Virgil

At ten, there will be a shift change. The lights will go out, then the emergency lights will come on. This disables the restraining pods, so you can rescue your wife. We don't know how long we can disable the lights, so get to your wife first.

The ghoul may be trickier – he's in physical restraints. Figure those out as quick as you can.

Your weapons and supplies will be in a trunk in an alcove near the cells. Get to them as soon as you can. You'll likely need them.

An operative will light up the blue beacons along the path to the door. When you reach the door, press the button on the intercom and identify yourself, and our operative will unlock the door for you.

Don't fail. If one of you falls, keep going. When you get outside, run and don't look back. People have put their lives on the line for you tonight. Don't let them risk everything for nothing.

Charon

With a scalpel, a man in a white lab coat makes three incisions on my arm, of varying depth. This guy's better than the last one, I think. This one uses anesthesia. If I didn't know any better, I'd think that he was treating me like a person.

Before the doctor leaves, he meets my eyes. A fleeting glance, but one filled with remorse. An apology with no words. I suppose there's compassion in the Enclave after all.

After he leaves, a man in a radiation suit sets a small, glowing container on the nearby table. Carefully, he removes the top, sticks in a long-handled cotton swab, and removes a small portion. I can see him talking inside his suit; probably recording this research for later review. He slathers it on the smallest wound, and waits for it to close up. He repeats the process with the other two, talking into his suit the whole time. He carefully handles the radioactive material, screwing the lid down on top of the container, and placing the swab in a container on his belt.

When he turns to leave, I snarl at him, and he jumps. Serves him right for treating me like a specimen in a jar.

I suppose he's only following orders, though. It'd probably be just a bit hypocritical of me to judge him for that. Then again – I'm incapable of disobeying an order. That one has a choice.

I pull against my restraints. They're little more than chains attached to heavy-duty recessed hooks in the wall – I can tell from the hastily installed bed that this room was originally designed to hold an animal, not a man.

They must think that I'm little more than an animal – after all, that's what they called us out in the wasteland, years ago. Unclean. Abomination. Mutation. Freak. I can't argue much with them on that score – but it's insulting for them to treat me as if I can't think; as if I'm little more than a mindless zombie. All the tests have been physical – they have little interest in what I think, or even if I can think to begin with.

The big man – Virgil's father – isn't stupid, though. He knows I think, he knows that I'm more than an animal. I know that he wants to take me apart; see what makes me tick. So he can have his scientists make more people like me, no doubt.

Let's hope that never happens. I shudder at the thought.

I hope they're treating Wendy better, although I know enough about the Enclave to know that they probably don't consider her much more human than I am. Generations of consistent radiation exposure, on the outside. To them, if you didn't come from a bunker or a vault, you're not worthy of life, not "pure."

We better get out of here soon, because it's only a matter of time before they start to make bigger slices, or start taking chunks outta me.

Wendy

I heard him yelling down the hall earlier. They're hurting him, and I can't do anything to help him. Dimly, I wonder why Virgil doesn't do anything to help us. I guess even if he's Enclave "royalty," he can't get away with everything.

I don't know whether it's night or day. I don't know how long we've been here, or for what purpose they're keeping us. Well, I know that there's little they can find out from me – I'm just like every irradiated, mutated Tom, Dick, and Harry in the wasteland. Charon, however…he could probably provide a wealth of information about ghoul physiology, and he might have some military value, too. Could you imagine that? An army of Charons, all following orders without question, with no thought whatsoever to their own safety…

For everyone's sake, I hope that doesn't happen.

Virgil

It's almost time.

I'm nervous, scared of what might happen. I could lose one or both of them in this attempt. I could die myself. Is this really worth it?

It has to be. I can only imagine what the scientists are doing to Dad, or what they have planned for him. It can't be anything pleasant, and it will no doubt be excruciatingly painful. I ask myself, what would Mom do?

Mom would probably slit throats and bust heads until she found him. Or she would die trying. I catch myself wondering if she was a little crazy, or if I'm way too cautious. I pick up the photo of her – the vault photo – and look at it again. Her sly smile and devious eyes stare back at me, across the years. I realize that I have no photo of Dad – he, understandably, didn't care for having his picture taken. "I wanna live the moment, not take a damn picture of it," he'd say. But I also thought that, from time to time, he was ashamed of the way he looked.

Surely, she had a photo of him somewhere. When we go back home, I'll have to dig around and see if I can find one.

I remember the time when Mom watched as he set sarsaparilla bottles up on a fence for target practice. He barked orders at me, arms crossed, and Mom stalked up to him, squeezed his arm, and scowled at him. "He's not a soldier, Charon, he's a seven-year-old boy!"

He shook her off his arm, irritated. "He's gotta learn somehow. Goin' easy on him ain't gonna do him any good."

"But –" she starts.

He snaps at her, "Stop motherin' 'im."

She paused thoughtfully, then nodded and returned to her spot and resumed watching, cigarette hanging out of the corner of her mouth. I think that's how I'll choose to remember her – a mass of dark hair, graying at the temples, crow's feet at the corners of her dancing blue eyes. She's smiling her half-smile, the ubiquitous cigarette in the corner of her mouth. Dad coming behind her, hugging her tightly, face buried in her dark, wild mane. He hugged her as if she'd fly away if he didn't hang on tight enough. They loved each other so much.

"Virgil, what are you doing?"

I didn't even hear the door open. Emily is standing there, staring at me strangely. "Oh, just thinking. About growing up. About Mom and Dad." She peeks at the photo I'm holding in my hand.

"Is that her?"

"Yeah – it was taken when she was about my age. She grew up in a vault." But, of course, you already know that. I set the photo back down on the desk. I'll have to make sure to grab it when the lights go out.

I glance at the clock – fifty after nine. I gotta get her outta here before everything starts. She won't be happy when I try to leave, and there's no doubt in my mind that she'll try to stop me. I was promised to her, she said – and she's been trying to win me over ever since I got here. Shy smiles, brushing her hand against mine, holding my hand, a chaste peck on my cheek last night after she said good night. She's done everything she can to present herself as the sweet, shy, girl-next-door, but I know who she really is: assertive, confident, and cruel.

I rub my face and try my best to fake a yawn. "I think I'll hit the sack a little early tonight, Emily."

"Are you sure? We can go down to the rec room and watch a movie, have some popcorn." She smiles sweetly. Yeah, you'd really like that, wouldn't you? The better to put the moves on me.

"Sorry. I'm pretty tired. I wouldn't be that much fun."

"All right then – suit yourself. If you change your mind, you know where my room is."

"Good night, Emily."

She pecks me on the cheek and smiles. "Good night, Virgil."