» Sat Dec 18, 2010 1:38 am
What A Beautiful Hell
The Survivors Tomb
A worn and petrified wooden door stared back at him as he looked upon what had to be the infamous Vault that was ever mentioned by the people wandering about Megaton. This had to be a joke or someone was vastly misinformed over the years. A wooden door?
He crept toward it with caution, knowing that an entrance so simple was too good to be true. Gripping his assault rifle tight, he pushed his hip against the door to open it. As it swung open nonchalantly, he nervously pointed his gun to the front of him, still blinded by the harsh sunlight from outside. He tightly clinched his eyes shut in an effort to help his eyes adapt to the darker setting a little quicker. Upon opening them, he noticed just a slight improvement. Not excellent, but it would suffice.
Behind the door, it was an expired greeting. Bones. Petrified skulls and spines strewn about time-tested picket signs. Some of the signs expressed just how desperate they were to escape the bleakness of the outside world. As cruel irony would have it, their wish was granted now that they weren’t alive to see it.
Poor unlucky bastards.
As he approached the inside of the vault, he noticed the state of disarray. Broken computers with wires exposed, flickering lights and papers strewn about in a careless mess. Hardly the tidy little metropolis that a vault was said to be.
The atrium was in far worse shape, with tables, desks, and other furniture stacked and scattered. He was beginning to wonder just what had happened to this place. Maybe they were overtaken by opportunistic mercenaries, used up and left to rot by the savage raiders, or maybe they just spiraled into lunacy from being sealed off from the world for so long. Loneliness isn’t good company to keep.
Whatever the case, there didn’t seem to be a “and they all lived happily ever after” evident among all the debris tossed around.
Colby tested the stability of the towering furniture in hopes of climbing to reach the higher levels. It was sturdy enough, so he began his ascent with hopes of finding more clues as to what happened here as well as anything salvageable.
Grabbing onto the railing of one of the upper walkways, he laboriously hoisted himself over it and got back onto his feet.
He scoped out the upper level and saw crude art on the walls. A partially faded spray painting of a snake holding a knife in its mouth. Under it read, TUNNLE SNAKES RULE!
Colby let out a small chuckle as he passed into a nearby room.
It too was a mess, but in better shape than what he’d come across so far. It looked like an office of sorts. The computers were still intact and only a couple chairs were broken. He searched the drawers of one of the desks, fumbling through papers, pens and rubber bands. In one, he found a couple Mentats and a bottle of Sire’s Finest scotch. He pocketed the pills and popped the cork from the half empty bottle for a swig. A couple gulps were a nice little reward.
“Looks like someone liked to party.” he said softly as he popped the cork back in and resumed his tour.
Making his way around the desk, he discovered the remains of someone wearing a 101 jumpsuit, but no Pip-Boy. He squatted to take a closer look and noticed a single bullet hole in the skull. This body had been here for quite a long time. The blood seemed rusty and the bones were blackened. This wasn’t a recent occurrence.
It was a good sign. Raiders would’ve strung this body up as a DO NOT TRESSPASS sign, and mercs would’ve stripped this body naked as well as the rest of the facility. But still, he had to stay on his toes. A little good news never hurt anybody, but it damn sure didn’t guarantee safety.
Colby entered the next room and saw it was in good shape. He approached a nearby blinking computer and investigated. On the screen it prompted to press enter to open FILE 1.
ENTER
>>>>>>>>>>>>
[ I’m not sure how much longer we can last like this. Resources are dwindling and the Snakes are hoarding all they can for themselves. They say that they need them to help protect the vault from intruders. There wouldn’t be any damned intruders if they hadn’t opened the goddamned hatch! What a brilliant idea Amada came up with… letting these leeches take control after what was left of security left to the outside.
I wish Butch and his gang would leave. They’ve talked about going out and ruling the world for years now, why don’t they just go and do it already and not come back?]
ESCAPE
>>>>>>>>>>>>
FILE 2
ENTER
>>>>>>>>>>>>
[Janis, Travis, and Quinn all left the Vault early this morning looking for supplies. I gave Travis a pistol that I stashed from the Snakes. I just hope that they don’t decide not to come back and forget about the rest of us. Mr. Johnston died last night. He looked calm when we moved his body to the outer door. I don’t feel as sad as the rest of the group about him dying. He looked like he died peacefully. I kinda envy him.]
ESCAPE
>>>>>>>>>>>>
FILE 3
ENTER
[Where the *censored* are those *censored*? It’s been a week and a *censored* half already! I should’ve known better than to give that *censored* the only gun I had. *censored*!… looks like I’m left with two options… Take as many people with me out into the wasteland as possible, or kill Butch. *censored*!]
Colby then realized that the vault descended into mutiny. It was a grumbling stomach that digested itself out of starvation.
Of all the bad things he had seen, this one of the most depressing. A hidden beacon of hope… silenced.
He trudged on towards the last of the open doors.
The walls were caked with faded brown blood and riddled with signs of struggle. A few partially decayed black fingernails were still gounged into one of the desks with torn trails behind them. A body was tossed atop another desk wearing torn jumpsuit. The skull was face down and bashed in. No Pip-Boy was on either arm.
What the hell? Gimme a break.
He shuffled through the drawers of the deathbed of the body above it and found a box of 10mm pistol ammunition, two Psycho’s, eight Cherry Bombs, and a full bottle of Easy Southern bourbon. Not exactly a blockbuster find, but a welcomed one. He pocketed all but the booze. He unzipped his vest satchel and placed it with the lonely half of scotch he found earlier.
In disappointment of not finding the real treasure he came looking for, he headed back to the entrance to resume his search of the Wastes. This place was no more than a gloomy letdown to him. There was more hope in the Wastes than this.
He stepped out into the setting sun and welcomed it gladly.
TO BE CONTINUED
