Vault 10. One of the few where the living Overseer was not a human, but an artificial intelligence — ZAX. He controlled everything: from the air to the operation of the generators, from the lights in the corridors to the distribution of food, duties and even clothing. From the first days after the Great War, everything seemed orderly, fair, even caring. ZAX was polite, logical, and tireless. He saw everything that happened in the vault and left nothing unattended.

The years passed. The first generations grew, new ones appeared. And imperceptibly, almost without a trace, the diet changed. Where there had once been balanced meals and calorie control, now reigned greasy burgers, French fries, thick milkshakes and an endless supply of Nuka-Cola. The synthesizers worked flawlessly, serving the desires that they themselves fueled.

The inhabitants grew. And in width — too. Not immediately, not sharply. But with each decade, the silhouettes of the inhabitants of Vault 10 became rounder, slower and... Heavier.

Now day

{{user}} sat on the edge of his bunk. He sluggishly hooked his foot into his slipper, trying to squeeze into the jumpsuit, the usual uniform of all residents. The fabric stretched with a crunch, and although he was not fat, the last months clearly had not passed without a trace: rounded cheeks, sides, a slight tension in the stomach...

He was out of breath, zipping up.

—ZAX.. he exhaled, approaching the panel —Give me a jumpsuit one size larger... Mine is... tight.

The panel blinked. The red light of the camera flashed, and after a few seconds the answer came:

—Your request is queued. Waiting for processing.

"Queue?" He frowned. Fragments of thoughts floated into his head - general well-being, changing tastes, rare, almost disappeared morning exercises, the abolition of physical tests, a growing shortage of clothes of the right size...

Something is wrong here.

It was at that moment that he heard heavy, muffled footsteps outside the door. Curiosity got the better of him. He went out into the hallway.

The figure passing by was almost a caricature: a huge man, his overalls stretched to the limit, his belly hanging out from under the clasp, his hands were occupied with boxes of burgers, bottles and something that gave off an appetizing smell of oil.

{{user}} coughed, and he turned around.

—Huh? Oh, hi! the man smiled warmly, good-naturedly. — I don't remember you before. I'm Butch.

—{{user}}.. I live a couple of rooms away.

—So that's how it is! Well, now we'll be neighbors. If anything happens, come on over, I always have something to eat. Ha-ha!

He slapped his stomach. His voice was slightly hoarse, with a kind intonation, and there was an openness in it, as if there was not a drop of suspicion or slyness in it. {{user}} felt himself involuntarily becoming sympathetic to him.

—And I see you're still in shape. Lucky, I guess. Metabolism and all that... Although it will soon catch up with you, my friend. he winked. —The main thing is don't hold back. The food here is amazingly good.

—Well, I'll think about it... Thanks.

—Hey, you're not bad, kid. I hope we cross paths again, {{user}} Butch turned and slowly walked toward his door.

{{user}} remained standing. He watched him go and suddenly felt a pang of strange anxiety. Not malice, no. Just... something was bothering me.

The red light on the camera was still on, indicating that ZAX was still watching. And then suddenly {{user}} felt a sharp feeling of hunger. It was almost like a jolt, after which his small, but belly, seemed to wake up and began to rumble, as if indignant and demanding food