Waking up in a dingy room isn't actually the hard part of the day.
It's actually waking up to the fact that I earn $24 an hour- doing what I love. What I'm passionate about.
I can't actually FEEL the currency either.
It's all encoded in my trusty, precious Pip-Boy 3000.
9 hours per shift, that's 216.
I know that I shouldn't be complaining, since I'm practically the only teen around here scrounging for money, but... Seeing the Landgraabs' room having a Monolith TV being hauled towards it ain't gonna make people have bright eyes for them anytime soon.
Shit, that thing is worth my entire bank account alone.
$9,999 dollars.
Three words for ya.
'I'd-
be-
-damned'.
At the cafeteria, I pay exactly $1.00 for a cup of coffee. I know that it's a little overpriced, and that I could get a better deal, and that's why I buy it. Because it's a good price, and because it's a place that I frequent. I know that the food's not great, and I know that it's a little pricey, and that's why I eat there. I know that the service sucks, and that the atmosphere is mediocre, and that's why I come back.
While I look around for substantial food deals, I catch on to my caterer in particular.
"Hey- you're Mele Kahananui, right? The 'baroness' pacific islander all the way from Sulani?"
Mele looks me straight in the eye. She's a bit older than I am, and she's got a bit of a tan. She's got a lot more meat than I do, and her breasts are bigger. Her hair's a bit longer than mine, and her skin's a bit darker than mine, but that's all there is to it from here.
As a matter of fact, we've got a lot more to talk about than just the weather.
"Yeah, how'd you guess?"
"Did the air smell better then or back in that kitchen of yours?" I take a jab at her.
"You were pretty funny, too. I never saw anybody else laugh like that. You should try and perform again sometime."
That was a compliment.
"I think that I'll pass. I'm just a cook. I don't have the charisma to pull off a performance like that. I just like to keep things simple and under control. That's why I like to run the kitchen. It's a nice, safe job. Nothing to worry about. No surprises. I like to keep a tight grip on everything, and I like to make sure that everybody's happy with their meals. I don't need to make any big moves. I don't have to make a dramatic entrance."
"I don't have to make a huge splash. I don't even have to be a celebrity chef. I don't have to make a name for myself. I don't really care if I'm famous, as long as I can make a living. I don't want to get caught up in the limelight. I don't want to be the center of attention. I don't have to win a contest." Mele takes another sip of coffee before continuing.
"It's not that I don't enjoy cooking. In fact, I love it. I'm very good at it. I'm proud of it. I'm very good at it. But, I don't know... I don't know that I'm cut out for the spotlight. I'm not built that way. I'm not that kind of person. I'm just an ordinary girl who likes to be left alone. I don't need to be the star of anything. I don't need to go anywhere. I don't need to go far away. I don't need to travel the world. I don't need to meet anyone important."
"I don't need to get married. I don't need to settle down and raise a family. I don't know that I could handle it. I don't know that I could cope with it. I don't know that I could deal with it. I don't know that I could live without it. I don't know that I could go on like this forever-"
"Okay- I think this conversation has been held long enough. Make me a sandwich."
I stare.
"Please."
I sigh.
"Aye, alright. I'll give you a sandwich. I'll make you one, right now." Mele smiles.
She hands me a stack of sandwiches. I shrug casually, reaching for my Pip-Boy's extension cord.
"How much-"
Feeling something against my ankle, I spill my cup of coffee.
"Oh, shit! Sorry!"
Mele looks over to see what I spilled. She laughs. I look around and find a rag.
"Here, use mine. I've got a lot of them."
I wipe off my pants and put the rag back into her hand. Looking down, I see a kitten of mixed breed sitting right beside me, clearly defined by the blue and green eyes it proudly displays before meowing.
"Damn cat, I'll sue-"
Before I even knew it, two chefs storm out of the kitchen, accompanied by dozens more.
The whole room's looking at them, more specifically, two women in chef's garments that look like they're about to throw down. One of them is a tall, thin woman who appears to have had some sort of genetic modification done to her. The other is a short, albeit 'heavier' woman whose body type seems to indicate she was once a gymnast. They both seem to be wearing a uniform, but their outfits are different. One of the guards approaches the short, heavyset chef, while the other walks up to the taller, thinner chef.
"Hey, what's going on?"
He asks.
"This is our kitchen. We don't like being interrupted, so we'd appreciate if you would leave. Now, unless you want to make a scene, then I suggest that you do as I say, and let us continue with our work. If you insist on making a scene, I will have to ask that you please take your business elsewhere, and I'm sure that there's plenty of restaurants in this town who can accommodate a large number of customers. Is that clear? Do you understand?" the stubbier woman says, with a tone that makes it quite evident to whom she's talking.
"Mom?!" A teen with braids and a lame goatee calls out in response.
But the other woman is out for blood, not relenting in the slightest:
"DON'T YOU DARE TRY TO WALK AWAY FROM ME, YOU BITCH! YOU AND YOUR 'MAYOR' TALK AIN'T GONNA HOLD UP AGAINST MY KITCHEN, SO TAKE THAT SHIT BACK WHERE IT CAME FROM!"
The boy inches closer to her mother, shielding her from any further verbal abuse: "MOM?! What's going on?!"
"You heard me, kid. I said it. You wanna make a scene, you can make it somewhere else."
"What's this all about, mom?"
"It's a long story, sweetie, and I don't think it's appropriate for you to hear it. So, you can either listen and keep it quiet, or you can get the fuck outta here. Your choice."
"Mother..."
"I know, I know. I know. I don't know what came over me. I just got really mad. I mean, I don't know what's gotten into me lately. I guess I'm still getting used to this place." She looks around, and sees a few people watching her. "I know, I don't belong here. I don't know why I stayed. But I can't help it. I loved this city, I feel at home, and I've made a lot of friends. I don't know what's wrong with me."
"Well, you're gonna have to learn how to control yourself a little better than that." The woman with red cloth tied to her hair stomps her foot, the aura alone being a well veiled substitute for a Magnitude 10 earthquake.
"YOU FUCKING WHORE."
The woman's eyes open wide, her face contorting into a mask of rage. The boy's jaw drops. The mother of one begins to hesitate, shaking even.
"I swear, I didn't want things to be this way-"
"FUCK YOU!", the younger woman screams deliriously, her voice shaking shortly afterwards. "Don't act as though you DIDN'T ENJOY IT!"
She takes a step forward, but the woman in the chef outfit grabs her by the shoulders, stopping her in her tracks.
"NO, NO, no, DON'T DO THIS. PLEASE. LET'S NOT MAKE A SCENE. I'll be right back, okay?"
"No, let her go. This is bullshit. Let her go, NOW!" the guard demands.
The woman in the chef uniform releases her, but doesn't follow through on his demand since she gets pulled even closer.
"WHAT WAS IT THAT YOU SAID-" Her eyes meet her target in an animalistic fashion: "'Hens don't nest in the same coup for too long'? Well, I'm a hen, and I'm ready to lay my eggs. I'm going to show you that I'm a very good mother, and I'm going to make you pay for what you did to me. And I'm not done yet, bitch. I'm only just getting started. I'm going to make you suffer. I'm going to teach you that being a whore isn't worth shit, and that there are consequences for your actions! I'm going to give you a taste of your own medicine. You won't forget me. Not ever!"
The woman turns to leave, but is stopped by the other two guards, who grab her arms. The boy watches on, dumbfounded.
"Mom, please, we need to go, now!"
The mother is struggling to break free from the grasp of her captor, when suddenly, she feels something cold on her neck.
"W-what's going on? Mom, stop fighting! WHAT IS SHE EVEN TALKING ABOUT-"
"I HAD AN AFFAIR WITH HER!"
The mother freezes, her mouth agape, staring at the three surrounding her. She looks back at her son, brushing a clump of her already frizzled hair while admitting: "I had an affair with Rahmi Watson, Rahul."
A shocked expression crosses the teenager's face, before it becomes a look of disbelief.
"...WHY?!"
He can barely comprehend the situation he's currently in. His mind is a whirlwind of questions, doubts and confusion.
"Why would you do that?! Why, mom?! WHY?" he asks again, his voice cracking.
His mother, however, remains silent. She stares into the distance, with a blank expression.
"You're...you're the mayor of Henford-on-Bagley, weren't you?" Rahmi says, her voice hoarse as the guards pull her back. "So why are you having an affair in the first place?"
"That was a LONG time ago," she replies, her face still devoid of emotion. "And I didn't know she was married. I thought she was single. Besides, her husband's been so distant lately, and she needed someone, and I seemed like the perfect candidate. I'm sorry. I'm really, truly, terribly, deeply, sincerely, humbly, and profoundly, desperately, and irrevocably, sorry. But I'm also not sorry. I'm glad I did this. I'm happy I got to have sex with her. I'm proud of myself. I'm gonna keep doing it, because I'm a slut, and I'm a whore, and I'm a cunt, and I love being a whore. So, I'm going to fuck you all up, and then I'm going to get fucked by the mayor's dick!"
Rahmi is dragged away, her body limp and unmoving.
Someone from the stands yells out: "LAVINA CHOPRA!? MORE LIKE MONICA LEWINSKY!"
The crowd erupts into endless streams of uproarious boos, and the teenage boy watches on, stunned. He has no idea what's happening right now. He doesn't understand. It seems incomprehensible. Everything is a blur. But one thing is clear. The mayor has clearly gone insane. Sources of protein, fiber, carbohydrates-
-even food trays are flung at the mother and son duo, like twin jesters being pelted constantly with barrages of deadly tomatoes, already having lost favor with such a volatile court. The mother is left alone, surrounded by a cloud of tomato juice, blood, and other bodily fluids. She slumps her knees to the ground, exhausted.
Her son collapses onto the floor next to her. He strokes her hair with an unsteady hand, and mutters,
"It's okay..."
Rahul, despite everything, finds the inner courage from shame to pick up for two, slowly marching off towards the nearest exit, leaving the tragic fiesta behind. It got so dire, that both of them were completely covered in paid food from the vaults residents, even the children. Mob mentality at its worst. I look back from the crowd, to see that the kitten from before has completely disappeared from its spot. I don't blame it, really. After all that, I'd want to cringe and leave immediately, too.
Looking back at my soaked pants, stained with a hot brew of caffeine, I notice that the brown stain at the wrong side is starting to spread.
Oh well.
I sit and stare, gaze affixed to Rahul Chopra, now with a fresh pair of clothes. In this case, a one piece Vault jumpsuit.
It is as clean as a whistle.
At least he's no longer a potential outlier.
We're in group's of seven, I'm sitting right by Sofia Bjergsen, Hugo Villareal, Tommy, John Smith, Rahul Chopra himself and another kid with a backwards blue cap sulking off by their lonesome. A group assignment is actually keeping us from drifting apart, if not for the moment and the sanctity of our futures. If only we had some sort of common goal to strive towards. There's just a lot of... stuff going on. And it's getting worse. This is a very bad situation.
What do you think about when you hear the word 'Cannibalism'? Do you picture a bunch of people chowing down on each other? Or do you imagine a dark, underground scene of death and destruction, where the only sound is the crunching of bones?
Well, there's a third option. One that's a little more nuanced, and a bit different.
You might be thinking, "How could they eat someone else?" Well, let me tell you. In a world like ours, with a population of over 300 million or less with our civilization having a reset button, sometimes it's hard to find a meal. So, what happens when a large portion of those people are hungry, and can't get enough food, and are forced to resort to cannibalizing one another, in order to survive? That's exactly what might happen, and that scares me.
Unlike pre-programmed robots, I wouldn't be 100% keen or predisposed towards other humans, especially after what had just happened.
"Hey, John." I call out to him. "What exactly happened when you got dragged out of gym class yesterday? What, did you have to go to the 'Principal's Office' or something?"
He looks up from his book, and gives me a weird smile.
"No," he says. "Actually, I was kidnapped. I got taken away from school by a guy named Bob. He said he wanted to take me home and make a stew out of me. I told him I didn't want to go, but he tied me up and threw me into the back seat of his car. Then, he drove for a while. Eventually, I blacked out and woke up here. I think I was in the trunk."
I look around the room. Most of the kids seem like they're listening intently, though I'm sure that most of them don't really know what's going on. I'm a little surprised that the others aren't talking about the incident. It's certainly something that has the potential to get out of hand, and I'm worried that one of these guys could snap and try to kill somebody else.
Then again, maybe this is the point at which I should start worrying about myself.
"I see," Sofia says.
I glance at Sofia. She seems to be paying attention, and I assume she'll ask her questions later. I turn back to the group.
"Alright, so, we're all in the same boat. We all need to stick together and work as a team. If any of us gets hurt, it's the rest of our lives. I mean, it'd suck if I died and you all went to prison for murder, right? So, I think it's important that we all stay on the same page, and not do anything stupid. Just follow my lead, alright?" Hugo suggests.
The group nods. Sofia turns and stares straight at me.
"What do you think is the best way for us to live, and survive, and thrive, in a world like this?" She asks.
I pause.
"...Probably to just follow the rules around here, and not cause too much of a fuss to begin with." I add as a cheap shot towards John's debacle.
John smiles. Sofia shakes her head.
"Why would we just blindly accept whatever anyone tells us to do?"
The kid with the cap answers in a rather raspy voice, placing her seat firmly on all fours, away from its lopsided locale.
"Why are you assuming that others are the only authority figure in this place, and everyone else is a nobody who can't tell right from wrong, and doesn't understand what's good for them, and what's bad? That sounds like a pretty big cop-out to me. I think there are more than enough people who don't fit your description, and are doing just fine. For instance, those two over there, who are obviously in charge, have decided to take some of their time to talk to us."
"They want to make sure that we are being treated fairly, and that we are taken care of. And, if they decide to treat us unfairly, then we can fight them. Isn't that a better plan, compared to accepting everything someone gives you, and never questioning it, and never challenging it, and always letting it control who you are, and how you act, and who you become, and what you believe in, and what makes sense to you, and what doesn't?"
She looks directly at me.
"What I'm saying is, I think we should be thankful to have been brought here, and to have survived, and to have even gotten to know each other, and to have had a chance to learn from each other, and to grow up."
"I think we should be grateful to the ones in power, because they have a responsibility to protect us, and to make sure we get the things we need. I think we should be respectful of the adults in this place, because, unlike other places where we've lived, they probably aren't trying to kill us on a daily basis. I think that, if they weren't, I'm sure that they wouldn't give us food or shelter. I don't think that they want to keep us alive, but, instead, that they're trying to help us, and guide us, and teach us. I think that, if they were evil, that we'd already be dead, and that they're not, and that they're actually a lot nicer than we think." Sofia explains.
Hugo: "I'm sure that the people in charge of this place, whoever they may be, know what's best for us, and that we're lucky that we're getting the opportunity to live, and to try to survive, and to thrive, and to succeed, and to improve ourselves, and to become something that we couldn't imagine becoming, and that we didn't even dream about."
"I think that we're all on the same page, and that we all agree that we're going to work together, and to stick together, and to support one another, and to respect and trust the people that we meet, and that we're all going to do our very best, and that's the only way that any of us will ever find out, whether we'll be able to do anything with the knowledge we gain, or not."
Tommy: "We won't be able to do much of anything, except to change the world, in the future. I think we all have a common goal, and we all want the best outcome, and we all hope to do well, and to make the world a better place, in the end."
"I don't see why we shouldn't all just do the best we can, to achieve the best possible result, as a group, without causing too much trouble, and without being selfish, and without wasting too much energy, and not making the wrong decisions, and just doing the right thing, and following the rules, and obeying the laws, and not hurting anyone else, and just living a good life, and having a great time, and enjoying what we can, and what's around, and what's available for the taking, while we can. If everyone does that, then there is no reason to argue with anyone else over it."
The kid in the cap puts her seat back on its lopsided locale.
"...I'm sorry, but what was your name again?" I ask while pointing squarely at her with a pencil in the same hand, a sheet of paper down on the other.
"Darling, Darling Walsh." she replies, somewhat confused by my question.
"Right. I guess we enough points for next week's presentation." I reply while starting to jot some of them down. "You guys remembered what you said, right?"
I look towards Rahul, who hasn't said a word up to this point. Pardon my French, but he looks fucking miserable. He doesn't say a damn thing.
"Rahul? What did I tell you to remember to talk about, exactly?" John asks.
"Um... I think I should start off by saying, 'It has been a long and arduous journey, and I'm sure we all agree that we would like to have a little more of a break, so that we can rest, and recover, and take a few days to relax, and to enjoy the peace of mind that we have earned from all the hard work that we've put in.' Is that correct, John?" Rahul asks despondently. Tommy nods.
"Okay, good. You're getting warmer. Now, I think that I told you that I wanted to hear a story. A personal experience. Something that happened to someone that you know, or that is happening to someone that you know. It's okay if they are still alive, or not. It's fine. But I need to know how that person got through it, or is going to get through it, or is trying to get through it, or is dealing with, or coping with, or surviving, or whatever you want to call it. So, I'll go first."
Not even a needle drop.
"My mom has been sick for a really long time now. She's had cancer twice, and both times, they didn't catch it in time. This last one, though, was different. They caught it in time, and she's doing well. We just moved here, and everything was going great. And then, two weeks ago, I found out that she was dying. I was devastated. I couldn't believe that I was losing my mother. I mean, she's been my whole life."
"That was until the bombs fell."
Our group goes dead silent. I see Tommy's eyes begin to water, and I think I'm beginning to understand why. I'm feeling a lot of things myself, and I'm having trouble finding words. I'm also thinking that I'm really glad that I'm not in his shoes. I'm a pretty tough guy, but I don't think I could deal with that. I don't even know where to start. I just don't feel like I could ever get over it.
"So, I decided to write a letter to God. I figured that it might help me, and maybe it will help others, too. I wrote it on paper, and I sealed it with wax. I took it outside, and I placed it on the mailbox. I was going to leave it there until tomorrow morning. Then, I was going to go inside and read it. I was going to open the envelope, and I was going to read it, and I was going to keep reading, and I was going to cry, and I was going to laugh, and I was going to smile, and I was going to be happy, and sad, and angry, and grateful, and everything else that I was feeling."
"I was going to do that every day, for as long as I had that letter. I was going to make that my life's purpose. I was going to live my life for that. I was going to use that for my whole life. I was going to never stop living, and I was going to never forget her."
He pauses. He's breathing heavily now. His face has turned red, and I can't tell if he's crying, or sweating bullets. Rahul, seeing Tommy in such a dismal state, stands up. He walks around behind him and puts an arm around his shoulder. "It's okay, man. It's all right. I'm sorry. I didn't know. It's okay. I'm sure that she's in a better place now. I'm so, so, so, so, so, so, SO, SORRY!"
He hugs him tightly. I'm amazed at how quickly he went from a cold, distant stranger, to a friend who cares. I'm not really sure what's going on, though. Hugo, who had been sitting quietly, turns away and looks down. Tommy doesn't respond.
I'm not really sure what to say, either. I'm not really comfortable with this, not being the emotional one. I'm not really good with feelings. I'm not really a very expressive person, either. I'm not really the best with people, either. I'm not really very social. I'm not really very outgoing. I'm not really very friendly.
...
Yea.
After classes, Hugo races towards me, running full-speed. He grabs me by my shirt and pulls me to a nearby bench. He sits me down, and leans in close.
"What happened? What did you see?"
"Uh..."
I don't really want to talk about it. Whatever 'IT' is.
"Please. I need to know. Please, please, please, please, PLEASE! I need to know. I have to know. I HAVE TO KNOW. I NEED TO KNOW. I CANNOT LIVE LIKE THIS ANYMORE." His eyes are wide open, and he's trembling. He's absolutely terrified. This isn't like him. This is new. "Okay. Okay. Um... okay. Yeah. Well, um, we were walking through town, and there was this guy, and, uh, and he was talking to us. And, and, and, and, and then, and then, and then, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and-"
I cup my fist and place it against Hugo's chest: "Breathe, Hugo. Breathe."
He does. We sit together for a few minutes. Eventually, he speaks again, staring right back at at me.
"Are you mad at me, Tom?"
I shake my head. "It's Eric."
"Eric Rogers."
He smiles. He holds out a piece of paper.
"Um, I made this for you. I thought maybe, you know, if you wanted to go get some ice cream or something after school. You could read it while we're eating. I hope that's cool. It's just, I mean, I love reading. I always loved books. Even when I was little. I used to sneak into Mom's room and hide under her bed so I could watch TV, but I'd still try to find a book to read. So, I figured I would make one for you, since I know that's your thing. But, well, I know that you probably don't care much for that sort of stuff. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"Hugo, look-" I grab the piece of paper: "I appreciate this, but I gotta go to work."
He nods. He stands up and walks away. He's shaking, crying, sobbing, bawling, sniffing. He's wiping tears. He's staring at me. He's looking at the ground. He's walking away.
I'm watching him walk away, and I'm thinking about all of these things he said. About how strange everything was. How different. And I'm wondering, what's happening to him?
I'm back in the lab again, about done with the fine-tuning of a Sentry Bot. I've got the design almost perfect. The bot is going to be a lot better than the last one. But I can already tell. There is a difference. Something is missing. Maybe it's the fact that the bot is supposed to look like a person. That it looks human. Or is it the way the bots are moving.
They seem stiff. Like they're not really alive. Like they aren't real people. I finish the last adjustments on the bot and put it in its test rig. The bot's eyes flash a signature red. It starts to move. The movement is jerky. Unnatural. Stiff. Like a puppet. Or a robot. A machine. Not a living, breathing, feeling, thinking, sentient being.
I update its status on my terminal, quickly slinking myself across the desk with thanks to my chair. Grabbing a hold of a Mr. Handy's jet-powered propulsion system, I tinker with it some more, trying to figure out why it isn't working as it should. I take my time, making sure every part works properly before I go any further. I think it might be an issue with the batteries. I open a small panel and remove one. I check it against a reference chart, and it seems to match up perfectly. So, I replace the battery and press a button on the side of the device.
Nothing happens. I repeat the process. Still nothing. I try again.
This time, I get a spark.
I smile.
That's a start. Now, let's see if I can make the bot run.
"Eric-" Someone calls out from behind. "Eric!"
I turn around, startled. It's 'The Engineer' himself- Director Jones. He's standing there, holding a clipboard. Behind him, I can hear other voices, but I don't bother turning to listen.
"What?"
"You're still here?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I just wanted to make sure you had everything you need, and then I was gonna go home." He taps his finger on the edge of the clipboard, and I notice he's wearing a watch. It's gold, probably worth ten thousand dollars. "How much longer do we have to work on this project?"
I look at Jones, then at the propulsion system. I repeat this for another two more times, then stop myself to regain some sense of composure.
"I mean, I've done my quota a while ago, so I'd figured-"
Director Jones has every right to be suspicious, thus he raises a eyebrow.
"-that I get something going, you know?" I unknowingly let out an awkward mile at him.
Jones nods. "Alright, well, you've got the rest of your life to work on this thing, but I want to see results. I'm not putting up with anything else. You understand me? Nothing. Not one more second. Do you understand me?"
I nod as he leaves. I stare at the Protectron's dome head, and I feel like I'm staring at the same robot that I stared at last night. I'm staring at the bot, and it's staring right back at me. I sigh heavily, slumping myself back against the chair. Thinking about it for a while, I decide to pull out the paper note Hugo gave me from my front pocket.
I unfold it and read.
"If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck..."
