"Amata, you need to relax," my father insisted.

"Oh God, oh God," I repeated, pacing the apartment. "How can I do this?"

"Amata," my father said, standing up and putting his hands on my shoulders. "Relax. Take a deep breath."

I did as he said, and felt a little calmer.

"Good. Now I know that this is an overwhelming position for you. But this time, you can be prepared. You won't be thrust into the role like you were before."

"But what do I do?"

"Take note of what Ryan does," my father advised. "How he conducts himself and how he does his job. And don't forget to ask him about his decisions. He's your friend, he won't say no to helping you."

He paused for a moment to look at me. "To be perfectly honest, I wish I hadn't dismissed him the way I did when you were kids. Now I think he's the greatest man this Vault's ever had. I don't regret for a second letting him and his father into the Vault."

I didn't know what to say. My father gave a quiet sigh.

"You have feeling for him, don't you?"

"Huh?" was all I could say, the words not really coming through to me.

"I've seen how you are around him," my father told me. "It's like you almost...feel more relaxed around him."

He wasn't entirely wrong. Ryan and I had known each other for so long that being nearby almost made me feel calmer, more at peace. But was that the only reason? Or was there really something more? And how did Ryan feel about it?

"I don't know," was the only true thing I could say, unable to really give a definitive answer.

"I understand. And, being perfectly honest, I think he's a better man than anyone else in the Vault who's your age. Whatever your relationship turns into...I just want you to know that I'm okay with it."

I made my way back to Vault 101 in the dead of night, wondering what the hell I was getting myself into. The guy in Megaton didn't seem like anybody special; just another Wastelander passing through. When he'd singled me out, it was all I could do to avoid reacting. Colin Moriarty had been watching, as per usual, and he'd not hesitate to screw me over for a few caps.

I'd taken a big risk, leaving the Vault in the middle of the night. I didn't want to pressure Amata into leading so soon. Besides, if they needed me, they could always send out a radio message for me to pick up on my Pip Boy, and that was in case of emergencies.

The Wastelander was waiting for me at the base of the scenic overlook by the Vault entrance. His gun, some kind of energy weapon, was holstered, but he kept his right hand close to it.

"Alright," I told him. "I'm listening. You say you can help us with Talon Company. How?"

"My name is William Newman," the man said. "I'm the sergeant of an Enclave fire team stationed on the Potomac River. When we got word that we were to violently take over your Vault if you refused us entry, we deserted and attempted to warn you. My team's been captured by the Enclave."

A warning bell went off in my head, but I pushed it aside and motioned for him to go on.

"I have with me the routes of nearby Enclave patrols, as well as reports of Talon Company squads. If you agree to my terms, I will give you the plan I have in mind."

"And these terms are?"

"Sanctuary," William said simply. "If I agree to help you against Talon Company and the Enclave, you will allow my team and I living space within Vault 101."

I was waiting for some outrageous demands, but I got none. Everything he said was reasonable, and most was certainly possible. Except for one…

"If we can locate your team," I pointed out. "You know where they're being held?"

"A place called Minefield," William told me. "Heard of it?"

I nodded, Minefield was up north, but not far. Mounting a rescue wouldn't be hard.

"Okay then," I told William. "We have a deal. Come inside. I'll call the Council together."

The private channel reserved for Council members gave off a beeping sound on my Pip Boy. Looking down, I tuned into the system.

"All Council Members are required in the Operations Room immediately on the orders of the Overseer," announced the robotic voice. "If you are unable to attend, the Overseer must be notified."

"Gotta go," I told my father as he came out of the shower, his hair still damp. "Council meeting."

I joined Ryan, Security Chief Gomez, Edwin Brotch and John Kendall in the operations room, along with another man I'd never seen. He was dressed in typical Wasteland garb, but his face was shaved and his greying hair neat and short. He looked to be around middle-age, but was clearly still physically healthy.

"Council, this is William Newman," Ryan announced, taking a seat. "Newman is a former Enclave sergeant who deserted along with his squad, who have since been recaptured. He's come to offer us an agreement; we allow him and his squad to join our community, and he will help us with Talon Company and the Enclave, should the need arise."

Kendall and Gomez both looked suspicious, while Edwin Brotch looked deep in thought. Finally, he said to Newman, "I'm sure we're all grateful for your help, sir. But I don't understand why you wish to help us."

Newman stepped forward. "My men and I deserted the Enclave after we were informed of President Eden's attempt to contact this Vault. Our orders were to use deadly force if you did not comply. We were openly against the decision. When our objections were ignored, we agreed to disregard our orders in the same fashion. My men were captured en route to here."

Edwin nodded in understanding. "So you simply wish for your men to be rescued and brought into our community?"

"Well, that's all I ask of you, but I have other plans as well," Newman admitted. "I consider myself a patriot, which is why I joined the Enclave in the first place. And I believe that the Enclave can indeed make this country great again. However, under Eden's leadership, the Enclave only serves its own interests. It sees the people of the Wasteland as mutants who need to be eradicated for America to be reborn. That is a mentality I can no longer support.

"When this is all over, I intend to assume leadership of the Enclave and put its technology to helping the people of the Wasteland and building this country the right way."

I was hesitant to believe him. If he was telling the truth, then the Enclave was more powerful than any of us could imagine. Having the Enclave as an ally would indeed be beneficial for the Vault, and for the Wasteland if this deserter did take power. However, could we win a war against the Enclave? If they had such technology, then N99's and the small collection of arms we'd scavenged wouldn't be enough to defend ourselves. Surely William Newman was aware of that?

Just as I began to doubt him, Newman erased them. "In my possession are the reports of areas controlled by Talon Company and Enclave patrol routes. If we were to…have them meet, then we could turn one group against the other."

Of course! I felt almost foolish for not seeing it. Let the mercs and the Enclave fight each other, drawing their attention away. It was really that simple.

"A solid plan," Gomez admitted. "But how exactly do we get Talon Company and the Enclave to attack each other?"

"We don't," William told him. Gomez looked bemused, and Kendall looked like he had no intention of supporting this plan. "What we need are sets of Enclave power armor and Talon combat armor, as well as weapons from both sides. My men can operate the Enclave equipment in an assault against Talon Company, and we can send a few men from the Vault, or a few hired mercs, to pose as Talon soldiers and fire on the Enclave. Both groups will accuse the other, and soon they'll go at it for real. The Enclave will cripple or destroy Talon Company altogether, but at a price. Coupled with their war against the Brotherhood of Steel, they'll be fractured. That's where I'll come in."

"Wait," Kendall spoke up, frowning. "You're going to send half the Enclave to their deaths and then take over the rest? I don't think they'll just follow you if they know you drove them to that point."

"Don't worry, the Enclave remnants won't know that I had any involvement," Newman assured him. Kendall looked doubtful, but didn't press the issue. "And besides, when Eden sees that he's failed, he'll step down without opposition. He may be ruthless, but he's not stupid. Without a leader, the Enclave will turn to anyone who offers aid."

I glanced at Ryan, who had listened silently. He was clearly deep in thought, his eyes not really looking at anyone or anything. Finally, he seemed to be nodding to himself.

"You've clearly put a lot of thought into this," he told Newman. "Council, all those in favor of accepting Newman's terms, raise your hand."

Ryan raised his hand, along with myself, Edwin Brotch, and Gomez. Only Kendall seemed opposed to the plan.

"Clear majority," Ryan pointed out. "The decision is set. Edwin, make sure Mr Newman is issue an apartment and Vault suit. Does anyone else wish to raise an issue?"

The room was silent, so Ryan finished by saying, "Very well. Council adjourned."

The Council members left, Edwin followed by William. I was the last one to leave. When I expected to hear Ryan leaving for his room or office, and heard nothing, I turned around. Ryan hadn't moved from his seat. He simply stared at the wall blankly, his hand scratching at his chin. He always did that when he was thinking.

"You okay?" I asked, not just to be polite.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied. "Amata, can you keep this a secret?"

"Of course. We're friends."

Ryan paused and bit his lip. "I've decided that, unless something changes in the next few years, that I won't run for re-election."

I was so surprised by the news that I couldn't even respond. Ryan had just dropped a bomb that blew away everything else on my mind, completely out of nowhere.

"Why?" I said, composing myself quickly. "You've seemed on top of things since the start."

"It's not that," he said, standing up and pacing the room. "The weird thing is, every time I go out there, into the wastes, it's like something's… calling to me. Like there something out there that I have to do.

"I noticed it when we went to that old Vault, and ever since I started going out into Megaton, I can't shake the feeling."

He sighed. "I guess I just don't want to live and die without knowing what's in the rest the world."

I shuffled slightly while working on a response. "Neither do I. Especially not alone."

He looked back at me. "You wouldn't be alone. I wouldn't abandon you out there."

"Why?"

"Because..." he stopped, as if struggling to find the words. "Because I know I wouldn't be able to live without you."

My heart began beating quickly. I tried to hide my anxiety.

"Amata, there was a time, not long after the G.O.A.T, that...that I was in a bad way."

He gulped and took a breath before continuing. "It was like there was this dark presence inside of me. This feeling of dread at just getting up in the morning. I didn't feel motivated to do anything and... one night I didn't think I could go through it anymore."

He looked close to tears now. "Amata, I almost killed myself."

Hearing that was like having the breath beaten out of me. Never, in the past three years since the G.O.A.T, had I caught even a glimpse. Had I simply been blind? Had I been ignorant of how he was feeling? I felt horrible.

"Ryan, I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't know."

"I understand," he said. "I did my best to hide it. I didn't want to force my troubles on everyone else. One night, I'd smuggled some Med-X out of the storeroom and I was about to start injecting it all when...when I thought of you.

"The thought of not seeing you again was more unbearable than living down here forever. I wanted to live and be a part of your life more than I wanted to die and turn away from everything. And after that, I felt...better, when I was around you. The thought of living down here became bearable, just as long as you'd be with me."

I listened silently, with no idea on how to respond. Was this his way of confessing some hidden feelings for me? Or just an explanation of everything he'd done for me? I couldn't read his expression; Ryan was good at only showing his feelings when he wanted to.

"Ryan..." I said, barely louder than a whisper. Without a second thought, I moved around the table to him and pulled him into a hug.

In that moment, I forgot about all the troubles that past two months had brought on. Instead, all I felt was a sense of safety. A sense of peace.

Ryan and William Newman left at noon the next day, making their way into the D.C ruins to contact the Brotherhood of Steel with the plan of bringing them into the fold. I assumed the position of Acting Overseer and, for lack of a better candidate, brought on Jonas to maintain a five-person Council. Ryan would only be gone for two-three days, but he stressed to me the protocols he'd decided on.

I spent the time looking through years worth of files, not really searching for anything. There weren't many documents that went back more than ten years. So when I pulled out a written Overseer's log entry from 2258, it was with a nagging curiosity. I read over it.

September 17th, 2258

Overseer Taylor has died on a scouting run, and the Vault has been left without a leader. I wasn't technically elected, but the others have realized that there is no one else that can govern the Vault.

Given the nature of Taylor's demise, I've decided that my first choice as Overseer will be to seal the Vault door permanently. Not only is it my duty to the Vault, but it is my duty to my wife and daughter to ensure that the dangers of the Wasteland do not enter our home.

It is the sad truth that the world above in beyond saving. Nothing but radiation and suffering lies above, and it is best that the Vault remain sealed, so that it's inhabitants will remain safe from the filth that has covered the world.

There were two more entries above it. One was dated about a year later.

Some wastelander stumbled into the Vault entrance tunnel today with a baby boy in his arms. Good God, not even Amata cries as loud as this one does. He said his name was James Moore, and that he's looking for shelter. Normally, I would refuse such a request. But this 'James Moore' has medical experience, and given that our last doctor took his own life and nobody's slated for the medical track, I made an exception. Not to mention that I just couldn't leave a child out there. He's only a year old. What kind of monster would leave a baby out there?

The adults have all agreed to keep this a secret. Hopefully, nobody will ever know that a wastelander lived in Vault 101. And hopefully the child never has kids of his own. Last thing I want is his tainted genes getting mixed in with the rest of us. And I'm going to have to keep him away from Amata. She deserves better than to be exposed to some Wasteland trash.

Despite how old the entry was, I still felt a cold spike of anger. While my father had never referred to Ryan as 'wasteland trash', he had still always looked at Ryan just as that; 'trash'. Like some kind of parasite that you couldn't kill. He'd kept it somewhat hidden when we were young, but once we transitioned into teenagers, he made it perfectly clear whenever he could how much he despised Ryan. I couldn't help but be amaze at his recent change of heart.

The last entry jumped forward another year.

I can't believe it. My wife, the woman I've loved for twenty years, has died. It was so sudden. The ceiling panel just dropped out of nowhere and knocked her out cold. We got her to the clinic as soon as we could, but it wasn't enough.

I stopped reading, a lump forming in my throat. The sentences were a scrawling mess that barely resembled my fathers' handwriting. The tone went from sorrow to anger.

James insisted he did all he could, but he's a liar. A filthy little liar, and his brat son will be no different. I wish I had never let that bastard into the Vault. I'd kick him and that little monster of his out now if Amata hadn't taken a liking to the little brat. Goddamit, this was a mistake! An absolute mistake. I hope to God James Moore and that little shit Ryan both burn in hell. And James can take his sympathy and shove it. I don't care about his dead wife, or his fucking son for that matter. I'm going to make him and his brat pay for this.

The entry ended there. The words had long since gone out of their lines, going almost diagonally across the page. I sat there, unable to believe that my father had written such a thing. To threaten to kill someone was one thing, but a two-year-old child? I couldn't imagine my father doing that, not even at his worst.

I folded the paper carefully and stowed it in my pocket. I didn't want to ruin my relationship with my father, not after it had recovered so well. I turned to the only person I could at that moment; James Moore.

"Hello Amata," James said, smiling. "What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to ask you about something," I said. James turned away from his terminal to look at me.

"Of course. What is it?"

I handed him the hateful entry. "This was dated the day my mother died."

James' expression turned solemn almost immediately, and I suddenly became away of just how old he was. Surely he was over fifty by now.

"Oh, I remember this," he said quietly, reading the entire rant. When he got to the last paragraph, his expression briefly turned into a scowl.

"I don't mean to bring up old wounds," I said quickly. "But I don't want my father to think I'm trying to hold his old ways against him, and Ryan's away…"

"I understand," he said, handing the page back. "Well, your mother… she had an accident. A ceiling panel came loose and fell on her. It was an unbelievable stroke of misfortune. The guards carried her in, but the head trauma was just… too severe.

"Amata, please try to understand that I did everything I could. And when Sandra didn't wake up, it devastated me. I'd been through the same situation once when Ryan was born. Catherine had problems from the pregnancy, and I couldn't save her. So when I once again failed to save someone, and robbed another child of her mother, I didn't think I'd forgive myself."

"Did…did my father make it clear how he felt?" I asked. James almost smiled.

"Oh, he certainly did," he recalled. "He ranted at me for hours when I gave him the news, and he wouldn't let me or Ryan anywhere near you for weeks. It doesn't surprise me that your father felt the way he did. Losing someone so close to you… sometimes you just have to let it all out."

I was silent, unsure of what to say. I sat down in the chair by his desk, where I'd sat so many times during medical exams, while my dad had watched like a hawk.

"I think that's why he was always here during your examinations," James said, as if reading my thoughts. "After so many years, he still didn't trust me. I know it was just as frustrating for me as it was for you.

"I just want you to know that I don't hold any of it against your father. I've seen men driven to far worse things, and for him to make such a recovery is not an easy thing to do."

As I sat there listening, I realized just how little I actually knew about James, despite knowing him my entire life. I knew he'd worked on some kind of project before coming here, but other than that, his life was a mystery.

"James, can I ask you where you came from?" I asked, rather hesitantly.

"Originally? Well, my parents always told me that our ancestors were from California," James recalled. "When the bombs fell, my family apparently went into Vault 13. 84 years later, the Vault's water chip failed, and one dweller went out to find a new one.

"My grandparents told me stories of the one who left the Vault. When he came back, the Vault turned him down, exiling him. He founded a small village, which apparently grew into a large city, not that I was there to see any of it.

"By the time I was born, we were living in the Mojave Wasteland, not far from Las Vegas, which for some reason hadn't been hit."

"You mean there was an entire city left untouched?" I said in disbelief.

"Not a whole city," James shook his head. "But most of Vegas survived. Regardless, we relocated to the Capital Wasteland, where I met Catherine and the rest of the team. But once she died, I had to find a way to keep Ryan safe, so I brought him here."

He reached under his desk, and dragged out a footlocker that I'd never seen before. I stepped around the desk to see the contents.

"This is one of the few things I have left from the west coast," he told me. "Saved my hide more than a few times."

He lifted the lid of the locker to reveal… a Vault suit. But not any Vault suit; the color had only slightly faded with age, a metal brace covered the left shoulder, and on the back was a large yellow 13 instead of a 101. It looked ancient.

"How old is this thing?" I asked him, examining the Vault suit. It closely resembled the armored jumpsuit Ryan had got from Moira.

"Over a century," James replied. "Allegedly, it belonged to the Vault Dweller, an old legend on the west coast. The old stories make him sound just like Ryan. Compassionate, rational, brave, intelligent. I'd planned to give this to him, in case he ever did have to venture into the Wasteland."

He looked troubled, like there was something on his mind that he couldn't say.

"I still want to give this to him, when the time is right."

"You should," I told him. "It's the closest thing to an heirloom you guys have."

A beeping sound emitting from my Pip-Boy, which I recognized as the signal for the private radio channel reserved for Council members.

"All Council members report to Vault 101 main entrance immediately," said the robotic voice through the built in speaker.

I excused myself, then half-jogged up to the closed Vault door, where the rest of the Council was waiting along with two security guards.

"Situation?" I asked Gomez.

"We've got a group of ten people settled outside the Vault door," Gomez reported, bringing up his Pip-Boy, from which a cable ran to the doors' control panel. "They seem to have entered the cave for shelter and found the Vault by accident. We're monitoring them now."

The display showed a group of people idling in the cave outside. A few, such as the thin woman in ragged clothes and the two sleeping children she held onto with each hand, were sitting. Others, such as the middle-aged man with long greying hair, a beard, and a dirty military-looking jumpsuit were standing.

"Waste of time, standing here," he said decisively. "If there was anyone decent in there, they'd have opened that door a long time ago." His voice was raspy, and he finished the sentence with a cough.

"You serious?" asked the young man standing next to him. "This place could be a goldmine! If we can just get this door open-"

"Don't bother," said another, a slightly older man with dark brown hair (almost black) and thick-rimmed glasses. "Those Vault doors are sealed with a password. And no, you can't hack the control panel. Vault-Tec built this place to be a fortress."

He stood up from the hard rock floor and pushed his glasses up his nose to avoid them from slipping. "Lincoln's right, Michael. That door's not opening, so we may as well leave and look for help in Megaton."

"Chief Gomez," I said. "You and your officers stay here and have your guns ready. Everyone else, wait in the Operations room. If you hear shooting, lock the atrium door remotely. There's a control for the door on my desk."

I left Gomez, who drew his N99 along with the two officers, and went to the control panel and pulled down the lever that controlled the door.

The alarm blared and the emergency lights flash yellow. The machine lowered itself and pulled the door back with a horrible grinding noise. It slid to the side to reveal the squatters, who stood back cautiously.

Only the opportunist young man had a gun drawn. It was a hunting rifle, slightly weathered-looking, but well-maintained as I later learned.

"Put the gun down," I said, holding my hands up to show I was unarmed. "There's no need for violence."

"This Vault," the man with the glasses stepped forward. "It's operational?"

"Yes," I said. "We've got about 200 people living in here."

The young man stepped onto the threshold, stopped just before entering the Vault. "You're the Overseer, are you? Listen, we've been travelling for weeks, and my brother and sister, they're starving, ma'am. Even if you can't take us in, can you please just spare some food or medicine? We won't make it out there."

"I'm not technically the Overseer," I replied without hesitation. "I'm just holding the position until he gets back. But I can give your group temporary shelter, food, and medical treatment until the Overseer returns to make the final judgement."

"Oh God, thank you!" the boy said. "My name is Michael. I can't thank you enough for this!"

The group filed in. The older man, Lincoln, eyed me and the security guards distrustfully before moving on. The guards escorted the group to the atrium, leaving me alone with Gomez.

"You know, it may be better not to get their hopes up," he said to my back. "What if Ryan doesn't let them stay?"

"He'll let them stay," I assured him. "He's a decent person."

The Citadel wouldn't have stood out against the rest of D.C without the giant crane set atop it to control the large front door. Like all the other ruined buildings, it had turned a dark, depressing grey. However, the Brotherhood of Steel flag, sentry bots, and power armour-clad guards made it clear to anyone who took a good look that this facility was up and running.

Only one of the guards out front had his face exposed. The rest wore helmets. He eyed me distrustfully as William and I approached, accompanied by two Vault security guards.

"Can I help you, civilian?" he said as we stepped onto the concrete floor in front of the enormous metal door that put our own Vault entrance to shame.

"I'm Ryan Moore, Overseer of Vault 101," I said. "We need to see whoever's in charge immediately."

The guard rolled his eyes. "Only authorized personnel can enter the Citadel, let alone speak with Elder Lyons. Now, move along."

"It concerns the Enclave," William spoke up. "Now, can we come in? Or is the Brotherhood going to miss out on a opportunity to clean up the two biggest blights on the Capital Wasteland?"

The guard scowled, but not without mixing it in with a doubtful look. "I'll have to clear it," he said, turning to the intercom speaker on the wall. He pressed the button below it, and the speaker let off faint static.

"Elder Lyons, we have four men outside claiming to be from Vault 101. They say they have information concerning the Enclave."

When the guard finished, all I could hear was static and indistinct voices. Finally, a voice said, "Let them in, Paladin Bael."

The great door of the Citadel rose up, lifted by the giant crane set atop the building. It made a grinding noise just like the Vault door, but I suspected that to be from age and poor maintenance than simple design.

The door had sat at what had once been the corner of the Pentagon, which had long since been obliterated and replaced by empty air. Bordering the space were the crumbling remains of hallways and offices, and directly in front of me was a tiny covered area with a set of double doors.

"Elder Lyons will see you now," Paladin Bael grumbled. "But mark my words; one bit of attitude, and you're out of here."

On reflection, I'm not sure what I expected of the Citadel. On one hand, I was expecting something in much less of a ruin than everything else. On the other hand, this was a nuclear wasteland, so I guess it wasn't really fair of me to expect something grand.

One thing I'm certain of is this; by pre-war standards, the Citadel/Pentagon was an unsalvageable ruin. But by Wasteland standards, it was a palace. Sure, most of the building had probably been bombed to the point of being beyond repair, but it was a military installation, so that wasn't exactly surprising.

The Citadel's courtyard was the center of activity. Between the paths branching off in five directions, a hand-to-hand fighting ring and several shooting ranges were set up. Bullets and laser fire left marks in the practice dummies, fired by recruits clad in metal and fabric armor, which was significantly less bulky than the standard power armor.

All in all, it wouldn't hold up to pre-war standards. Not by a long shot. But it was impressive.

A man was approaching, accompanied by a young woman in power armor, minus the helmet. The man was elderly, with a long beard somewhere in-between grey and white and a bald held. The woman was maybe around 30 at the oldest, with blonde hair that was tied back. Perhaps she looked older than she really was. Battle-weariness does that to you.

"I am Elder Owen Lyons," the man said, extending his hand. For someone of his age, he had quite a firm grip. "This is my daughter Sarah."

I gave a small polite nod. "I'm Ryan Moore, Vault 101's Overseer. These are Officers Richards and Wilkins, and this is William Newman."

"Good to meet the four of you," Elder Lyons said. "I'm glad to hear that the Vault has finally opened. We were beginning to wonder if there was anyone left in there."

"It's a complicated story," I replied.

"A story we'll have to hear later," said Lyons. "Follow us, please.

I heard the door outside my office open with a hiss. I remained at my desk until the speaker above the office door beeped.

"Come in," I called out. The door opened with a louder hiss. I glanced up from my notes, and was surprised to see Butch standing in the doorway, his usual cocky smirk nowhere to be found.

"Butch?"

"Hey, Amata," Butch said quietly. He sounded like the life had been sucked out of him. "Is this a bad time?"

"No, its fine," I said. And at that moment, it was fine. "What is it?"

It was when Butch sat/dropped into the seat opposite me that I noticed he was shaking. "It's Wally."

For a second, I didn't know who he was talking about. In the sudden events of the past month and a half, the Mack family had completely dropped out of my mind, and probably Ryan's too.

"What's wrong?" I asked Butch, my tone turning just as grim.

Of course, I could guess what was wrong. Wally Mack had gone from being the biggest loudmouth in the Vault to disappearing completely. I couldn't even recall the last time I saw him.

"Wally and his dad. They've locked themselves in their apartment," Butch told me. "They've kicked Susie out, and she's staying with the Kendalls."

"What about Gloria?" I asked. "And how long has his been going on?"

"Gloria's still in there," Butch said. "That asshole Allen has her working her ass off and bringing food back to them. Lazy fuckers."

"Is Allen…" I began to say, wondering if I should put it so bluntly.

"A wife-beater?" Butch finished for me. "Probably. There's a reason Steve Mack was such a sadistic son of a bitch. When it comes to Susie, he just shouts at her a lot. Wally and Gloria get the worst of it."

"Where's Gloria now?"

"On her way back to the Mack apartment. Mr Brotch is stalling. You following?"

I was a bit irritated of Butch and Edwin (as a Council member, it didn't fit to call him 'Mr Brotch') setting this up without my knowledge, let alone my O.K, but I followed Butch nonetheless. The Mack family apartment was on the upper level of the Vault, given that Allen Mack had been a trusted advisor to my father. Around the corner from the apartment door, Edwin was trying to slow down Gloria, who was trying to push past him while carrying a container of leftovers from dinner.

"Gloria, just stop and talk to me for a minute," Edwin was saying, walking backwards to stay in front and facing Gloria.

"I can't, Edwin!" Gloria insisted. "Allen's been getting drunk all day. He'll lose it if I'm late."

"We can handle Allen," Edwin reasoned. "I can get a few security guards and-"

"I don't want security here! Edwin, please just move!"

"Gloria, listen to him," I said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Mack can't take on security, we can put him in the cell and make sure you and your kids are safe."

That was only partially true. The cell was still full with the Talon Company merc and the Raiders, so the most we could do was lock Allen in an apartment of his own. The thought of giving him an apartment of his own made me feel sick, but what could we do.

"EDWIN!" came a roaring voice. "GET YOUR ASS AWAY FROM MY WIFE!"

Oh shit.

Allen Mack had obviously heard the commotion and was storming around the corner, looking livid.

"Allen! Stop!" I ordered. Clearly Allen wasn't going to listen to a 19-year-old, and he stormed past Edwin and grabbed Gloria by the arm.

"You're coming with me. NOW!"

"No Allen, she's not," I said firmly, grabbing her other arm. "Butch, call security over here now."

"Butch!" Allen spat. "What the fuck are you doing with this bitch? Does my son's friendship with you mean nothing to you?!"

There was the sound of feet running on metal, and Butch came around the corner flanked by three security guards.

"Allen, don't make this worse," one of the guards cautioned. "Just drop this and walk."

I felt eyes on me, and looked past the group to see Wally Mack peering around the corner, a look of pure contempt on his face.

"If you're gonna arrest my father then you better arrest me too!" he shouted, stepping out from the corner. I gave him a wave to warn him to stay out of this. Wally gave me the finger in response.

"Wally, stay out of this!" Butch yelled back, stepping between him and the argument.

"Fuck you Butch!" spat Wally, stepped forward and shoving Butch in the chest.

"Wally, we're supposed to be friends!"

"Oh, like how you're friends with Ryan now?" Wally countered. "That son of a bitch killed my brother!"

Butch scoffed and shook his head. "Your brother killed Paul, Wally! And you and Allen didn't even have the decency to show up at his funeral! I'm not the one who threw away our friendship. You did that!"

"Bullshit! I cared about what the three of us had more than either of you!"

"If you did, you would have come to pay your respects, not hide up with like a nutless wonder!"

Wally threw himself at Butch, shoulder-tackling him to the ground. One of the Vault security officers rushed past me to break them up, when there was a scuffling just behind me. I felt someone collide with me and went face-first into the wall.

I got up, massaging the sore left side of my face, and turned around. Allen Mack and taken a swing at Edwin, who was lying on the ground in a semiconscious state, groaning. Gloria had stepped back, looking scared out of her mind. The food container dropped and it's contents -Salsbury Steak and InstaMash- spiling onto the floor.

Mack was pinned against the wall by the other two security guards while the other tried to force himself between Wally and Butch, who were screaming obscenities at each other. I stepped around Edwin, who didn't look hurt (but I wasn't a doctor, so I couldn't tell for sure), and knelt down to look at Gloria, who was watching the fight with teary eyes.

"Gloria, I want you to go and stay with your daughter and the Kendalls," I said. "Can you do that?"

She glanced between me and her snarling husband, and gave a small nod before pulling herself off the floor and running off. I checked on Edwin, who's cheek was swollen, but was otherwise unhurt.

I stepped up to the intercom, hit the button, and said, "We need two Vault security officers at the Mack residence now!"

I felt something collide with me, and slammed into the wall for a second time. This time, my forehead connected with the intercom speaker, and I fell onto my back. I'd have a nasty bruise, but I was okay. I rolled onto my side and propped myself up by my forearm.

Allen had kicked one of the padded guards right into me and then shoved the second guard away with only one hand. With his sleeves rolled up, I could see the veins, dark and blue, throbbing on his arms. My mind briefly went back to what Ryan had taught me a few years ago; throbbing veins and a short temper were the most common signs of Med-X dependency.

Mack gave a snarl, spittle flying from his mouth. He shook violently, panting. He glowered at me for a brief moment, before stepping over the guard that had knocked me down and pulling his N99 and ammo.

"Send anyone after me, and they die," he growled. "Wally, get over here!"

Wally had stolen the remaining guards' baton, and knocked him out by a blow to the head. Butch had taken a whack to the stomach and gone down groaning. Wally stepped over the litter of bodies to join his enraged father, and took one long contempt-filled look at me. He spat in my face as the two of them left the hallway. As I wiped the saliva away from my eyes, I heard yelling not far down the hall.

"Get out of the way or I'll shoot you!" I heard Allen Mack shout. There was a scream, and I pulled myself up and rushed down the hall.

Allen Mack had taken Beatrice Armstrong (his sister-in-law) hostage, and was holding the pistol to the side of her head. In front of them were two guards, one of whom was Security Chief Gomez. Both men had their guns trained on Mack.

"Let her go, Mack!" Gomez ordered, his head tilted slightly to aim down the sights of his N99.

"Out of the way Gomez! Or she dies!"

"Gomez, stand down!" I ordered, coming to a stop a (somewhat) safe distance from the Macks. "Mack, let her go!"

"I'll let her go," snapped Allen. "But you're gonna kick those Wasteland assholes out of the Vault, and then you'll seal the Vault door permanently!"

"Not happening Mack!" I replied, crossing my arms over my chest. "Ryan's still out there, and we can't keep this place running without outside trading."

"Hope it's worth a life then," Mack said bluntly, his finger resting on the trigger.

"Officers, if Beatrice dies, fire on both of them!" I ordered.

Mack's breathing became heavier, and his head swiveled from me to Beatrice to the guards. Wally just glanced around uncertainly.

"Allen, I'm giving you one last chance," I said. "Put the gun down and let Beatrice go and we can still go back from this. But I won't stand for you taking residents hostage. If you don't stand down now, I can't let you stay here."

Both Macks looked like I'd just insulted them, but I thought my offer was generous. While my father had been in power, murder of any other Vault resident had been punishable by death. Ryan had abolished the policy, and replaced it with a choice of jail time or six months exile from the Vault. Allen had fired on my father on the day of the fighting, and had been confined to solitary in an unused apartment.

"Allen, this is your last warning; Put. The Gun. Down."

Allen's expression was tight-lipped, and he'd gone ghostly white. His breathing slowed, and his grip on a trembling Beatrice slackened. She ducked under his arm and fell to her knees in front of me. I helped her to her feet and pushed her behind me.

"Now lower the gun."

Allen lowered himself slowly into a crouching position, his arm outstretched, his finger off the trigger.

In an instant, he'd swung around, and fired a single shot at the two officers. The bullet went wild, missing both of them. Gomez jumped forward and tackled Allen to the ground, both guns skidding my way. Wally leaped onto Gomez and forced him against the wall, beating him over the head with the baton.

I bent down and picked up one of the pistols and aimed it at Wally.

"Stop! Get off of him!"

Wally's attack ceased and he looked at me, panting. Gomez was on the ground, groaning and cradling the arm that he'd used to block the attack.

Wally's mouth curled and his faced contorted into one of rage. He raised his baton over his head, ready to deliver another blow.

Maybe my finger twitched and pulled the trigger by accident, or maybe it was just instinct. Either way, the only shot I fired that day went straight through Wally Mack's head, blood and brains splattering onto the wall behind him. Beatrice gave a distressed yelp as her nephew fell backwards, the baton falling from his hand.

I was shaking all over as I lowered my gun and let it drop to the floor. I swayed on the spot, and leaned against the wall for support. Beatrice came up to me and put her arm around me to steady me.

"A-Amata," she said weakly. "C-Come with m-me."

We stepped around Wally's body as the two security guards restrained a frenzied Allen Mack while Butch ran to help Gomez to the clinic. When we reached the top of the stairs, I lost my footing and almost tumbled the way down. At the bottom, I bent over and allowed myself to vomit on the floor, the bile splattering all over my boots. I retched until there was nothing left to throw up.