audience is given a brief moment of silence before the next number begins. There's no applause, nor any boos. Just a few people whispering amongst themselves fiendishly.

What a fucking waste.

Octavia's music was always a symphony.

Thorne's was a mess of discordant notes and dissonance.

Octavia's music had a rhythm.

Thorne's had the cadence of a funeral march.

What a nice exercise to put myself through,

before I go to bed.