He had heard of their organization before. Just a few passing headlines in the papers dubbed them the Office of Science and Industry. Better to just call them the Office of Industry since science didn't seem to matter unless it produced money. Where the Followers were happy and eager to extend helping hands and knowledge, the OSI was dead set on practicality. There wasn't denying the OSI had made progress in recent years; repairing infrastructure, advancing military, logistics, the growing agricultural sector… Their current "big" thing all the papers loved to boast and scrutinize in the same breath was the desalination project. The holy grail of the wasteland that would save the NCR from its impending water shortage and permanent drought. Once Lawrence learned it was one of their directors in control of the project that brought him to Camp McCarran, he knew it would be pulling teeth.

Returning to the suite, Vincent was still tangled up in the bed sheets as Lawrence left him. Only the enticing smell of breakfast roused the young man after grumbling, scowling, parsing a mess of hair with a comb before finally giving up and just drowning unruly locks under the faucet.

"Hi," were usually Vincent’s first words in the morning. When he had woken up enough to be pleasant, that is. Lawrence was always the first for morning pleasantries because if he didn’t say anything, the scowling boy with one eye closed sitting at the table wouldn’t. Vincent would eventually come around graced with the ranger’s humored smile and chuckling as he proclaimed, “you look hungover.”

Vincent groaned, rubbing away sleep and a potential headache with the heels of his palms. The hot plate of breakfast set on the table rectified the insulting truth.

"Went to McCarran," Lawrence started, stirring a topped-off cup of coffee. "I have good news, but also bad news. The OSI doesn't have what we need—" Glancing up, he noticed Vincent's plate already empty. “The bad news is what they're looking for is probably located in a vault.”

“A vault? Where?”

“Northwest of Vegas, but,” Lawrence shook his head, “vaults are dangerous. Death traps.”

“I've never explored one. Exciting!”

“Of course…” Lawrence muttered. “Supposedly this one was doing research on plants or whatever. It could be something if you want to put in the effort, but I don't recommend it.”

“Don't think we should?”

“I'm hesitant about helping Boomer whackos already, but I'm more interested in not puttin' our lives in danger for them.”

“I understand that.” Vincent squirmed up in his seat as a smile peeked through. “But—" Oh, no. Lawrence knew that tone all too well. That was the pretty please voice. The one he couldn't resist. “We may also be helping the republic if we find something useful.”

“Yeah,’ Lawrence resigned. His feet ached already.

On the outskirts of north Vegas and deep in the Gass Peaks, was Vault 22. One of many vaults scattered the wasteland along with their legends. Rumors claimed people still lived in them. Either squatters or descendants of those lucky enough to escape a nuclear holocaust so distant some doubted it ever happened. Like a piece of history preserved deep underground, along with whatever remained inside, they were built to last and those types of places attracted scavengers, wanderers, the usual vagrants. Except, reality was sometimes stranger than those wishful rumors. In the ranger's experience, death trap was an understatement.

It was either the vault itself which easily fell into disrepair or the people who fell into disrepair. Each one he ventured into lay vacant for some time. Reactors might have still worked, keeping the power flowing for those old ghosts still lingering in the corridors. Or maybe they didn’t, and the elevators would plummet to the last floor with you in them.

But there was one that stayed in the back of Lawrence's mind, even if he never stepped foot it in it. He first heard about it from a real wanderer, a professional vagabond, as he called himself, who explored vaults without trepidation and had nothing good to say about them. Like with most skeptical stories boasted by bar rats and old men who, in truth, probably only left their barstools to take a piss, Lawrence dismissed those stories. Until he found infamous vault 99.

The professional vagabond claimed it was up in the San Bernardino range and could be found if you followed the right hiking trail. The number "99" would be etched on the backside of the signs to show the way. Being brash, young, an invincible ranger in training surrounded by other cocky, invincible young men, Lawrence dared his troop to stray off the path and look for the vault. They found it within a good amount of time, not like it was actually hidden or anything. In fact it stood out, like a disemboweled corpse would stand out in a busy market center. That vault rejected any life growing within its reach. Eroded steel stained with rusted streaks radiated an aura of malevolence. Invisible, poisonous vapors stung eyes and nose. Only with hindsight gained through the years did Lawrence realize the true horror of that vault: its sinister presence alone made twenty-something-year-old men question their invincibility and confront their mortality. 

Recounting the tale to Vincent sent a chill through Lawrence even with a September sweat drenching his clothes. Maybe that story was just another prospector's way of keeping people out of his goldmine. Or maybe he was right, and people ought to stay away from the vaults.

Where the two finally stopped, an oasis spilled out on the desert like vibrant paint on a dull canvas. Defiant grass sprung up in arid soil. Colorful flowers broke up thick verdant strokes. Beneath the sheltering branches of an elderly and hunched tree, saplings fluttered in a breezy dance, their leaves rustling as if whispering warnings. Lawrence, however, needed no further reason to turn back, given the signs scattered around the garden warning of killer plants. Lost amid the lush flora, barely catching the sun's light, lay the entrance—a one-ton, six feet thick and seven feet tall vault door. Faded and chipped yellow numbers numbered it 22.

“Only by the vault,” Vincent mumbled as he turned about in a slow circle to survey the land. It was a normal scene found anywhere in the Mojave of rich reds and browns, dusty soil extraordinarily little life grew from, save for the cacti and Joshua trees, until he returned to the vault door. “…is it green.”

"Huh,” Lawrence scanned the foliage, noting species unseen in the rest of the Mojave or even Sonoran deserts. “Having second thoughts?”

Vincent scoffed. "Sounds like you are."

Lawrence rolled his eyes, then tugged the boy along by his new Kevlar vest. “Get movin'.”

The door stood ajar enough that both could squeeze through one at a time. Draped in ivy and fuzzy moss, Lawrence peered in, gun first with a light in his other hand. Moist and cool air chilled both sweat dampened men. Earthy must permeated the air like wet soil after heavy rains. Except only metal floors were beneath their feet. Lights flickered overhead, ripped from their ceiling port. Sparks fell from exposed wires poked out, then diffused on their descent to the floor. 

Vincent hummed, careful to keep his voice to a whisper. “What exactly were we supposed to find here?”

Lawrence paused at a hallway entrance. He raised his pistol again and pressed up against a wall for a look down the corridor leading deeper into the vault. Then he did the same in the opposite direction. “Director suggested looking for a central database.” 

“Lawrence.” The ranger joined Vincent at the opposite wall. The glow of a powered terminal highlighted what was left behind; a satchel of supplies, an empty tin bowl, and spoon sat atop the terminal. Nestled between warm console and a wall were the sleeping arrangements. Fingers scattered dust as Vincent tapped its keys. “Someone’s been here.”

“Probably still here too,” Lawrence warned.

The assistant doctor’s words returned to Lawrence. She followed him after he left the OSI’s office in McCarran and after what she told him, her apprehension and secrecy made sense. He had no issue walking into danger, but it was a basic courtesy to let one know if those sent before had a habit of not returning.

“Strange types come in and out of abandoned vaults,” Lawrence said. “Vagrants, prospectors, neither of which I want to deal with.” He waved at the boy to come to him. Lawrence turned back to the map mounted and framed behind cracked glass. Colored lines and squares illustrated the entire layout of the vault. Each floor had its own map and frame, labeled clearly and accordingly to his relief. “Let’s check out this one.”

Floor 13: Server Room.

Grime coated the signs in the halls. Dim yellow panels and corroded metal frames hovered above the elevator doors. Their words were nearly lost beneath dirt and decay. An intermittent flicker teased the two approaching. Shadows jumped in their peripherals. Lawrence had an annoying habit of putting himself ahead of Vincent, but it was times like these he didn’t mind. The ranger pressed the fading down arrow. The click echoed. Gears turned behind walls. Groans and grinding chains hefted a burden up the shaft before giving out under the weight. The grating came first like a string quartet from hell. Steel cords snapped, whipping the closed doors and all four walls as it rattled down the shaft. The thundering crash was a whisper by the time it reached the two standing at the top.

“Maybe, uh,” Lawrence’s voice trailed off as he stepped backwards into Vincent. “Stairs?”

“Stairs.”

An orange glow illuminated the first few steps. The deep abyss threatened to swallow the fourth. A faint hum scratched their ears. Insidiously quiet enough to make you doubt if it was truly there, something was felt probing eardrums. Lawrence took a loud and heavy step down and continued on that way as though to hush the vibrations molesting his ears. Stomps like tolling bells would drive Vincent crazy too, however. He was so adamant about investigating the vault and now they were here. He couldn’t waver in front of the ranger. Especially not in front of himself. Yet he had been through much worse. Surely, some decrepit vault wouldn’t be his undoing. 

For the entirety of their long descent, sweat, dirt, and dust clung to Vincent. The overbearing sun’s heat drained him, but now the chill pierced his bones. Another flight of stairs and another looming yellow number passed. He shivered. The cold was no longer just chilly. Trembling breath fogged before him. Air seemed to thin, stinging the back of his throat and nostrils. Even Lawrence’s pace slowed in front of him. They came to one of many doors that led out the stairwell and stopped in the glow of the sickly yellow light.

“Five,” Lawrence sighed, his breath pluming before him. Turning the corner for another dark trek into the abyss, a drop joined the humming. Vincent followed the streak along the concrete walls where swarthy green tendrils reached from shadowy crevices for water. “They’re everywhere,” Lawrence whispered. “I noticed it starting on the third floor—Shit.”

“What?”

Lawrence shone his flashlight down the stairwell. Chunks of concrete and debris from the collapsed walls scattered the steps to the sixth floor’s door. Rebar jutted out, tangled in wires and broken pipes. Loose soil spilled from the cracks, laying ground for the willowy ferns sprung up in a carpet of clovers and curling vines.

“Let’s see if there’s another way,” he backtracked to the ascending stairs. Shadows danced in his swinging light, tricking Vincent’s eyes as the boy stood frozen.

“Lawrence!” 

Muzzle fire burned away the darkness for a quick second. The blasts deafened both their ears. Lawerence was already back at Vincent’s side, staring wildly at the same dark blot on the floor in the shape of a man. Mist emanated off mossy skin sprawled out on the floor.

Lawrence’s joints cracked when he came to a squat. He plucked a free stick of rebar from the pile and investigated the creature, poking its soft, grassy flesh. He lifted a hand. It was limp and sopping wet slung over the rusted pole. Five finger-like vines sprouted from its flat palms, ending in stringy green hair. On the dry concrete, droplets fell to add to the damp imprint of its hand. With a disagreeable shake of his head, Lawrence mumbled obscenities to himself and let the limb fall back into its puddle with a distasteful flop. He plunged the rebar into the creature’s head for good measure. 

“What the hell is that?”

“More things to keep an eye out for,” Lawrence warned. A gentle push on Vincent’s shoulder guided him up the stairs. 

The fifth floor was pest control. Not as derelict as the rest of the vault, but the change of scenery wasn’t to be celebrated. Leaks dribbled down the walls. Foliage grew wild, bursting through wall sockets, floor panels, and lighting fixtures. Vincent and Lawrence’s eyes were glued to the floor. Since encountering the bizarre creature in the stairwell, the ranger had donned his helmet. Low-light lenses pierced the flickering bulbs overhead, studying each lumpy mound of dirt and rustling leaves as they lurked through the hallway.

Lawrence’s cautious steps slowed. Violet light poured out the thick paned glass, bathing the bland gray a sickeningly sweet hue. Overgrowth, unsatisfied with their given claim in the center of the room, touched upon the ancient tech corroded by their moist breath, twisting through grated floors, and reaching to tall ceilings. Long, spindly fern leaves blanketed the musty soil beneath. Long stalks reached up to the lights overhead, ending in brilliant, enormous flowers unfolding and kissing the bulbs that fed them.

“We got more.”

The two flattened against the wall as they crept into the doorway. Doors which had been ripped out of their tracts. Lawrence crouched at his preferred vantage point watching the entire room. His pistol aimed. The blast that followed jolted any fatigue that lingered in tired limbs. He shuffled inside, jerking his barrel to the shifting mounds. He fired again and Vincent flinched. Infra-red shapes faded in the ranger’s lenses when he moved onto the next rousing form.

When the room fell quiet again, red lenses mechanically scanned the room, still holding his rigid posture and his 9 at the ready. Then Lawrence stopped. Silent boots shuffled over to the glowing form behind the wall. Vincent followed, reluctantly giving up the lukewarm spots he found emanating the ancient machinery still working.

The door was unassuming. Something Vincent would shrug off as a janitor’s closet. He took notes how Lawrence bravely and cautiously approached it. One deliberate step in front of the other made a solid stance. Poised like a rattler before the strike and silent like a nightstalker. Vincent flinched when Lawrence abruptly raised his hand. He pointed at the panel adjacent to the door. Vincent knew exactly what to do. He copied the ranger for the short distance to the door and looked for Lawrence’s signal.

A draft rushed out and Vincent jumped to Lawrence’s side, his pistol on the ready, albeit shaking.

“Woah, woah!” The voice barreled out of the room. Dark and raspy, though there was a feminine ring to it. “I’m on your side!” 

“Identify yourself,” Lawrence ordered. 

Light steps crept forward. “Keely. I was hired by the OSI.”

When she emerged, the boy jolted at the sight. At least she didn’t notice with her attention on Lawrence. He lowered his pistol, shoulders relaxed, and Vincent thought he almost heard a sigh under that helmet. “Right. Whatsername mentioned you.”

“Dr. Williams?” Keely reached for the switch panel and the doors shut behind her. Blotches of red splattered what once may have been dark skin. Creeping veins beneath reminded Vincent of the roads in his maps, purple and crisscrossing haphazardly. Blood-shot eyes engulfed cloudy irises that shot to him for a brief second. “She’s a dear, but I’m surprised a ranger was sent for me.”

“We weren’t specifically sent for you,” he clarified. 

“Figures.” Keely scoffed. “Almost thought that pompous ass in charge had a change of heart. Don’t suppose he mentioned how many he sent before me? Before you?”

“No, the director didn’t,” Lawrence admitted. “Might give him a throttle when we make it out of here.”

She laughed, baring yellow stained teeth. “Let me have a few, too.”

“Um,” Vincent interrupted, glancing at Lawrence then to Keely. “Don’t suppose you got to the vault’s database by any chance?”

“Take it you haven’t gotten that far?” Keely crossed her arms as she looked at the boy.

“The stairwell is caved in at the sixth floor,” Lawrence said.

“I’m going to cut to the chase and tell you now.” The rasp of her voice took a dour turn as she returned her milky eyes on Lawrence. “This place needs to be destroyed.”

“Does it have to do with those weeds from hell?”

“Yep.” She nodded. “I’ll tell you all about it and show you if you don’t believe me. Let’s just get to the second floor. It’s safe there.”

The second level was for oxygen recycling. Keely assured them that this floor with flourishing live flora in an overgrown garden, held no lurking moss-men waiting to emerge from their earthy beds. The three gathered around the gentle glow and dim warmth of a lantern. Exhaustion gripped Vincent the moment he settled on a thin mattress salvaged from the residential floors. Dormant aches surfaced as every muscle in his feet and legs cried out, but observing the ranger beside him, it seemed Vincent fared better.

“I was gathering gas to pump to the rest of the vault from here,” Keely explained, pointing to the many vents lining the upper walls of the chamber from her own mattress. “From there, I was going to rig an explosive on the last floor. That should do the trick, really.”

“Isn’t some of the research here salvageable?” Vincent inquired, searching his bag as thirst and hunger finally caught up to him. 

“Yes, but no,” she said. Opaque eyes spared no emotion by the gleam of the lantern. “From what I gathered, one of the projects here attempted to create hardier, easily grown crops. Too much of the data is corrupted. Maybe the right algorithm and computing power could unscramble it.”

“Figures,” Lawrence muttered. Vincent inched closer to him, wishing for the comfort of the Lucky 38. Leaning on Lawrence’s shoulder was as close to that as he could get. “I agree we should destroy the vault.”

“We can’t let those things get out there.” Keely reclined on her palms, turning her attention to Vincent. “What’s got you so interested in the research? You aren’t with the OSI are you?”

“No, just interested in solving a food problem.”

“So were the scientists here,” she noted. “They created those things by accident. They propagate from spores; easily infect dead bodies but get enough in you and the spores will do their job just fine.”




Vincent sighed deeply, realizing he had to rely on less-than-ideal conditions to persuade the Boomers to join his cause. The alternative was not something he wanted to entertain, because should they decline Mr. House’s offer, well, the old man would rather have them removed from the equation entirely.

That kept Vincent awake. Tossing and turning, still shivering... Lawrence and Keely had long since fallen asleep, unbothered by the shy buzz of fluorescent lights from an adjacent room. Vincent turned again, facing the control room lit by the green hue of a lone terminal. Keely showed the two how it would be instrumental to her plan, redirecting flammable gas to the lower levels and sealing the first and second floors. And that it could access the vault’s database… The ghoul couldn’t resist showcasing her more knowledgeable side when Vincent played twenty-questions about the vault’s experiment.

Vincent quietly sat up, glancing at the ranger sleeping peacefully, his face half-blanketed by his duster, and then at Keely facing a wall, her back turned to the two. She was right about it being dangerous. Still, Vincent slipped on his boots.

As he stared at the screen, the ambient glow failed to erase the weariness from his eyes. He reached for a plug in his pip-boy and inserted it into the terminal's port. With a few keystrokes, the machine received its command, and just like that, the data began copying to his pip-boy. Perhaps Keely couldn't make sense of it, but Vincent could do what she wouldn't—Try.

Waking at noon, it eluded Vincent how any could manage to keep a proper sleep schedule in a claustrophobic vault never seeing a blue sky or natural light. It would drive him crazy living in a maze of corridors, hearing noisy pipes and vents, and feeling only cold walls and floors, breathing in recycled air that smelled wrong yet had no smell at all.

Keely and Lawrence hovered over the bomb they put together, apparently up long before him. It was set to be planted on the last floor while the three of them would be safe on the first as the vault collapsed. Within an hour of Lawrence planting the bomb, everything would be destroyed in cleansing fire. The invasive overgrowth and the creatures lurking within it, the server room and its database…

Lawrence, Vincent, and Keely gathered around the radio. It would be the trigger to her plan. Bony fingers turned the dials painfully slow, gliding across frequencies and speeding up Vincent’s heart. When she landed on the right number, a bead of sweat licked Vincent’s brow.

Everyone held their breath.

“Where’s the boom?” Lawrence whispered, disappointment obvious in his voice.

Keely’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know. I’ve made them plenty of times be—” She paused, snapping to Lawrence. “Unless the room was equipped to keep out foreign signals to protect the database.” 

“It needs to be manually detonated?”

Muscles twitched beneath sullen cheeks as she hesitated to say, “yes.”

“How am I ‘spose to do that and survive?”

“There’s rooms down there to hid in. They don’t have vents so it should be safe from—”

“He’d cook alive in there!” Vincent exclaimed. “You should do it. You wanted to destroy the vault.”

“And for good reason!” she snapped back. “If any of those spores make it—”

“Stop!” The ranger’s voice overpowered the two. “I’ll detonate it. I have an idea.”

“Lawrence you could die!”

“I have an idea,” Lawrence repeated. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

Vincent watched the ranger leave again. His helmet was tucked under his arm. He had no hint of doubt on his face, but he hugged Vincent tightly before descending. The doors closed as he flashed a confident smile to the young man, jittery with anxieties. Vincent watched the clock in Lawrence’s absence. Time slowed under his eyes, almost as slow and heavy as it was in a shallow grave.

“He’s a ranger,” Keely said when the elevator began its descent. Agonizing clicks synchronized with the second hand on the time-haggard clock hanging above the ghoul. “He’s been in worse, I’m sure.”

Uneven pupils narrowed on her and held her gaze until cloudy eyes faltered. Beneath the dim light, Keely's weathered features cast long shadows. Her skin bore rough patches and splotchy red hues like a watercolor painting. Purple veins crawled across her forehead and under the sparse hair of her scalp. Her skullish façade displayed the faintest hint of uncertainty as she leaned back. Vincent crossed his arms, silently asserting that if anything were to happen to Lawrence, Keely would bear the consequences.

She took the hint after that, keeping as quiet as the simmering young man across from her. Vincent's gaze returned to the clock, the ticking hands resonating in his ears like a relentless drumbeat. Twelve agonizing minutes passed during Lawrence's initial descent, each second tightening the knot of anxiety in Vincent's stomach. Only five minutes had passed as he counted five things he’d like to do Keely if the ranger didn’t return. Violet reflections flickered on the tarnished metal table. Vincent woke from his fantasies, looking at the frightened lights then to pipes rumbling behind the walls.

“Lawrence?” Keely cooly spoke to the radio, pausing to listen to the static.

Vincent glanced at the clock. Anxiety bubbled in limbs lighter than air. The trip to deposit the bomb took a total of twelve minutes, but if that was the explosion, it was three minutes too soon. Vents rattled from all corners of the floor. Mist seeped out grates and seams. Vincent sprang up, sending his chair screeching back. The elevator shaft let out a bellowing groan. Paced clicks followed, loudening as cables hoisted up the box inside.

The final click was mockingly sluggish, marked by an exasperated moan. A nonchalant ding parted the doors agonizingly slow. Vincent blinked, and Lawrence appeared. He plucked off his helmet, stepping through steamy tendrils coiling around his dusty jeans. There wasn’t one scrape, burn, or bruise on Lawrence. Not even a singed strand of hair was accounted for under Vincent’s scrutiny.

“Got a little toasty in there,” he said and Vincent finally exhaled.

Stepping into the daylight, Vincent winced at the sun's glare filtering through willowy branches and lazy leaves. Warm desert air dispelled the lingering chill of the vault. Blossoming flowers dispersed its mildewy musk, replaced by sweet aromas as gentle as the arm that now hung around Vincent’s shoulders.

 “I’d offer to walk with you back to McCarran, but I don’t doubt you can handle yourself out here,” Lawrence said to the ghoul standing in the shade at the vault door. Her arms were crossed like her expression studying the verdant foliage creeping into a dry, beige desert.

“I appreciate the offer,” Keely nodded. “I’m planning to stay a little longer here. Just to make sure I didn’t miss anything. But thank you for your help.”

With parting words, Keely retreated to her vault. The two remained among the tall grass and dancing flowers neither would ever see again once they left the emerald threshold. A tender moment seeped in with a breeze. Vincent let his head rest against Lawrence, a smile budding on his face as he captured the distant and jagged mountains, New Vegas’s faint grey shapes on a hazy horizon, and the broad, blue sky that went on forever like the growing affections for the ranger at his side.

“Why did I let you convince me to come here?” Vincent muttered, his smile taking a mischievous bend.

“Excuse me?” Lawrence said, wearing a peculiar look on his face that sent Vincent into a laughing fit. “Boy, you are cruisin’ for a bruisin’.”

Vincent yelped at a pinch in his side. He scurried away, teasing the ranger a couple paces behind, “you’re always leading us into grave danger.”

Lawrence scoffed, starting after Vincent at a leisurely pace. “I’ll introduce you to real trouble when we get back to Vegas, and she goes by the name of tequila.”

Vincent spun around and waited for Lawrence to catch up. A gentle breeze rustled auburn hair badly in need of a cut. “What’s our next grand adventure?”

“Oh, I don’t know, how about a shotgun wedding, get matching tattoos, and wake up with the worst hangover the next day?” Lawrence mused, but that was exactly what they did.