"The Vault is underground where the sun don't shine. There's no way to tell what time it is in the real world. The only thing down there is lights. Your clock's runnin on whoever programmed the settings on those lights to simulate each and every day. When the sun's supposed to be up, they're on. When the sun's supposed to be down, they're off. Not in Vault 101 though, with the radroaches and all. They're always on, bright in the day and bright in the night. You can't tell one day from the next. You have to trust the computer fastened to your arm that it's time to get up or it's time to go to sleep. That's one thing that really fucks with you."

01

For all the young men and women of Vault-101, the Generalized Occupation Aptitude Test was soon arriving. The results of the G.O.A.T. would determine which Vault responsibility one is to be given or, more realistically, which job one is to hold until they are unable to perform it any longer. Naturally, this meant it was a very frightening and important step in one's life in the vault.

No parent wanted their child to end up a garbage burner. So, in honor and as emotional preparation for this most momentous of days, a special meal is held in the dining area for those young people and their families. It is a ritual for every generation to sit with their loved ones and dream about the future. A very forced and confined and often times disappointing future, but a future nonetheless. Among the many promising young individuals that would soon find the path to their careers, there was one who could not find the capacity to give a damn. His name was Fox.

Education and responsibility had been forcefully edited out of Fox's mental dictionary, as well as his physical one. With a thick black marker. If anyone would care to ask what kind of person he was, Fox would be the first to tell you that it wasn't a good one. He mostly enjoyed doing things that made people uncomfortable. That included growing his hair out to an unacceptable length and then shaving it off, but only on one side of his head. Along with his piercing gaze and unsettling smirk, he was confident he could make most people shiver without saying a word. But the muscle and sailor's mouth didn't hurt either if push came to shove. And push did often lead to shove. As well as bloody noses and black eyes, as fists were his weapons of choice.

These were things the wild Fox enjoyed pondering, not whether he was going to be operating the laundry cannon or programming pip-boys. That being said, he wasn't particularly excited about the G.O.A.T. He'd decided not to think about it too much though. The only thing that worried him at the moment was the headache that had been building since his Pip-Boy had alerted him that it was morning.

After trying to ignore the pain all afternoon in class, he was on his way to the clinic to complain to his father and request a pain-reliever. Or maybe two. Or six. In the middle of wondering just how many he could get away with, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the metal hall toward him. There he saw rounding the corner was the Overseer and his father. Before Fox could summon a wave and a smile, both men had already dodged around him, his father offering a simple "pardon me" as one would to any unfamiliar face.

Fox stood there awkwardly for a second, arm half-way up and mouth open in the beginnings of a grin. The echo of the men's footfalls disappeared around the opposite corner and he realized that he must have looked pretty pathetic. Dropping his arm and frowning, Fox sighed. The man was obviously in a hurry but it still seemed like there was no recognition. His father had not given the usual, "son" and nod combo. Even a "busy, son" would've sufficed. Was it the new hairstyle? The tiny knot in his chest was mocking him.

Judging by the distress on the men's faces, the Overseer must have gone to the clinic for medical assistance. Since he hadn't bumped into Amata that day, Fox guessed what it was. Now his father would be busy arguing with Mr. Almodovar for hours and miss dinner. All because of precious little Amata. Just thinking her name made the knot jump from his chest to his throat. Even though they were supposed to be friends, the young man had never really liked the Overseer's daughter. There was just something about her that he couldn't take a shine to.

It all must've started at his tenth birthday party. Old Lady Palmer had baked a sweet roll for him as a present. Apparently they were the kind of things only a grandmother could make; perfectly sweet, flaky and set to melt in your mouth. Fox was that odd kid who didn't like sweets much but he accepted it to be nice. So when Andy destroyed the cake and Butch DeLoria "asked" him for it, he happily gave it up. Upon seeing the transaction, Amata rushed over to ask him what had happened.

She was always so set on her opinions of others. Fox tried to tell her he gave up the baked good willingly but she wasn't having it. To Amata, Butch was a mad, mean bully and everything he did was wrong. That was his role and it couldn't be changed. Anything else just wouldn't make sense, of course.

Now that was what Fox didn't like about her: she judged people. He was no saint but she judged people for their actions without even considering what could be behind them. She didn't understand nor did she try to. And it wasn't just Butch, everyone had a label. Even him. He was labeled as her innocent best friend who wouldn't hurt a fly. In reality, he shot radroaches in the generator room with a BB gun. And he liked it. One day she would be devastated by her preconceptions and forced to face it all on her own, and in her ignorance, suffer the consequences.

Fox sighed again and buried that knot of emotions as deep as he could, like he was taught any self-respecting man should. Every time he thought about Amata he was reminded how much he didn't like her anyway. Whatever her eventual fate, he decided that for the moment he couldn't care less. He continued on his way to the clinic, shedding his previous thoughts with a roll of his shoulders and a crack of his neck. Jonas was the only one there to greet him:
"Hey there, Fox. Your dad just left… what can I do for you?"
"I got a headache is all. Anything you can give me?"
Jonas gestured towards the table against the wall, "Sure, there's some aspirin over there."
"Anything… stronger than that?"
The assistant eyed the young man for a while before answering, "I don't think you need it. Why don't you just go have some water and lay down?"
Fox rolled his eyes and went to go grab the aspirin bottle, "Yeah, yeah. This'll do."
Jonas was closer to the table and snatched up the bottle before the young man could get to it. Taking out a single pill, he slipped the rest into his coat pocket.
"This'll do," he said firmly, offering the round white capsule to Fox.
He took it and sneered, "Yeah. Thanks."
"No problem. You know where the drinking fountain is."
Fox nodded, not really listening anymore, and popped the aspirin in his mouth. He swallowed it without any water and headed toward his father's office instead. Jonas was just about to follow him when Stanley Armstrong walked in for a visit. Since the residing doctor was absent, he moved to attend to him.

Closing the office door behind him, Fox was planning to do what he always did in this room: sit in his dad's chair with his feet up on the desk and play with the silly little bobblehead holding a syringe. That, however, was before he knew that the doctor was not going to be in and that his assistant was going to be busy with a patient. Almost immediately, Fox began rummaging through the desk drawers and file cabinets. He was attempting to be silent but every time he did not find what he was searching for, he became increasingly more frustrated. At the point where he was going to began tapping on the walls in-search of some hollowed compartment, he stopped. The quote that hung there was staring at him like it always did, forcing him to read it.

'I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely.'

Fox didn't know much about his mother. His father only talked about her frequently when he was young. Fox had eventually learned all he cared to know and his father talked about her less and less. From what he'd gathered though, Catherine was an amazing, beautiful, and passionate woman. She had loved her son so much that she gave her life bringing him into the world. All Fox had left of her was that quote. It was kind of like the framed piece of parchment on the wall was his mother, giving him the same stale wisdom every day.

The knot in his chest returned, bigger than before, but he shoved it back down with all the strength he could muster. This was something he didn't need right now. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, twice for good measure. He was just about leave when Jonas opened the door. The young assistant seemed surprised to see him standing there, though he neutralized his expression before he spoke.
"I think it's best you leave. I have to close up soon anyway."
"Yeah, alright. See ya," Fox mumbled.

Not waiting for a response, he pushed past Jonas and made way out of the clinic, toward his family apartment. He watched the metal move under his feet, not looking up and not needing to. Nothing ever changed in the Vault. His Pip-Boy showed it was evening but the lights in the hallway were still as bright as ever. The lights in his room were blinding too but he couldn't do anything about it. It was all unwavering. Life in the vault was all rules and schedules and rations and curfews. The progression of time gets lost when you're doing pretty much the same thing, day in and day out. Nothing changed in that place unless he physically changed it.

The knot in his throat was looking for a fight. It threatened to choke him and make his eyes water. He slammed the door button as hard as he could, not to have dramatic effect lost on automation. He stared at the floor, scrapped and dented by the countless times he's pulled and thrown furniture around the room. Stanley had been kind enough to unbolt some of the more stationary things from the ground just so he could rearrange it all whenever he wished. His own little act of rebellion. It was also calming. It let him feel like he had some sense of control over his life in the face of it all.

This was one of those moments. Fox started to move the heaviest things first, straining against the dresser with the drawers still attached. Then he set out on everything else. He pulled and pushed and let the sound and vibrations of scraping metal fill his head. By the end of it all, the knot had loosened and the only thing threatening to make him cry was the sweat falling into his eyes. Before long, it was time for all the young men and women to report to the dining area with their families. Fox headed to the showers first, just to wash the day away.