Chapter 1 Esc

John lay on his bed, in darkness, wide awake, running through the plan over and over again. The time had come, the day he waited for, planned for, risked so much for. Today he was getting out. The fluorescent lighting buzzed, flickering into life. As it had done every day for all of John’s twenty five years in the Vault. “Three, two, one.” John said aloud to the empty room, and right on cue, the loudspeaker above the door blared the morning message.

“Good morning residents, it’s almost six am, time to build! Build for the future!” The recording sounded so old it’d started to degrade. John promised himself this would be the last time he’d be forced to hear it.

Already dressed in one of the same blue vault-suits he’d worn all his life, John stood by the door waiting for it to open. He took one last look around his room, his home, his cell, realising how little he would miss it. A small desk, a single bed, with a table big enough for one. The harsh lighting reflected of the metal surfaces and walls, illuminating every square foot of the eight by ten room. The smallest quarters in the Vault.

It never felt more confined to John then it did in that last look around, but it was still home, and had been since his father died nearly a decade ago. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, he thought, maybe…No, John stopped himself. This is it, everything was in place. He had to get out. There wasn’t a future in the Vault for anyone, unless he got out to at least try to find what they needed. No one else would listen, almost no one, they were content to ‘trust the Overseer’ John knew better, and he had to prove it.

The heavy steel door opened automatically, like every morning, ordering him out. John stepped into the corridor in unison with everyone else. He forced a smile, nodding at the other residents, saying good morning. Keeping up the pretence of just another day. The light at the end of the corridor switched from red to green, ordering him again. People began to file out, joining others doing the same. Like capillaries feeding into veins, the residents joined a larger corridor, then one larger still. Big enough for rows of four people side by side going each way. All ran by the little red and green lights that were obeyed implicitly. By now the noise level of people walking in heavy boots on steel floors filled the corridor.

John became one among many, one among hundreds on his shift, and thousands in the whole Vault. Everyone dedicated to a single purpose, expansion. Pushing further into the natural cave system surrounding the Vault, making it habitable. After a century of near constant construction, they’d built more space than they needed for the next century. Maybe even the century after that. It became difficult for John to see much point in the next new wing, or the next floor. Never mind expressing the expected, requisite pride.

“Red light.” Someone ahead shouted, bringing everyone to a halt. A group of constructor frames pounded across the large corridor. Every step in the bulky, ten foot frames shook the floor beneath John’s feet. Each frame operator used the massive robotic arms to carry steel girders or wall panels. Things that would take teams of men hours to move were easy for the giant, mechanical, exoskeletons.

Across the corridor, John could see the repair shift heading in the opposite direction. His heart sank. John knew Rosie would be among them. He knew this could be the last time he saw the only woman he’d ever loved, the only true friend he’d ever known.

“All clear.” Someone bellowed and the crowd of people started flowing again. John ejected a holotape from his pipboy. The small personal computer, worn on the arm of everyone in the Vault, palming the tape in his right hand. Rosie would be able to play it back on hers, not the goodbye she deserved.

Most pipboys were large, clunky, cumbersome things. Both John and Rosie had different models. About a third smaller, half the weight, with a jet black sheen instead of a drab olive green. Their pipboys were given to them when they graduated to apprentices at the age of ten. Both did everything their larger counterparts did, did it faster, and did more, much more. Capable of things they shouldn’t have been able to do, but they kept that secret. Different wasn’t welcomed in the Vault and breaking the rules wasn’t tolerated at all.

John’s six foot plus height gave him a good view over almost all the people around him. He picked out Rosie’s red hair with ease from the oncoming crowd, ready to make a move towards her. Her shoulder length hair was down, against the rules for someone technically on shift. Her delicate features smeared with oil and grease. It’d clearly been a tough shift already, and she had six hours left.

The pair locked eyes, instantly she knew, she’d always been able to tell what John was thinking. In that moment John wanted to stay despite everything he hated, he wanted to stay for her, with her. Which is why he recorded his goodbye on the holotape, now held in his hand. Before Rosie could speak, fearing a single word could sway him, he pressed the tape into her hand. John held it for as long as he could, before the flow of people pulled them apart. John told himself she would understand, that she would forgive him, but in his heart he knew. Rosie would only see this as betrayal, an insult. No time for that now, John thought, time to put the plan in motion.

The level six first shift reached the double lift at the end of the residential block, stepping aboard thirty at a time. John did a quick head count, he would be in the second group. The first group filed in, shutting the doors behind them. That gave him a few minutes before the lift returned. Which gave John time to think, time for the spark of doubt to catch fire in his mind. What if everything they’d been told was true? What if there really was nothing left outside the Vault? What if The Great War had killed everyone else? What if the Overseer really did have everything under control?

No. He’d heard that radio station playing music from outside, so had Rosie, all those years ago. Someone must be out there. With the tech in his pipboy and access to that radio tower he could map out a huge area to find the parts the Vault needed. Then they’d have to listen to him.

The lift returned empty, John barged his way through the others in front, making sure to get to the back left corner.

“Someone’s keen.” Rick joked as he boarded the lift, leaning by the controls. John could barely manage a response, he smiled and nodded. “You know those rocks aren’t going anywhere right.” Rick continued.

Rick, older than John by a few years, and a good guy, now the de facto floor boss ever since Martin’s accident. Normally John would fire back with some banter of his own. Today though, he couldn’t bring himself to even talk to anyone. Fearing he’d blurt something out that could blow the plan.

An awkward moment passed, Rick expected a comeback, then the lift filled, and began moving down into the depths of the earth. With as little movement as possible, John used his foot to push on the access panel by his knees. Slowly pressing the sole of his boot against it to make sure it moved, it did. No one noticed he took the locking bolts out during a maintenance check three days earlier. John slid his hand behind his back, bringing his boot up to meet it, then undid the laces. A rule violation, and one he knew Rick would let him fix.

The elevator stopped with thud. “Last stop, everybody out.” Rick shouted in a jovial tone as he pressed the button to open the doors. People filtered out into the equipment room. John stayed back, till last, then deliberately stepped close to Rick with his untied boot. Rick put out his arm and stopped him. For an instant fear gripped him, had he been too deliberate somehow, did Rick know about the plan? "I get that you’re keen, but you should get properly dressed first. Wouldn’t want to report you now you’re pushing for promotion” Rick said in his ever cheery way as he pointed at the untied boot.

“Sorry boss.” replied John. He wanted Rick to know he respected him, whether the higher ups made him floor boss or not. He knelt and began to fumble with the boot, taking as long as possible while trying to look like he wasn’t. Rick’s pipboy crackled and a voice came over the comm.

“Hey Rick, you down here?” Inquired the voice on the other end, “We got a rad spike, could use a hazmat sweep.

”Alright Toby, meet me in de-con.” Rick knew his team, trusted them, as a good boss should. “Shut the door and catch up, ok.” He said to John as he left the lift.

“Got it, boss.” John hoped Rick wouldn’t get in trouble, but no one ever left before, and the higher ups weren’t known to be forgiving. Yet another reason why he had to be the one to leave, so a lowly rock breaker could save the Vault. Rick went down the steps and out of sight. John hit the button to close the door, kicked open the maintenance hatch. Then he squeezed through, and up the outside of lift, pulling himself onto the roof.

Everything remained right where John left it. Getting anything beyond your allotment in the Vault always proved tough. He'd managed to beg, borrow and steal what he could. Six protein bars and three cans of water. A multi-tool, and a half charged micro power cell, with a length of tungsten wire he could use to light a fire.

He’d improvised a backpack from an old vault-suit. The arms and legs twisted, then tied together to form straps, the collar taped shut, with the zip for access. The age of the garment didn’t concern John, he knew first hand how tough these suits were. Flame resistant, tear proof, impact protection panes, they’d saved many a trip to the Med deck over the years. No one in the Vault had ever worn anything else.

The lift started moving up. John found his footing by the edge, ready to step on the roof of the next one. Just as he’d done for the first time as a teenager, sneaking around with Rosie. The lift stopped, with one light step over a drop he ignored, John headed for level three, Med deck, atop another lift. No one would question him, if they did he’d qualified as a Mr Fix It, so could easily claim to be sent for a repair.

The second lift stopped with a familiar thud. John quietly retrieved the multi-tool. Using the wrench head on the hybrid tool to slowly lever off the grate from the vent.

The improvised back pack went in first while John took a moment to breathe deeply, calming his nerves. Years as a rock breaker gave John broad shoulders and muscular physique. Not suited to tight spaces, but he had no choice. “Twenty yards, it’s only twenty yards.” He said out loud to steady himself, only for his words to echo through the vent, unsettling him further.

He hauled himself into the narrow vent and began to crawl, yard by claustrophobic yard. Light filtered in from one empty room after another. Most bigger than his meagre quarters on level six. After what felt like hours he reached his exit. He could see the writing on the opposite wall. Maternity ward four. The next left, then the next right would put him right in front of the east emergency stairwell. A direct route to level one, and the secret stairwell to the impenetrable Vault door that wasn’t shown on the any map, anywhere. As if people had always lived here instead of fleeing underground to escape The Great War.

The Med deck felt eerily quiet, a sharp contrast to level six. With one cathartic strike John struck the vent grate with the multi-tool. The heavy, adjustable wrench, with a rubberised grip, combined with all the force he could muster in such a tight space popped the grate free. It hit floor with an echoing clatter, followed head first by John himself. He breathed deeply, fully, every breath adding to the relief of not being in that damn vent.

John retrieved his backpack. Holding it by his side to draw less attention, he walked, slowly and calmly, to the emergency stairs. He needn’t have bothered, no one was around. John thought of the effort it took to build this corridor, only for it to lie empty. While others were pressing ahead deeper into the caves. At this very moment creating more space to sit empty. He wasn’t going to do it any more, he had to get out.

The emergency door was closed, as expected. But bypassing doors meant nothing, second nature by now. He could have done it quietly, in a way that wouldn’t be noticed, he didn’t. Perhaps out of frustration. Or to spite the lies forced on him for as long as he could remember, John kicked the fuse panel cover right in the centre. denting it, but more importantly destroying the fuses behind it. The electromagnetic locks disengaged allowing him to force the doors open by hand. John bounded up the stairs two at a time. Fast enough to reach the level one access door to beat the automatic power reroute.

Level one, Oversight. It didn’t look busy, especially compared to crowds at a shift change on level six. Still, it would only take one person to draw unwanted attention. The Mr Fix It excuse wouldn’t fly here, not without a confirmed vmail work order on his pipboy. Getting caught a floor above your access would earn you a three months on shit detail, literally. No one wanted to work organic recyc. It stank, you stank, then right when you finally got numb enough to cope, they’d pull out. So next time the stench would be a fresh assault on the senses. Oversight knew how to keep people in their place, they’d had a century of practice.

John heard voices echoing down the corridor to his right so went left. Still walking as calmly as he could, like he had every right to be there. Instinctively he checked the signs on the wall to get his bearings. He needed storage west twelve and stood near admin east two, almost clear across the whole floor. That meant a lot of rooms, with a lot of windows, but it was early and it seemed Oversight got to sleep in.

John checked his pipboy for the map, set his destination for storage, then accessed the hacks. Rosie’s hacks. Pushing thoughts of her from his mind, he hit ‘l0k83r’ to show every pipboy tracker on the floor. A perk of the jet black device paired with Rosie’s gift for coding. She first shared this with him as teenagers. When combined with ‘n0k83r’ to spoof their personal signals, they were able to sneak into the caves that are now level six. John remembered how beautiful the caves were then. Sparkling veins of minerals, glowing fungus that gave off green light. “Stop, focus.” He whispered, trying to stop his hand from trembling.

Most of the blips were in pairs, still in their spacious quarters, the rest gathered in a central area. The longer he stayed on this floor the greater the risk. The only thing to do was follow the shortest route shown on the pipboy. The tracking program would alert him if anyone got too close. He readied himself for one last, long, ten minute walk.

Level one had been built pre-war, when the world could take into things like aesthetics into account. Polymer resin floors, buffed to a shine. Windows free from cracks or imperfections. With no trace of the layer of dust that covered everything down below. All lit with soft, warm, lights.

As John walked he came upon the central area, a spacious cafeteria with windows on all sides. He couldn’t help but stare for moment at the people inside. They wore the same vault-suits but had styled hair, full faces, a kind of healthy glow he’d never seen before. With his closely shorn hair and pale complexion he realised he may stand out more than he hoped. Still no one gave him a second glance, too busy laughing, talking, with no red or green lights ordering them about. One eating a bowl of soup, another something red and round, he recognised it as an apple. He’d had an apple before, half an apple, once.

John choked back his rage, pressing on past them, out into a high ceilinged common area. Padded furniture around a painted sculpture of a tree. Adorned with tiny mechanical creatures, disguising speakers playing old, pre-recorded noises. For people so focused on the future it looked an awful lot like the past in here.

The pipboy gently squeezed John’s left arm, twice in quick succession, alerting him to an oncoming resident. Without thinking he darted down the nearest corridor to check his screen. A large group of seven or eight was coming right at him. He could hear running, getting louder, closer. John peeked out from round the corner just enough to see Vault Sec. Their black vests a dead giveaway, and barrelling towards him.

John wasn’t being tracked, he knew that, maybe someone had seen him after all, security was always a pipcall away. With little choice now but to wait them out, John pressed himself into the small gap behind the buttress on the corner. Holding his breath, he could hear the footsteps pounding ever closer, then voices. “You’re getting slow Sarge!”

“Too much pudding!” Blurted out another, they were joking around. Security didn’t joke, they barely spoke, apart from issuing threats and orders. While John couldn’t help wonder what pudding might be, security ran right past him. They weren’t responding to a violator, they were exercising. They did so little up here they exercised for fun. John wanted to scream, but he wanted out more.

John checked the map screen, the route looked clear. Only a row of residential blocks, an office, then storage eight to twelve. So close he couldn’t contain himself any longer. His hurried steps turned into a run. John ran from the lies, from the inequality, from the foreign, sickly sweet scents that filled the air. He ran to get out.

He cleared the residential blocks, and nearly cleared the offices. When his pipboy contracted tightly, continuously with an emergency notification. Someone must be right on top of him. He slid to a squeaking halt. His work boots leaving scuff marks on the shiny floor. A plump, full faced woman turned the corner, looking him dead in the eye.

“I know what you’re doing.” She said in an authoritative tone he knew all too well.

“You do?” John asked, whilst wondering how far he was prepared to go to get out.

“Yes, it’s obvious.” She paused, giving him a moment to contemplate bundling her into the nearest storage room. “You’re trying to cheat the race, you security boys are so competitive!” The smile on her full face changed the woman’s whole demeanour. So much that John felt shame at the thought of scaring her.

“It’s, it’s a prank, on Sarge.” John wagered they might like a prank half as much as they did below. Then again maybe they had more entertainment up here.

“Oh well far be it from me to stand in the way of your plans, but running is only allowed in the inner ring, so slow down, ok.”

“Yes Mam, sorry Mam.” And with that she went on her way. Eager to get another day of designing empty rooms to build. Or sadistic punishments, or whatever they did up here.

Storage west twelve was filled with shelving, holding broken personal terminals. Even in a Vault where everyone wore a personal computer on their left arm, they still needed terminals. Typed work orders, decrees from the Office of the Overseer, new schematics and updates. All required terminals. John opened the official preloaded Vault map showing him in a room with one entrance, then flicked to his private version. Their private version. Compiled from the high frequency mapping pulse tech in their pipboys and kept secret all these years. It showed a long empty corridor behind the back wall.

Rosie crept into his thoughts again, thinking of when she’d first brought him here. She said you could connect every terminal in here together, and it still wouldn’t match a fraction of the raw processing power housed in just one of their jet black pipboys. Most in the Vault thought that because they were smaller than their drab, olive green, counterparts, they were less powerful. Rosie thought it best to let them think that, or they might start asking questions.

On the back wall the shelving laid empty, except for three broken terminals on the right side. John flipped down the access panel on the middle terminal, revealing the ubiquitous four pin socket. He pressed on the back of the pipboy to eject the four pin connector every pipboy had. As with most things, the jet black device was a step ahead here too. Instead of a simple connecting wire it operated wirelessly. Allowing for remote access to four pin compatible devices from a distance. It could also charge a flagging battery, broadcast signals, as well the basic data transfer features.

The cracked terminal screen didn’t display anything. Meant to hide the fact it remained powered and had been password locked. However the standard security encryption was so poor that even John could crack it. He ran a simple brute force hack he’d wrote, giving him a screen of twenty possible passwords on his pipboy. Each word transposed from numerical codes. He picked one at random, three correct letters of five, a good start. He scanned further for word that fit. ‘BREACH’ caught his eye and proved correct. The root directory opened with only one function highlighted ‘OPEN Y/N?’. John hit y so fast he almost broke the key. Dormant hydraulics awoke. Movement pushing the fake wall forward and belching stale air into the room. The pitch black, secret stairwell behind it revealed.

Climbing the stairs soon became arduous. No power meant no light. Apart from the ambient light mode activated on the pipboy, the stairwell still lay in darkness. Any movement in his left arm shifted the glow making deep shadows creep along the walls. Switching to the directional light only made it worse. The air seemed to get thinner with every step. Thin like the emergency soup rations, just enough to keep you moving. The whole Vault would be like this if he failed. As much as he hated it here, he couldn’t doom the only place he’d ever known. And couldn’t trust the Overseer to keep the air flowing down.

John took his time, knowing the climb that awaited him, a ladder that made the stairs seem easy. Next to enclosed spaces, heights came close second. John took a minute to fire off a mapping pulse, fearing getting half way up only to be blocked by debris. The pulse expanded in a circle out from his position on the map screen. An exact match, seventy five feet straight up. After one last breath, to suck what little oxygen he could out of the thin air, he began to climb.

Even for a rock breaker, used to twelve hour shifts swinging hammers and shovelling rocks, the climb became tough almost immediately. His muscles burnt, his limbs grew heavy, the backpack felt like a month’s full ration, not three days’ worth. Yet in spite of the pain, or because of it, John reached the floor grate at the top. With his left hand he unrolled the protective cuff to cover his palm up to the fingers, slipping his thumb through the hole. He reached back and struck at the grate, it barely moved. Again and again he struck. So fast his arm fell back tired, causing the improvised strap to slip. It sent the backpack swinging like a pendulum to his right shoulder, taking his feet with it. John‘s right hand took on a mind of its own. Finding enough strength to lock completely. Grasped tight around the last piece of steel keeping him from a swift fall, and a far swifter death.

Methodically he willed his limbs from sheer panic back to the ladder, forcing them there till they stopped shaking. Rosie would’ve had a plan for this, but you left her didn’t you, thought John, causing the guilt to weigh more than his pack. What would she do? He heard her voice in his head, physics, the solution to all of life’s little problems.

Carefully he transferred the backpack to his front, and slowly retrieved his multi-tool. With a sharp flick of the wrist, he put it into the pliers configuration. Making sure to keep a death grip with one hand at all times. Like an apprentice terrified of making a mistake he began to clip the wire mesh in the centre of the grate. Then he forced the wrench through the freshly cut hole, tightened it, and pulled as hard as he dared.

Instantly the grate buckled inward then stopped. He put more of his weight on the handle causing the wire mesh to rip. The soft metal no match for the deep blue, drop forged, hardened steel multi-tool. Or the will behind it. Sharp, torn, mesh fell into the shaft suddenly threatening to take down the multi-tool with it. Thankfully shaking loose of the wrench grip, then clattering downwards. John threw his ever trusted multi-tool up and out to the floor above. Followed by the backpack, followed by John. Inch by inch, till he collapsed onto his back. Lying there in the dark until his heart stopped beating in his ears and his vision cleared.

After a few minutes motionless on the cold steel floor, John gathered himself, he had work to do. The last part of the plan and the point of no return. He could forget all this go back down the ladder. Through the luxurious level one, back through that vent, lifts, and back home, he didn’t. Instead he connected the wireless four pin from his pipboy to the main terminal. Then uploaded the hack. Rosie’s hack. The terminal booted up, he scrolled to the program, ‘esc.exe’, clicked ok, then sat back to watch the show.

John knew enough code to know what he saw on his pipboy. Now duplicated on the terminal, replicated through the dead appendage of Vault. It was a touch of true genius. It’d taken years of every free minute Rosie’s mind had. Every stolen minute they’d shared together. Both good and bad. She'd simulate the main door security on one pipboy and attack it with the other. Now here it was, a living, breathing, thing drawing in power, cycling air. Attacking the very source they’d stolen from to create it. They'd heard the music, the voice. They swore to leave together, their dream fulfilled by her mind, her will, and he left her below. She would never forgive him, he wasn’t sure she should. But she’ll be alive, he told himself. Alive if he got killed, alive to save the Vault she hated more than him.

Rosie’s creation did its work. First illuminating the security booth he stood in, then the area outside. He left through the now powered doors and stood in awe of the sight before him. The Vault door. Hardened, dark alloy, set in solid steel mounts. The pinnacle of old word heavy engineering. As intimidating as he remembered.

The program started scrolling faster now, altering dates, dropping in constructed authorisations. Tricking its ancestor into believing it needed to run a test in a factory. Instead of opening a century later, to a world where that factory was likely rubble. He walked closer to the door, along the raised gantry, standing at the safety gate above a ten foot drop. John stood about a third of the way up the monolithic door, looking beyond it, to the unknown, into a world he knew nothing about. A world he’d been raised to believe didn’t even exist. He knew better, he had this particular pipboy for a reason, and it wasn’t to break rocks.

With two gentle squeezes of the wrist the pipboy signalled its work was done. It showed the message they’d both longed to see. *Main door cycle: y/n?*

John calmed himself with a few deep breaths of the freshly drawn in air, then took his position in the opposite security booth. He stood at the admin terminal, it showed the same message as its counterpart. Now mirrored to the pipboy wirelessly. John held his left index finger over the y key, with his right over the ok button on his pipboy. “Three, two, one.” He said aloud to the empty room, and he pressed both buttons in the same instant.

The entire room went dead. No lights, no cycling air, back to the dormant state it had been in for nearly a century. Did it fail? Was the old code better than Rosie’s creation? Not my Rosie he thought, realising she would likely never be his Rosie again.

Maybe the four pin signal hadn’t gone through. He rushed to check, the light was green, signal level’s good. The security booth looked as dead as the other, as dead as everything else, including the main door.

John felt sure it would have worked, it should have worked, but it didn’t. Maybe the vast door was never meant to be opened. That thought seemed to bring with it every ache accrued in the morning’s events. Which didn’t hurt nearly as much as the thought of retracing his steps. John slunk back out from the security booth to stare at the immovable door. Maybe he’d just sit here till they caught him.

Imperceptible at first, the sound of tiny gears spinning up crept in the dead room, getting louder as bigger gears began to turn. John jumped to his feet, his exhaustion replaced with alert excitation. A large, powered, crank arm swept down from the shadowy ceiling, connecting right in the centre of the main door. Whirring louder still, the arm began driving locking pins from within the long dead door. Each one shifting with a deep, metallic, thunk. It’s long awaited duty done, the arm retracted. And with an ear splitting, teeth grinding, screech of metal on metal, the main door began to slowly roll open.

Fresh air, real air, hissed in through the ever growing crack, followed a straight beam of pure light. Sunlight. The beam grew as the entrance opened further still. Beyond the door laid a large cave, beyond that, the world. The world denied them, or what remained of it.

John ran up the gantry tasting real air, feeling real sunlight, for the first time. The built in Geiger counter clicked, but nowhere near enough to be dangerous. With an echoing clunk, the door stopped moving. John stood at the edge of a gap between the vast circular void where the door had been and the safety gate of the gantry. He didn’t care, he’d jump it if he had to. The gantry extended, linking with another on the outside of the door.

Powered by sheer elation, he hoisted his improvised backpack onto both shoulders, and started to walk. Which instantly turned into a run. Straight through the open door, down the steps, through the cave and out. Into the world