BWAAAM… BWAAAM… BWAAAM…

I jolt outta bed and stuff myself into a jumpsuit.

I've never heard this alarm before, but it sounds really fuckin' bad.

The public announcement speakers crackle to life, every single one. And all echo through the Vault. "Attention citizens, please do not be alarmed."

The adrenaline running through me after the rough awakening says fuckin' otherwise!

"The air systems in the Vault have been compromised. Stay in your rooms. Do not attempt to evacuate. Vault Security are currently searching for perpetrators. This message will repeat in two minutes."

What the fuck.

I shove my feet into my boots and strap my Pip-Boy on, and as it fires up it's loading automatic pings yelling at me about the alarm state. I squint in the dim emergency lighting as I lace up (as best as I can with these nerves) and yank my jacket on.

They announce drills. First Monday at midday every second month. They have an automatic spiel that plays out, warns us it's going to activate the drill. We evacuate calmly as we always do. Boring boring and same same.

That was the Overseer talking though. He sounded strained. Furious. Air systems compromised? Perpetrators?

Don't evacuate.

I dumbly stand in the middle of my room. Too… itchy.

I grab my toothpick from my pocket. I flick the blade out. Slot it back in. repeat. Bounce my leg.

Perpetrators. Someone's done something. Something to the HVAC, but nothing to affect breathability, if we're ordered to stay put (I hope). What the hell does that mean, then?

BWAAAM… BWAAAM… BWAAAM…

Would be FUCKIN' EASIER to think if the ALARM WOULD SHUT UP.

The PA crackles again, but it's the Overseer's last message repeating as promised. My Pip-Boy flashes with automated pings again.

I can't stay still. We gotta stay put, but I can go check on Ma, right?

The hydraulics take forever, hissing and craning apart ever so slowly. I crouch, and through the eventual gap, I can't see Ma. She's in her room, then.

When I can finally squeeze through the door, I limp over to her door and slam my palm on it. "Ma, You okay?"

Something… I hear something, but I can't make it out over the fuckin' alarm.

I wrench the door switch, dropping back into a crouch to look –

Legs. So many legs. Huge, brown, insect things. And they've cornered Ma onto her desk chair, scratching at her, biting her, as she screams. I sprawl backwards.

"Butchie, someone, help me!" she cries, trying to kick them away, her bare feet bloody and torn, while those things keep crawling back, relentless.

I scrabble up. And I run.

I need help. I need –

Abigail squeals. I almost ran into her. I grab her arm, "Abby! My Ma, she's trapped in there with those things!"

"Butch," she stammers. She's shaking as hard as I am.

"Please! They're hurting her! I can't do it. I need your help." I beg. I fuckin' beg and hope.

She shudders,
and barges pass me.

Abigail is absolutely brutal. She kicks those things away from Ma and kills them one by one. One swing of her bat to their bloated bodies, a stomp to their heads, and another swing to pop them, guts oozing out of them. She makes it look so fuckin' easy.

"Ma!" I cry. Ma's got bites on her hands and legs, and her suit's torn and bloody. I help her down and I hug the shit out of her. If I didn't find Abby… I don't know if Ma would have lived. She's sobbing and I start too. "I'm so sorry, Ma."

Radroaches. I remember now. I used to have nightmares about them as a little kid. Wally'd tell us stories about roaches and how part of his dad's job was that he had to kill off whole infestations. But no one else talked about them, none of the adults. I thought it was all some stupid story he made up to scare us. God damn it.

"I gotta go." Abigail bursts, almost as a gasp, her knuckles turning white, gripping the bat as hard as she can.

She looks up. Her nose is bleeding, but that doesn't explain the blood splattered across her forehead. Her bat is smeared with watery yellow bug gore, and a shade of red that definitely didn't come from those things. I glance back up. Her face is drained of colour.

She whispers. "They're after me."

"Wait," I shrug off my jacket, "Take this. Maybe it'll help, make you look like someone else. Distract them for a moment, at least…" my words spew out.

I grunt, almost stumbling over my fucked ankle, now on fire with sharp stinging ache after my cowardly fuckin' run away. I power through, shoving the jacket towards Abby, catching myself from falling with my good leg.

She nods, but even as she tugs my jacket on, she looks so unsure. Eyebrows knit, eyes flickering back and forth from me and the door. I…

"I dunno what the fuck's goin' on Abigail, but –" I stick out my pinkie finger. "I got your back. I promise."

She finally looks me in the eye, and I can see her tears threatening to spill over. But she stubbornly blinks them back, and her lips set thin. Determined. Scared as all fuckin' hell, but determined.

She tugs on me with her own pinkie finger.

Abby steps back. And steps again, swallowing hard. And turns, breaking into a sprint.

And I just let her go.

I'm a fucking pussy.

Author's note:

Fun fact! In April, the very first drafts of Imbalance will be ten years old!
The kids never solving the *thing*? A plot twist ten years in the making baybeeee.

I hope anyone who reads this far doesn't feel too betrayed, cause this was always the intention.
Regardless, there's more chapters after this.
Tune in to Trouble on the Homefront... at some point.
Prepare for unresolved feelings.