Just to reiterate, I'd just gone from being an up and coming lawyer to being... a janitor. Locked in a basement with zombies. OK, Ghouls, but at the time I didn't understand the distinction. As you can probably imagine, I took a very conservative approach to exploring my new workplace. Creeping through the shadows, no flashlight, doing my very best to stay quiet and hoping the "zombies" couldn't smell fresh meat.

 

Right about that time, I was deeply regretting my decision to investigate the lab when I made some discoveries that changed my mind... a bit. While a lot of the lights were out, the company's server room was apparently an exception - office email from when the bombs dropped were still sitting there, waiting to be read on conveniently unlocked workstations. I learned some details about the day the bombs dropped that filled in a lot of gaps. The big city buster we'd seen go off just as we were going down into the vault had apparently missed Boston proper and fell somewhere to the southwest. The whole mandatory overtime business was just a ruse to keep the employees from panicking, and the real plan was for them to crunch down and finish a key defense project. 

 

I also learned that the lab's isotope containment chamber was leaking - just great, because I'm sure you agree I definitely needed more radiation exposure at that moment. But at the same time I found some clues about a way to force the containment doors open. It was looking like I had two options to get out - solve the science project the team was working on, or override the blast doors. I'm no scientist. But I was willing to give it the old college try, since apparently opening the blast doors also meant 'fighting our way out,' to quote the email. 

 

 

From what I could sort out, the project hinged on making special armor plating for power armor. The details went way over my head, but right before the scientists tried to launch their escape attempt, some of them were close to a breakthrough. Their machine was set up, it just needed the chemical feed stock to print the alloy parts. If I could get to the storeroom and decipher the instructions, I had a shot at this. 

 

However, as I made my way into the main atrium, I saw a big problem: security cameras - and specifically, the blister type ones that had a concealed machine gun underneath. The law firm I was about to start with had just set up the exact same model in their lobby, after some self-appointed patriots tried to vandalize the place. It looked very much powered on and very much active... based on that comment about having to fight their way out, I'm guessing the scientists tried to break the lockdown and ended up coming under the barrels of their own guns.

 

I realized that I had a very small chance to turn this to my advantage - if I could avoid getting spotted, then any Ghouls who tried to track me down might get picked off. That, or at least I'd get confirmation about whether or not the turrets still had ammo. Until then, I was going to follow the rule I learned in Civil Defense class: assume every gun is loaded. And them my big smart plan about sneaking around went to hell.

 

 

I'd actually made it through the central hall and up along the upper gallery, trying to get into the other office blocks. I'd just slipped into a room when I bumped into something moist and squishy. The outraged roar that immediately followed revealed that I'd run into one of the Ghouls. Before he could fully get to his feet I drew my gun and shot him, the shock of the encounter getting the better of me. Only after I discharged the weapon did I realize I'd just alerted everyone and everything in the building to my presence. 

 

So enough sneaking. Gun at the ready, flashlight on, I'd just have to deal with whatever crawled out of the shadows. The one silver lining was that I was right about the turret: it started shooting the Ghouls as they began hunting me. While I was careful to keep out of its way, I was quite happy to have at least a little fire support down there. 

 

And the office proved to be a worthwhile starting point for my search. Next to the remains of a scientist who apparently found his own escape using rat poison-laced tea, I found one of the missing cartridges for the alloy printer. I scooped it up, suddenly really wishing I had a backpack. This was going to awkward to carry these back to the fabrication lab.

 

 

Speaking in things I wished I had: I really wished I had my vault suit. I know this jumpsuit probably should have felt nice and comfortable, but the chafing against my sensitive spots was almost unbearable. While I had some small comfort that the perverted scientist behind those nerve density enhancement trials they made me go through was long dead, I still wished I could have found some way to kill him with my own hands. While I plotted my next move, I allowed myself to fantasize just a little bit about how I was going to get my revenge on Vault-Tec. I didn't really have any good ideas yet, but I was confident I'd come up with something in due time. 

 

In the end, my answer was to get up into the ventilation ducts. Classic action film move, and it should have been pure stupidity, but the duct housings were huge and really solid. Based on the machine-gun noises below as I walked, I was waking up every Ghoul in the house, but that gun was doing my work for me. I had to take care of one of the poor schmucks when I dropped out of the ceiling into the room I was trying to reach, but otherwise I managed to avoid any confrontations. 

 

 

That room bagged me another cartridge - and a terminal that let me get some of the locked doors open. I was making progress. The big problem of the moment? The only way back out was right underneath one of the turrets. I got ready to spring like my life depended on it, but just as I was taking off I realized I didn't hear any signs of the guns deploying. A terrible pinch in my crotch brought my mind to the answer: I was the janitor. I was in my uniform. Molly had hired me. As far as the security system was concerned, I was supposed to be there.

 

I dropped off the two cartridges I'd got my hands on and set to work trying to run down the rest. There was a storeroom in one corner of the hall, but the door was messed up and I'd have to find an alternate way in. Beyond that, I was just going to have to search. All while keeping the Ghouls' hands off my delicate self. 

 

You might be wondering about now, how this naïve, freshly defrosted refugee from the 21st century is feeling after killing not one, but two of her erstwhile coworkers. In that moment? It didn't feel real. It was like I was in a zombie movie, and I'd seen a lot of those in my time. I was mostly running on adrenaline, and it wouldn't be till much later that I'd try to grapple with the lives I'd taken.

 

 

And lives I did take, because right about then every Ghoul in the house rushed the alloy lab. I took out the first few through the door with ease, but one after another they just kept coming. I think there were about a dozen in total. I tried to lure the mob out into the main atrium - and they took my bait - but the clicks from above told me the machine guns had finally gone dry. I was distracted for just the briefest moment as I saw that the door to the storeroom was suddenly open. Perhaps my computer fiddling upstairs had unlocked that door as well - and indeed, perhaps that was where the fresh contingent of Ghouls had emerged from.

 

Then I was spun around by a clawed hand and my gun skittered to the floor even as I caught a punch to the side of my head. Dazed, I stumbled, then sank to my knees. I didn't have time to rise before the two surviving Ghouls were all over me. From my extensive education in the way of zombies, I expected the tearing and the biting to start then, but the only tearing they set about was to my jumpsuit. I'll spare you from going into too much detail, but suffice it to say Ghouls, even feral Ghouls, still have certain urges.

 

 

When the bastards finally stopped for a moment, I took my chance and ran for it, scooping up my gun in the process. Fortunately, they Ghouls didn't seem especially interested in chasing me, and I managed to get clear of them. Still, I had to get back down there in order to reach the storeroom. So I set about carefully looking over the angles to try and find a spot where I could pick off the ferals. Fortunately, the injury to my arm wasn't as bad as I'd first feared, and though it was sore I had enough range of motion that I could still aim. 

 

I found a spot that wouldn't be easy to rush, picked my targets, and set to work. They almost seemed surprised when I started shooting. They were fast, and made a heck of an effort to get to me. One even scrambled over my impromptu barricade and got much too close for comfort, but in the end, they were all dead, and I was - at last - alone in the lab. I tried not to think too much about the implications of the glowing goop that the Ghouls had deposited all over my body, and got back to my scavenger hunt.

 

 

I found three more cartridges in the storeroom, which was great, but I was pretty certain I needed one more to complete the instructions from that terminal. That meant I'd have to go to the one place I'd avoided so far - the isotope lab that the scientists had reported was leaky. It was bad enough that whenever I got near it my Geiger counter started to tick. But at the same time, the storeroom revealed a solution: an intact hazmat suit. With that, I'd be much better protected against the radiation. 

 

 

Anyway, you know what's worse than a zombified feral Ghoul desperate for a booty call after two hundred years? An angry, glowing version of the same. And that's what had apparently been sleeping in the isotope containment lab. He was decidedly not amused at my interrupting his nap. 

 

 

What followed involved a great deal of me running away, knocking over furniture, and taking the occasional shot with my gun. The continued at almost comical length until, literally, the Ghoul's leg fell off. At that point, I proceeded to the beating-to-death-with-baton stage, which also took a surprisingly long time to complete. Why beating to death, you might ask? Because I'd used up almost all of my precious 10mm ammunition in this little misadventure - an error of logistics that I would come to regret in the days ahead. 

 

But in the moment, I did get what I needed. The last cartridge I'd been looking for was on a rack in the isotope containment chamber. With that last part in hand, I made my way back to the alloy lab and tried to very carefully follow the instructions I'd found. After checking my work about a dozen times, I hit the button to start the fabrication and - against all odds, I suspect - a shiny new piece of... armor came out on the other side. 

 

Molly was delighted when I showed her the big armor plate, and just like that she let me out. However, she insisted that I first show the product to the director. This struck me as a very bad idea, but Molly has a way of being insistent. After I changed back into my vault suit, I followed her up to the CEO's office and observed a truly absurd spectacle. The director, of course, was a Ghoul, and when he tried to sink he teeth into me, Molly chastised him for violating the workplace violence policy... right before sawing off his limbs with her utility arm. 

 

Molly, after apologizing for her boss 'not being himself', handed me a stack of bills and then cheerfully fired me, since the company had no more projects and I'd become redundant. And just like that, my short career as a janitor was at an end. I took a moment to explore the building a bit, and did manage to scrounge up some things that seemed useful - one of them being a medical text that seemed basic enough for me to interpret. I also rifled through the CEO's email, and learned a few more details about the days immediately after the war started. 

 

Despite missing Boston, the first strike had cause a lot of damage. All the lines of communication were down - phone, internet, whatever. Civil order broke down pretty fast, with mass looting and rioting almost as soon as the shock of the attack wore off, but at least at first the military seemed to be holding together. It was kind of sad reading through the guy's logs, actually. I'd taken him for a bastard, the way he locked his people down in the lab, but it seemed like he was really doing his best to keep them safe. Unfortunately, the radiation turned him into a Ghoul before his people could finish the project, and so his contacts in the military never came through to evacuate the staff. 

 

So, to recap: I got laid off from my 'new job' in record time, I didn't find any scientists who could help me, I didn't find any information about how to wire up the fission battery, I used up almost all my ammunition, and based on how crappy I was starting to feel, I was pretty sure I was in the first stages of Acute Radiation Syndrome. 

 

In short, I was in a world of suck.