Chapter 1

Hi, I’m Steve, a thirty-three-year-old man who fled the surface world only to encounter a different kind of struggle in Vault 69, the sexist Vault in America. This is my story.

It had been a month since the sealed doors of Vault 69 cut us off from the outside world. The familiar hum of the ventilation system greeted me, echoing through the metal walls of my room as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I glanced around to a bed next to me finding Danika, a twenty-ish girl who I had been assigned to share an apartment with. Beside her was a dude she brought from a dating app last night.

I used to live with my parents, but I decided to move out. It wasn’t that I didn’t love them, but living with them had become suffocating. Despite being in their fifties, they were social bunnies, always inviting friends over. Night after night, I had to forfeit my bed to my parents and sleep on our couch, listening to them having sex with their friends. I witnessed my mom in action with strangers countless times, sometimes with guys my age. I understood all the sexual freedom policies of the Vault 69, but too much is too much. I need my bed back! That’s why I ended up with Danika.

As my routine started, I mentally prepared myself for another day of teaching. Heading to the classroom in the outer part of the Vault, I greeted the children with a smile. They were a rowdy bunch, full of energy, curiosity, and chaos. Teaching wasn’t exactly what I had imagined myself doing when I signed up for the Vault’s jobs. The truth is I hated kids, especially teenagers, they were nothing but problem-makers.

Then why did I have to do this job? I remember the day I first stepped foot into Vault 69 like it was yesterday. The first week was a whirlwind of orientation programs and meetings with Vault officials. They explained the rules and the importance of the Vault policies. I was shocked to learn that the Vault 69 is clothing optional and a free sex community. It was a lot to take in, but I soaked up every bit like a sponge. The orientation did a great job helping me adjust to the new life.

After that initial week, I was finally allowed access to the inner areas of the Vault. It was a strange feeling, wandering through the corridors and thinking about living in a close confined space for the rest of my life. On top of that was the new environment and society. Most people were nudists and sex activities were also observed all over the communal areas. The standard-issued Vault-Tec jumpsuit was only required at work for safety purposes.

Then came the day when the Overseer summoned me to the job committees. I was led into a room filled with monitors and terminals, where a team of evaluators awaited me. They explained that they would be assessing my skills using the S.P.E.C.I.A.L. system to determine the most suitable job for me.

As I underwent the evaluations, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of nervousness and excitement. Would I be assigned to maintenance, security, or perhaps even medical duties? When the results finally flashed across the screen, my heart sank.

Strength - 3

Perception - 2

Endurance - 3

Charisma - 6

Intelligent - 5

Agility - 4

Luck - 1

My Strength, Perception, and Endurance were respectable but not exceptional. My Charisma and Intelligence scores caught the evaluators’ attention. My Luck, however, trailed behind at a mere 1, a reminder of the unpredictability of my fate.

“Teaching seemed to be the best fit for you,” A committee pointed out.

“I’m not so sure about it,” I muttered.

“Why? From your history, it said you were a teacher in a high school before entering the Vault,” another committee commented.

“I...” I really wanted to oppose it was difficult to explain.

As it was true that, before my life in Vault 69, I was a dedicated high school teacher, passionate about shaping young minds and nurturing their potential. I used to love kids and was a cool teacher to them. However, my world was torn apart when a female student in my class began to show an inappropriate level of attention towards me. One day, she confessed to having a crush on me and seduced me to have sex with her on my desk.

When I expressed my clear boundaries as a teacher and my commitment to my girlfriend, that little bitch grew angry and retaliated by accusing me of sexual harassment. In the wake of the accusations, I was fired from the school. my life unraveled further. My girlfriend, unable to withstand the doubt, distanced herself and dumped me.

With my career in ruins and my personal life in tatters, I sought refuge in my parents’ home. Little did I know that they decided to secure a place in Vault 69 as they prepared to sell their house to fund their entry. Having no choice, no clue about the Free Spirit Paradise resort, and nowhere else to go, I packed my belongings and joined them at the Vault, hoping to escape the world that betrayed me and begin my new life.

In Vault 69, life was divided outright between the younglings and the adults. The children who were not fully developed were grouped together in the outer reaches of the Vault, almost like an orphanage home. Meanwhile, we adults resided comfortably in the inner sections. But for those of us assigned to care for the young—whether as caregivers, mothers tending to infants, or teachers like myself—it meant donning the familiar Vault-Tec jumpsuits and venturing into the outer areas for our shifts, usually lasting 6 to 8 hours.

Today’s history lesson, according to the Vault’s curriculum, was all about instilling a healthy dose of disdain for those communists. As I stood in front of the class, I painted a vivid picture of why we’re all stuck down here in Vault 69. “You see, kids,” I began, “those commies went and dropped nukes on our country. That’s why we had to hightail it down here to safety.”

I went on to explain the whole concept behind our Vault’s existence. “Our mission? Well, it’s simple,” I told them. “We’ve got to populate this Vault, make it feel like home. And once the radiation up on the surface clears, we’ll be the ones to emerge and rebuild our civilization.”

As I scanned the sea of curious faces before me, a barrage of questions came flying my way. “What happened to the commies’ country?” “Did our president nuke them back hard?” Then, amidst the flurry of inquiries, one girl posed a seemingly simple question: “How is the commies’ country different from us?”

“Well,” I began to address her query, “we’re capitalists here. We’ve got all the opportunities at our fingertips. Unlike in the commies’ land, where the government owns and controls everything. You don’t own land, you don’t run your own business. There’s no money, no drive. You do your job, and the government provides for you. No creativity, everyone’s dressed in the same red clothes. No aspirations, the government decides your fate, regardless of your dreams or ambitions. No standout individuals, no classes, everyone earns the same, no matter the job.”

“So, living in the Vault, aren’t we basically just blue commies?” the same girl astutely pointed out.

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What? How could that be?”

“Well,” she continued, “the overseer and her officials manage everything. We hardly own anything; most possessions are communal. We work without receiving any salary. We all wear the same blue Vault-Tec jumpsuits. The job they assign us roles based on our S.P.E.C.I.A.L. scores, not our dream. And we earn the same from any job in the Vault, which is basically nothing. So, the only difference between us and them is the color of the suit!”

“Wow, I haven’t thought that way before,” I exclaimed, impressed by her insight. “But we’re good guys and they’re bad guys anyway!”

As the class drew to a close, I bid farewell to my students and made my way back to the inner Vault, pondering the unexpected wisdom I had encountered. The inner Vault was always bustling with life, even in the depths of its corridors. Passing by the communal bathroom, I decided to take a quick shower to wash away the day’s tensions.

In Vault 69, space was a precious commodity, and every inch of the available room was utilized to its fullest extent. To maximize the number of living quarters within the Vault, the design incorporated communal facilities for certain amenities, such as bathrooms. Unlike traditional living arrangements where each apartment would typically have its own private bathroom, this luxury was sacrificed in favor of efficiency. Instead, communal bathrooms were strategically located throughout the Vault, allowing multiple residents to share these facilities. By centralizing these amenities, Vault 69 was able to stack more apartments within its confines, accommodating a larger population while still maintaining essential hygiene standards.

As I stepped into the shower stall, I couldn’t help but notice a group of individuals nearby, both males and females, engaged in a more intimate exchange. Their laughter was mixed with flirtation, and it was clear that the communal bathroom served as more than just a place to get clean. In Vault 69, boundaries were blurred, and relationships took on a fluid nature. It wasn’t uncommon to encounter people masturbating or having sex as the daily routines of Vault life.

As I stood under the warm water, thinking whether or not to write a report on that girl in the class, my thought was disrupted by the flesh-banging sound from a stall next to me. I couldn’t help but glance over. The shower stall was made of acrylic and not taller than my shoulder, so I had a clear view of what was happening inside. My eyes widened as I saw a boy, no older than twenty, furiously fucking a girl from behind.