SUNSHINE | john hancock | fallout 4

aint no sunshine

Others were livid, shouting at the security guards for not letting their loved ones inside in time. One voice stood out among the rest.

Mrs. Everett, our elderly neighbor across the street, pointed her finger at the security guard who closed the doors. "MY HUSBAND WAS OUT THERE, YOU BASTARD. HOW COULD YOU JUST LET HIM DIE?!" Another tear rolled down my cheek at the thought of Mr. Everett's contorted screams as heavy amounts of radiation overcame him. He and Mrs. Everett were supposed to live long, happy lives. Not this.

The security guard's uniform was wrinkled, and his eyes were bloodshot. His hair was scruffy, and his nails were bitten down to the cuticle. The only thing that looked presentable was his name tag, which read "Bruce Harriet" in bold letters.

He spoke in a bored voice. "Sorry. There was nothin' we coulda done 'bout it." The teeth that he had left were yellow. He pointed at two guards. "Y'all two. Go ahead an' take 'er to the orientation room. Get 'er cleared." The two guards rushed forward to help her up and escort her further into the vault. Once the sound of her sobs gradually subsided, Bruce squared his shoulders and boomed, "Go up the stairs an' across the platform, folks. We gotta begin the clearance process." Hesitant and anxious, the crowd eventually began to cooperate.

The guards had us line up single-file as they began handing out blue and yellow suits with "Vault 109" in yellow print on the backside.

Some security guards wore a look of terror that was not very well hidden, while others looked calm and collected—excited, almost. But they all they snuck glances at one another. An intuitive bad feeling rose inside me.

A closer look at the guards revealed that a majority of them were very disheveled and lethargic. Although they had the same uniform, each guard had a different weapon resting in a holster. A sideways glance back at Bruce Harriet revealed that his weapon was a blue-handled machete. My heart skipped a beat as possible explanations sprang to my head.

Something simply wasn't adding up.

The crowd was being led into a large white room for briefing. Upon closer inspection, I recognized the lock on the door. It was designed to lock from the outside and had to be operated manually. Through peering through the windows, I saw that there was one hidden security camera in each corner of the room and little holes in the ceiling panels. I decided to trust my gut instinct.

I squeezed my brother's hand, leaned down to him, and whispered, "You're mute until I say otherwise."

Despite the obvious confusion written on his face, he nodded.

Just before we went into the room, I stepped out of line and gently tapped the nearest guard on the shoulder. He looked to be around his early forties or late fifties. His hair, just visible from under his helmet, was chestnut brown, with hints of gray peaking through. Unlike the other guards, he was well put together. His name tag read "Barry Smith." I said sympathetically, "I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but my brother has to use bathroom immediately. He's mute, and he said he has just has to go."

Although sympathetic, the guard shook his head. "Sorry 'mam. He'll have to wait until orientation is over."

"Mr. Smith, that won't do. He has to go now." My brother began squirming and looked at the guard with pleading eyes. Good job, Buddy. "Please. It'll only take a minute or two."

After considering us for a bit, he nodded and said, "Alright. You go to orientation, and I'll escort him to the bathroom."