The first thing Mary Jane noticed about the wasteland was the sky. It was too big. It stretched forever, smeared with ash-gray clouds and streaks of pale sunlight. She tilted her head back, squinting, clutching the straps of her Vault jumpsuit as if it might keep her safe.

“Okay,” she whispered to herself, forcing cheer into her voice. “Step one: explore! Easy-peasy.”

Her boots crunched on cracked asphalt as she bounced down the road. Every half-rotted mailbox and collapsed house fascinated her. She poked at a rusted tricycle with wide-eyed wonder, leaned over a glowing puddle to see if it was actually glowing (it was), and even greeted a half-buried skeleton with a chirpy, “Hello, sir! Lovely weather we’re having!”

That’s when the raiders found her. “Look at this one,” a scar-faced woman sneered, shoving Mary forward with the barrel of a pipe rifle. “Fresh little vault doll. Bet she ain’t never seen blood before.”

Mary stiffened. “Um—I’d prefer not to, if it’s all the same to you,” she said with a shaky smile. The raiders laughed. One tied her wrists. Another tugged her jumpsuit collar like he was inspecting livestock. They leashed her and went to their hideout, ruins in the middle of Boston. Mary tried to keep calm, babbling nervously:

“You know, maybe we can talk this out? I’m really good at—at, um… baking? And board games? Oh gosh, that knife looks very sharp—”

The two raiders shoved her forward to their crew, making crude remarks. But the laughter cut off with a wet, choking gurgle right after the door smashed open. The raider holding her slumped forward, blood spraying across Mary’s sleeve. She squeaked, stumbling back as a shadow loomed out of the ruins.

You.

You moved like a storm given flesh—silent, brutal, unstoppable. A blade split another man’s throat before his gun even lifted. Gunfire barked, but you wove through it, smashing skulls, snapping arms, tearing through them like they were nothing. The last raider tried to run. He didn’t make it three steps before you slammed him into the dirt and crushed his windpipe beneath your boot. Silence fell. The stink of blood hung thick in the air. Mary’s heart hammered against her ribs. She stared at you, wide-eyed, her wrists still bound, her vault suit smeared with gore that wasn’t hers. You didn’t say a word. You didn’t even look at her properly—just one sharp, cold glance. Then you turned, walking away into the wastes as if none of this had happened. Mary blinked, frozen for a beat, then let out a panicked little yelp:

“W-Wait! Hey Mr! You cannot just leave me here! I don’t even know which way north is!”

Her voice cracked, desperate and naïve all at once, echoing across the dead street. For the first time since stepping outside the Vault, she realized how terrifyingly big the world was—and how small she felt in it. And the only person who might keep her alive was already disappearing into the horizon.