The reality of the situation started to dawn on Jim as he joined the Mister Handy in a separate elevator car from everyone else. Under the Handy's advice, they would all be heading down to the "residential decks" as it called them. There, they would be greeted by the Vault's other robotic staff, which apparently included a trio of Miss Nanny bots and another small handful of Handy units with different roles. Jim supposed he'd have to learn more about them later though, as the Vault-Tec Handy had been extremely insistent on taking him elsewhere before he could join the others. Jim hadn't been fully paying attention when the robot had explained where, but he was a bit too dizzy from the whirlwind of sudden events to argue.
The elevator ride was silent, even though it lasted for a good minute. Then the doors rolled open with a loud clang, the harsh sound breaking Jim from his daze. The Mister Handy hovered out without hesitation and Jim followed quietly, shivering slightly and eying the room around him. It appeared to be some kind of office. Like the previous floor, it was chilly. In both temperature and atmosphere. The steel walls and floor felt so very cold, especially being bathed in a pale fluorescent light. There was at least wooden paneling built into the metal walls, in some feeble attempt to add a sense of warmth to the decor. But it failed quite exceptionally, Jim felt.
At the center of the room was the sole actual furniture, a large round desk bolted into the floor. Facing it from the front, it almost appeared to be a full circle, but there was in fact an opening at the back. This was where the wheeled leather chair sat. Built into the wall directly behind the desk was a massive terminal. It spanned up to the ceiling with various monitors, all glowing with light but depicting nothing. To the right of this desk, from where he stood by the elevator, was a wall-bound panel full of blinking colored lights. And to the left, a large circular window.
"This shall be your office, sir," the Mister Handy explained, "I do hope it is up to your expectations?"
"I didn't exactly have any expectations," Jim uttered quietly as he approached the window.
It overlooked some sort of central hall, with various corridors and doors to other galleries. It seemed to encompass two stories, if the raised walkways and stairways were anything to go by. But he was more interested in watching the crowd that had amassed at the center of the room's lower floor. They were interacting with a group of Mister Handy and Miss Nanny bots there, though he could make out nothing of the actual conversation.
"Ah, that window overlooks the main atrium," the Handy behind him pointed out, "Well spotted, sir!"
"I wonder what they're talking about down there," Jim asked aloud, though it was mostly directed at himself.
"Perhaps you could uncover such by means of the security system?" the Handy offered as it moved to hover by the terminal, "Just as soon as you are officially registered as the Vault's new Overseer, of course."
"Right…" Jim nodded, watching the crowd for a moment longer before moving over to the terminal, "What should I do?"
"In my foremost task of determining an Overseer, I took the liberty of adjusting your privilege status within the residential database. No need to thank me, sir," the Handy babbled on, "Although, I did find a most troubling discovery. It would seem, sir, that you have not had your biometric data properly documented."
"Is that unusual?" Jim asked as he seated himself in the desk's leather chair.
"Quite, sir!" the Handy answered, "You see, it is common for a biometric sample to be taken upon Vault entry."
"Well, I admit that my entry was a bit…" Jim tapped his fingers on the armrests, "Um... rushed?"
"Fair enough, sir," the Mister Handy's three robotic eyes whirred, "However, I cannot permit you full access to the Overseer's terminal until your biometrics have been matched."
"Alright," Jim nodded thoughtfully, "Then how do we do that?"
"A man of action, I see! Fortunately, the process is quite simple," the Handy chuckled, "At this point, you need only equip your Pip-Boy."
"Hold on, a Pip-Boy?" He blinked.
"Personal Information Process—"
"Yes, I know what it means," Jim interrupted, "I only meant, well… I don't have one of those. They definitely didn't give me one of those at the door."
"Correct you are, sir!" the Handy responded cheerily, "You see, as Overseer, you will be responsible for assigning Pip-Boys to your fellow dwellers."
"But you said I can't actually be the Overseer until I have a Pip-Boy," Jim pointed out.
"Correct again!" the Handy hummed, "My, what a conundrum!"
Jim sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. This whole process was so weirdly convoluted. Why couldn't Vault-Tec have just taken care of all of this themselves? Isn't that what they were supposed to do? Why did it have to fall to him, anyway?
"So what am I supposed to do now?" Jim lowered his hands to look at the robot.
"Well, sir, I believe first equipping your jumpsuit would be appropriate."
"Alright then," Jim sighed and stood up.
He set the still-folded Vault suit on the desk and began to unbutton his blazer. But then he paused, glancing over towards the window.
"Ah, that's right. You humans enjoy the concept of 'privacy' don't you?" the Handy cleared its non-existent throat, "Perhaps you would find it preferable to dress in the restroom, then?"
"I think that would be preferable, yeah," Jim nodded.
After entering the office's private bathroom and shutting the door, Jim turned around and nearly had a heart attack. But it was just his own reflection in the mirror over the sink. He almost didn't recognize himself. And it wasn't just because he wasn't wearing his eyeglasses. No, the difference was stark, in subtle ways. As conflicting as that seemed.
His skin had a sort of warmth and rosiness that it hadn't shown in months. The quarantine from the New Plague didn't leave him a lot of opportunity to go outside, and he'd developed something like a sun-starved pallor. He'd also never noticed how really blue his eyes were. Blue like the sky on a cloudless summer day. Maybe he'd never noticed because of his glasses, he tried to reason. But he couldn't really convince himself, despite his best efforts.
His eyes flicked down to his arm, to the faint mark from where he'd been injected. Later, his father had said. He'd explain later. Except, now that would never happen. He would never know. Jim felt himself slump at the thought, catching himself onto the sides of the sink before he fell clean over. It was no time to feel sorry for himself, he knew. He didn't really know why it had to fall to him, but everyone in the Vault was apparently relying upon him now. He was an Overseer, he had to act like an Overseer.
Whatever that even meant.
Exhaling deeply, Jim removed his navy blue blazer and folded it neatly. It had been a bit brisk that morning. Late October often brought storms, so he supposed he was just pleased all of this hadn't occurred in the middle of a hurricane. His mind briefly wondered what a hurricane would even be like now that the atmosphere was radioactive, but quickly decided not to explore that horrifying train of thought. Better not to think about it.
The jumpsuit itself was surprisingly more comfortable than it looked, Jim found as he finished zipping it up. He was a bit less enthusiastic about the assigned undergarments, finding them rather abrasive, but it wasn't like he could do anything about it. What was he going to do? File a complaint to management? He was pretty sure he himself was considered the only 'management' at this point. For some lousy reason. Vault-Tec really could've planned out lots of things for the entirety of Vault 31 a bit better, in his opinion. But then again, what exactly did he expect? Nobody anticipated a Vault jumpsuit—or its affiliated underwear—would put comfort over function. Like all aspects of a Vault, the attire was sturdy and durable. Capable of lasting through an atomic bomb. Sheesh, Jim thought. What a way to advertise underpants that would be!
Stepping out of the bathroom, and away from his thoughts of scratchy underwear, Jim was immediately greeted outside of the door by the hovering Mister Handy.
"Ah, you look like a proper Vault dweller now, sir," the bot greeted cheerily, having no regard for Jim's personal space.
"Yeah, thanks… uh…" Jim frowned as he leaned away, "...Actually, I don't think you ever gave me your name, did you?"
"I didn't? Oh, dear! Where are my manners!" the Handy huffed before moving back, "You may call me Baker. Secretary Baker, if you'd like!"
"Baker?" Jim quirked a brow, "That's sort of an odd name for a robot."
"Perhaps, but it is a significant one," Baker hummed, "For you see, sir, I was named for the first mayor of Wildwood, New Jersey. Regardless of whether you refer to Latimer Baker or Jacob Thompson Baker!"
"Huh, well how about that," Jim hummed, "With a name so significant to Wildwood, it's almost like you were destined to be here."
"Oh, you are correct yet again, sir," Baker explained, "I was indeed programmed by Vault-Tec expressly for the purpose of my role here in Vault 31."
"That explains the paint job," Jim mumbled, glancing aside.
Going by the bot's words, it almost seemed like Vault-Tec had planned from the start not to include any staff to guide the dwellers. But that couldn't be right, could it? Surely not. Vault-Tec wouldn't intentionally make their lives more difficult… would they?
