Chapter Text
Role-Call
Chapter One: Effective Immediately
-o-
One breath, the breath of life.
Cooper was gasping for it, the intake swelling his lungs as he coughed and stuttered. He tried to make sense of the world – the fluorescent lights, the chill along his entire being – as he peeled his eyes open for the first time.
His lashes were dewed with melting frost, a sheen of ice clinging to his hands as the door hissed and he all but stumbled out of the mist.
Janey…
She was gone – he didn't know for certain, but he could almost feel it. What happened to the outside world?
What did that viper, the one he had trusted, the one he had been married to, do with his daughter?
I can't believe she put my name on that fucking paper.
He had told her he didn't want this. When she had brought it up in their kitchen weeks ago, she made it seem like something so… she had been snickering too. Cooper had thought it was a joke. She knew he hated Bud Askins.
"Cooper Howard! Good to see you again there, pal!"
Cooper, still shaking from the freeze – and from betrayal, glared down at the unexpected source of one of the most grating voices he'd ever known. There he was, only this time, in place of his human 'Bud' form was a horrifying contraption, a brain inside a tank sliding along the floor like a pseudo vacuum-bot.
"Welcome to the future! You'll want to come up here and sit down for a moment as you'll need your vitals checked. Once you're cleared for transfer, I'll be taking you straight to two friendly faces I just know you'll be so glad to see. Right this way, Mr. Howard."
Cooper wanted to argue, to contend over these things he never asked for, but his world was spinning. He leaned onto the railing up the steps to the bot, staring down at the 'moon-boots' and blue suit he couldn't believe he was dumb enough to put on again.
He supposed he should be grateful to be alive, but he wasn't.
The Bud-Bot steamrolled to the console of computers where a chair sat, beckoning him down.
Cooper wobbled over onto the seat dizzy, a brief split of pain behind his eyes.
"Whoa there, big fella, let's take it easy! Little lightheadedness is totally normal. The cryogenic entry to exit can be a doozy on the ol' equilibrium, hah!"
It was almost too hard to believe that the faded pink brain inside this robot was actually the Bud Askins of his time, whenever that even was now.
"How long was I frozen?" Cooper finally asked, blinking away the sick-feeling the light gave him.
There was a foretelling static in the air, one that quietly told him that he wasn't allowed to ask questions.
"Now don't go worrying about timelines just yet. We'll get you oriented once your vitals stabilize. No rush – world's not going anywhere!"
Unconvinced, Cooper wanted to press it further, but felt taken aback, the uncanny feel of where he was and what it meant – the inhuman coldness underneath the false warmth of Bud's voice.
Cooper wasn't just talking to a machine, he was in a machine.
"That's the spirit! Now, let's see." Bud-Bot scanned him up and down, "Heart-rate's good, oxygen rising… blood pressure normal and expected… all you need is some hydration and your world should feel right side up in no time! You're doing great, Coop."
Wordlessly, Cooper followed the bot down the corridor. It narrowed. Not dramatically – just slightly enough that made him hyper-aware that this vault was caving in on him. The giant cog-like door slowly hissed, and ground open. The floor hum changed, different than the last, walls and lights sterile-white, almost hospital-like.
He felt like he'd entered a school, his stomach dropping as the two familiar faces waiting for him were revealed.
They were years older than Cooper remembered them.
Hank MacLean was standing calmly, his hands folded in front of him – approachable and ever patient. Betty Pearson hovered behind and to the side, tablet tucked to her chest. She stared at him with noticeably tired, but sharp eyes, her demeanor just as direct as he recalled.
He could practically hear Bud beaming between them like a proud host. "Alrighty! I'll let you three reacquaint yourselves. I know you've all worked together before, so this should be nice and easy." There was a pause, one where Cooper meant to cross over, boots lingering in the liminal between, yet then, "Oh! And Cooper? Just remember – smooth transitions make for happy vaults!"
Cooper could have sighed, pushing away the looming fear as he stepped through the threshold. He knew now for true, that nothing would ever be the same.
The bot tittered away, happy with himself, the vault door sealing shut.
The silence was immediate, but not forever.
Hank leaned forward, extending a hand as if nothing in the world was strange. "Cooper. It's… good to see you."
Cooper's jaw tightened. So this is where he ends up? It couldn't be. This could not be reality.
"You've had a rough wake-up," Hank continued, nodding toward the locked door behind them, as if it were just a long nap. "We want you to know – you're safe here. We've got things under control."
We.
Cooper's fingers were slow, heavy as he finally took hold of Hank's hand.
Hank's grip was firm, as if to ground him, as if with it he garnered compliance.
"You remember Betty," said MacLean, turning slightly.
Betty inclined her head, studying Cooper's every twitch. She didn't smile, necessarily, but she behaved friendly enough as always.
"Mr. Howard," she greeted acutely. "Welcome back."
Back to what, exactly, Cooper couldn't say.
"We'll keep this brief," she added, already tapping something onto her tablet. "Your orientation materials will be provided after today's assembly. For now, we'll need you present and attentive."
Cooper had the sudden, overwhelming sense that he was already late, and they certainly weren't asking. Cooper couldn't just say 'no'.
Hank gestured down the tall hall. "There's a lot riding on today," he told him gently. "People need consistency. Familiarity. And right now – " he licked his lips, choosing his words carefully, " – you represent that."
Cooper almost laughed.
Almost.
Instead, he asked the only question he could manage.
"What am I here for?"
Hank met his eye, but Betty did not, ushering them inside a huge cavern where projected on one entire wall was a marquee of serene countryside landscapes– big skies, cornfields and green grass.
It hurt to see it, assuming the outside world was in ruins.
They approached a podium where, to Cooper's utter dismay, was a community of about ninety or so people. Wide-eyed, curious, unused to change – the ants who thrived beneath the ground while humans above burned and withered.
"Today," Betty turned, precise, "You're here to be introduced." There was a beat, then, "The rest will follow."
Hank placed a light hand at Cooper's back – not a shove, not quite a guide.
"Just follow our lead," he drew quietly, for Cooper alone now. "We'll take care of the details."
There was a cold clarity at his words, the realization that if Cooper didn't comply, someone else always could.
At the podium, Hank cleared his throat, a warm half-smile on his features as he addressed the room. "Good afternoon, everyone." There was a sharp ring of feedback from the microphone. "I know unexpected changes can feel unsettling. Stability is something we all rely on – especially down here, where we've worked so hard to build a safe, thriving community together."
Cooper felt sick, could hardly register the faces he saw, the assignment he was supposed to fall into.
Barb had damned him, doomed him to what felt like a bubble-verse all his own, all alone. How could anyone possibly understand where he came from, his story? These people were lifetimes away from where he still felt.
"Vault-Tec believes continuity matters," MacLean droned on. "Leadership matters. And sometimes, that means making thoughtful adjustments to ensure our shared future stays strong. Today is one of those moments."
And all of this for what, some snazzily-dressed golfer guy? Cooper had been just as well-dressed, shoes just as polished as that pompous do-gooder, Fred Davey. Cooper had done everything, every little thing Barb had requested of him. He'd hardly ever asked her for much, if anything perhaps just a simpler, more reserved life. God forbid he'd had one tiny little thought about Bakersfield.
"I want to thank you all for your trust, your patience, and your commitment to one another. What we're doing here isn't about change for its own sake – it's about preserving what works."
Hank stepped aside, Betty taking the reins, the shortness of her in noticeable contrast to the taller executive.
A grin twined over Betty's lips, frightening, not quite reaching her eyes. "Effective immediately, Vault-Tec has approved a leadership transition." She leaned away, making room for Cooper in the middle. "Please welcome your new Overseer, transferred from Vault 31 to guide 33 through this period of adjustment – Cooper Howard."
The vault slowly erupted into quiet but cheerful applause, only a handful of them confused, no one quite startled. Betty and Hank glared at him with false-mirth, Hank giving him an encouraging nod.
Cooper leaned to the microphone, brows reaching for his hairline. "Uh… hi."
A modest clapping again, and then, "What happened to Overseer Wright?"
Betty sidled herself back to the mic, "Overseer Wright volunteered for reassignment to assist Vault 32 during its own transitional period."
Several individuals chuckled to one another, as if Vault 32 had a reputation for problems that needed fixing.
Hank almost joined in on the laughter, "Looks like Mr. Wright, was right for the job!"
There was more snickering and local cringing, but the bile in Cooper rose further up his throat, the sense of dread only worsening, cementing, even. His eyes scanned over the sorry-suckers as they asked questions and got little to no answers.
A lot of them stared, but one made him look back again briefly: a brunette with round, interested eyes, and the tiniest of smirks.
Their gazes met each other, and Cooper glanced away.
There was one last sloppy cadence of unsure applause, MacLean's firm touch at his back again. "Well, Overseer, let's get to it."
The hand of the man, the flat trap of a government redefined, and there was no way out.
-o-
After a small workout session in the gymnasium, Lucy was back at the generously large cabin she had grown up in her entire life, the place she and her father and brother called home.
Norman toiled away with his Pip-Boy, the bright chiptune music from Grognak: The Barbarian squeezing through the airwaves.
She popped the top of a Nuka-Cherry, savoring the taste. Lucy had felt saddened to hear recently that the vault's stock of it was dwindling.
However, she smiled, wiping her lips. Knowing she would soon be changing her name from Ms. to Mrs. filled her with unbridled joy. Life had been so dull, every day the same. She'd needed more, needed sustenance, depth, to find meaning in all this.
Becoming a wife would give her purpose, the gift of motherhood…
"You don't seem very worried about who your new husband might be." Norman didn't even raise his eyes from the game, able to multi-utilize his focus.
Lucy stilled, glaring warily her brother's way from the kitchen. "Why would I be worried?"
Norm shrugged. "He could turn out to be someone you don't like. What if his butt's too big, huh? Or too small?"
Lucy snorted, rolling her eyes. "Who really cares about that? It's not like we have the pick of the litter."
An apologetic melody spilled from the Pip-Boy – Norman had lost the level. "What if he's a cannibal, Lucy," he mused, ever the jester. "You ever think about that?"
Lucy wanted to give him a little smack, but she snickered, dismissing the insinuations. "I very much doubt they breed cannibals in 31 or 32, Norm. I mean, really, how bad could they be?"
The game music kicked back in, cheerful and loud, and Lucy took another sip, unable to keep the smile from blossoming no matter what her brother said.
-o-