Prologue: Vault 100
[Rewritten]
"What were you thinking?" I shrugged, flipping a finger through my bangs, but that only exacerbated the issue. There was no way my mother, Elisabeth and a member of security, would let things go and her next words only proved that thought correct. "Breaking and entering. Theft. These are serious charges." I nodded, then blew the red strands dangling before my eyes out of the way. "Again, I ask, dear, what were you thinking?"
I took my eyes off her and focused on the book in my hands, my pencil began to scratch out characters. Once finished, I held up what I'd written: He took my cup. Her expression went from troubled and disappointed to confused and teetered toward anger. It was true, though, I broke into old man Jenkins' room because he stole my cup a few weeks back. Now that he passed, I figured it'd have been okay to get it back; however, when I asked for the key, I was denied. One thing led to another, and now I have my cup back.
But my mother caught me. She'd always catch me. She was a hard worker like that. She rubbed her temple with her right hand, and looked to the floor. Almost as if she were fighting off a headache. "Let me just get this straight..." she sighed, "You broke into poor Jenkins' room... because you wanted a cup back?" I nodded, and she sighed once more. "Sweetie... you know I'll have to turn you in, right?"
I tried to plead my case with puppy dog eyes, but they were ineffective. Within minutes we were in the atrium, standing off near one of the sides in a designated punishment section. Those that broke the rules would be subject to punishment by a member of security. It was opened to the public to observe, but there was never a huge turnover.
Security Chief Mark stood gleefully near the post, flog in hand. "Ah, Miss Shear, another wonderful arrest," he remarked to my mother, then turned to me and his face soured into a frown, "And, Muna, how wonderful to see you... again." He tapped a few keys on his Pip-Boy before addressing me again, "Breaking and entering, theft, and repeated offender. Tsk. Tsk. That'll be twelve lashes, young lady."
I hobbled through the door as it snap-hissed open, pulled by the powerful hydraulics. As I entered, I heard a yelp and a lazed apology. By the time I made it in, someone rushed past and almost knocked me over. I grimaced and did my best to hold myself up. Then a second pair of footsteps came out from behind a screen, one much more relaxed than the first.
The tired doctor looked me up and down, and simply called, "Next." This was Gregson, the near-inept doctor of the vault. The only doctor, I should add. I didn't even get the chance to sit, but that might have been a good thing. Blood might be hard to get out of pillows, and the hard plastic chairs were only helped by white pillows.
I limped closer, and he ushered me deeper inside. I followed after until we made it to the patient's table, where he directed me to sit. Once seated, he asked, "So, what seems to be the problem?" I frowned in response, and he raised an eyebrow, "What?"
He knew exactly what the issue was, but was playing dumb; he and I didn't get along so well, not since he found me breaking into his room a few months back. But I needed some place to practice my lockpicking, and he's almost never home. I figured it'd work out well, then I got caught as my mother was escorting him home.
I pointed toward my back and grimaced once more as pain surged through my being. He groaned, as if it were a huge pain, and inquired, "So what'd you do this time?" I held up what I wrote earlier, and he half-contained a chuckle, "Broke into someone's room for a cup. Only you. Only you." He scratched at his cheek, then asked, "How about I just give you a stimpack and a towel, then you could go get washed up and be mostly as good as new?"
I glowered at the scruffy man before me. He half-smirked and exaggerated a heavy sigh, "Fine, fine. How many more times will you break into people's places before you finally learn your lesson?" Gregson shook his head in an equally drawn out and exaggerated manner, before turning around and unlocking a safe. He pulled two stimpacks from it and handed them to me, "Take these, you'll probably be good as new in a bit."
Upon taking them in hand, my Pip-Boy ā a personal, portable terminal carried around the wrist and encased in a hard shell for protection against most anything ā notified me that I received two stimpacks. How it knew what I'd just obtained was a mystery to me, but I chose not to dwell on such thoughts. I didn't even want the thing, but Mom's insistence prevented me from saying 'no.'
I wrote a quick message and showed the lazy doctor: Thanks, Gregson. I had thought about adding more, but figured this was enough. A faint smile crossed his scruffy face and he dismissively waved me off. "Whatever. Just get out of here already, ya little thief."
A smile broke out across my lips, and I injected the first stimpack as I began to leave. Moments later, and the second one followed. I could feel the cuts slowly mend themselves, and as I moved farther outside medical I could move with much more ease. It wasn't long before the pain more or less completely dispersed.
I barely had time to sit on my bed before an alert rang from the buzzer. It didn't take long before I crossed the room and disengaged the lock. A jubilant brunette bounded past me with a great pep in her step. She spun and regarded me, "Hey, Mu', heard ya broke inta ol' Jenkins' room. Tha' true?"
I gave her a friendly smile and nodded, before reaching for my book and pencil. I hastily jotted something down and showed her: Yeah, ne stole my cup. She read the page and then regarded me with a confused expression, to which I responded with my own confused expression. She then broke into laughter, and I felt my cheeks warm, despite the confusion.
Once she finally calmed down enough, she set about explaining, "Ya wrote 'ne' insteada 'e. Ya almos' neva make mistakes." She spoke between bouts of laughter. As I checked what was written, my cheeks flushed further. She hadn't been mistaken, I don't often make mistakes in the written form ā I didn't think so at least.
"Since when did ya get s'good with pickin' locks?" As she asked, she rubbed her chin, "Mayb' ya can break inta the cafeteria, an' we can get 'rselves a snack." I quickly shook my head. "Ah," she groaned, "An' why nā"
She wasn't able to finish, as her Pip-Boy beeped, informing her about a message. This was Morissa, my friend since childhood and coworker (oftentimes co-conspirator), she'd mean well. Usually. She sighed as she finished reading the message, "Sorry, Mu', seems some lug broke somethin'. The call a duty is neva ceasin'. Ya gonna be okay?"
I flipped through the book until I found the response I was looking for: Yes, Mor, I'll be fine. Much of her tension seemed to have left her as she finished reading the response, and sighed once more. She waved goodbye and said as much, and she was gone as quickly as she came. With nothing else to do, I laid back in my bed. My eyes drifted closed and before I knew it, I was out.
"Come on, wake up," a voice in the distance called out. It repeated itself a few more times before something shook me. I awoke with a start, and saw the face of the overseer, Kyle, huddled above me. My eyes shot wide as his face hovered mere inches from mine. It didn't take long before my expression settled into something aloof.
Without a care, the overseer spoke once more, urgency filled his tone, "I need help and I believe you're the only one that could do it." I cocked my head and raised an eyebrow, urging him to go on. He inhaled as much as his lungs allowed, and then released it in a deep, calming sigh. "I need to get out of here."
I pushed his face away slightly before I stretched out. His face was riddled with worry. But I took my time waking up. Once properly awake, I grabbed my book from beneath my pillow and plopped the pencil out; with those in hand, I got up and moved to the chair I kept in the corner, and wrote a response and showed it to him: Out of where, exactly?
"Out of Vault 100. Out of here," he hurriedly responded, his voice hushed as if he were expecting someone to be listening. My confusion turned to surprise, and I rapidly shook my head in denial. "Please?" he pleaded and begged.
I narrowed my eyes and set to writing more, within a second I was showing him the finished work: Why should I? And I waited, watching his face as he slowly read through the three words. It felt like it took ages. I couldn't have been certain if he was taking his time processing each word, or if he just didn't want to miss anything; or if he really was just that slow.
Once finished, a sheepish grin spread over his features and his eyes shifted about, "Because... you're a kind person?" His voice was filled with doubt, and even his body language suggested he was reaching. I regarded him with a flat expression. He sighed once more, "Okay, look... I need someone that can get me past a lock or two."
I closed my eyes, crossed my arms, and spun around in the chair. Before I could do any sort of thinking, I heard the weak and desperate cries behind me, choked out in a whisper, "Please... I... I..." For some reason, I had started feeling bad for him. With reluctance, I opened my eyes and began to write more.
I spun back around and presented the text: Fine, how can I help? He spent almost no time at all reading, his face beamed. "Alright," he started, "We just need to pick up a few things..."
-Message corrupted; recovery failed, message lost.-
Author's Note: The prologue has been rewritten to help the story along and bring in new readers. The original draft, written over six years ago now, was, for a lack of a better term, lacking. Hopefully this updated version helps, I am rather fond of the old version, but I'd like to believe this new one has some promise. Nothing major was changed.
