AN: Sorry for the slow updates. I could spit out a page or two of excuses, but let's just leave it at "Sorry for the slow updates." I'll try to do better going forward, though that's contingent upon the stars aligning properly.

Anyway, for this chapter, I'm providing a content warning for brutal violence involving a "child." I've been avoiding writing this scene for literally months and, if it seems too abrupt, it's because I found writing it too disturbing to invest a lot of time in.

o - o - o - o - o

I wonder if Richard likes long walks on the beach?

Amari smiled at her little joke - if you could call it that and not the faltering stutter of a mind pushed past its breaking point. She sobered quickly. From the moment she'd returned to this universe, it had wrestled her for control, dashing old nightmares into her face like cold water, shaping her and dressing her as it saw fit. Any distraction was dangerous, and fantasizing ever more so: unseen forces pressured her to abandon both her name and her quest. If she thought too much about what could be, she might forget what was. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to come back from that.

Freshly cleaned and starched and just a little too short for her tastes, the waitress uniform had almost pulled Amari back into Mary's strange, suffocated world, the prison where she'd already served a life sentence. This time, however, she fought back, clawing for an identity - any identity - that she could call her own. Some repressed part of her conjured up a vault suit to replace the hated uniform; it wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind, but it was better, or at least familiar.

Braun would have laid traps for her. It was his modus operandi, Amari decided, to study her as a insect-collector might examine a specimen he was chloroforming. All the same, she was more prepared this time around. Yes, he was toying with her; yes, he had the upper hand... but she wouldn't go gently this time. She could muster only small rebellions, like her choice in clothing, but it would, she hoped, be enough to make him sit up and take notice. Enough to earn her the dubious honor of a face-to-face meeting.

Despite her many apprehensions, she strolled with deliberate nonchalance along the beach that had unspooled hastily at her arrival, an unimaginative stretch of gravel that looped every so often, with the result that she'd passed the same ugly pile of seaweed three times already. She looked neither to the left nor to the right, worrying about Spot (James, his name is James, she reminded herself), and uncomfortably aware of the attention that had been laser-focused on her from the moment she'd returned.

Amari set her restless mind upon the people who had stepped in and out of her new life. She held their faces in her mind for a moment before letting them go. Simms. Moriarty. Moira. Deacon. Richard. Penny. Three Dog. The boy, Arthur. Cross. She'd found allies and enemies, watched some of them die, and left others behind forever. The fleeting nature of these encounters would have left poor, stupid Amata reeling, but Amari could accept these comings and goings as a matter of course. She'd never known anything else.

I'm afraid, she admitted to herself when she was out of names to remember. She wondered if Braun could hear her thoughts. It seemed quite likely. I have only myself to blame. I volunteered for this.

Like a mother hen with one chick, Cross had fussed over her, giving her general parameters for this second foray. She had finally dropped the pretense that Amari was a soldier under her command and acknowledged her as a civilian with less field experience than the greenest initiate.

He's got every advantage over you. He's had millennia to prepare, for one. He's many times more intelligent (sorry honey, but it's true). He's the god of his tiny universe. All you've got is unpredictability and possibly knowledge that he wants to get out of you. Depending on how much James told him, he may not know how much the world has changed and curiosity may keep him talking.

Most importantly, he's cornered. Your disappearance and return tells him that you have backup. He's an animal in a trap and dangerous for it. Are you sure you want to do this?

Don't die, girl. I'd never forgive myself.

Far less emotive and characteristically succinct, Richard hadn't added anything to this except, "This is a bad idea," a sentiment that Amari agreed with wholeheartedly. Nevertheless, this was what she had to do to kill off Amata altogether. She might have felt guilty, except… Amata would have agreed. She would have chosen Amari or Marilyn over herself, or so Amari believed. It was becoming difficult to remember Almodovar's daughter. Telling James the truth would be the last thing Amata did as far as Amari was concerned. It wasn't murder; it was more like surgically removing a vestigial limb.

First, however, she and James would have to survive the rescue attempt. Everything depended upon Braun's willingness to play the game properly.

She didn't want to rise to his bait, but when the diner materialized on the rise above the shore, Amari had long since grown impatient enough to take it. The alternative was a virtual eternity of virtual monotony and she had no doubt that Braun was more patient than she. Passing the familiar back door by the dumpsters, she wasn't particularly surprised to see an old friend. Dressed as a waitress, a worn, middle-aged version of Suzie was pacing nervously on thin-soled shoes and smoking a cigarette. She didn't bother with a greeting.

"Do what he wants and end this, Mary. He's been running this simulation for years since you left. You think you know what it's like, but you haven't been doing this for centuries." The older woman ground her cigarette into the ground defiantly and stared out over the lead-gray sea. "I wish you and your father had never come. For the most part, he had been leaving us to our own devices. He'd even given me a little bit of control, if only so he wouldn't be bothered with the petty details. You disturbed our equilibrium and we're the ones who've paid for it."

Your father provoked a fresh stab of uneasy guilt. "I'm working on it, Suzie. I have friends on the outside. They… we… aren't going to move on until this is over." Amari swallowed. "If you had a choice - if Braun were out of the picture - would you live on in this simulation or… um, not? It's been two hundred years since the War. Your body is beyond saving. Your whole family..." She trailed off. The anguished look on Suzie's face told her she'd been too blunt; she might have known all of that, but hearing it spoken aloud was another thing altogether.

"Kill Braun first, then I'll decide," Suzie said harshly. "You aren't the first to try to get the upper hand on him. Go on. He's waiting inside for you." When Amari turned to go, Suzie reached out and grabbed her shoulder with a painfully strong grip, whispering foul-smelling words into her ear. "Remember this if you get close. He chooses to limit himself to his current form. He's been Betsy for a long time, God knows why, and he might have forgotten his stronger shapes. That could be useful." She lowered her voice ever further. "He's killed in the past by lifting the safeguards that keep us from dying for a minute or two. In those moments... I think he's vulnerable too. The bastard may not believe he can be hurt, but I think he's grown complacent."

Amari pushed her way into the diner and wasn't surprised to find it empty except for a familiar little girl and Old Lady Dithers standing frozen like a statue beside the nearest booth, holding a pad and pen. Through the window behind the counter, Amari could see poor Mr. Neusbaum waiting for a sign, a white apron stretched over his belly and a spatula in his hand. Two reluctant props in a play that might never resume.

Amari took a seat across from Braun. "Let them go. This is between you and me. Aren't you bored with all this by now? And where is James?"

"You're impudent for an intruder. James was the same way, at first, before I shut his mouth. You are his daughter, I presume? You must be. There is a passing similarity between you two."

Braun no longer sounded like the child he appeared to be and this was actually a relief. His was a haughty male voice, contemptuous and self-important, wrapped in an accent Amari didn't recognize. She said nothing to his speculations, letting him assume what he would. James was around somewhere, and she didn't want to muddy the waters just now.

She drew herself up and tried to match her enemy's tone. "I represent what passes for authority and justice in this day and age. I'm here to tell you that your experiment is over. You know by now, of course, that the security of this vault is entirely compromised. James came alone for his own purposes. I did not. I have come to present you with an ultimatum: release them or die."

"Should you not bargain for your own life as well?" His smile was a particularly nasty one. "Before I give you my answer, let me show you a part of what I've learned."

o - o - o - o - o

Without any obvious effort, he whisked them both back to Paradise, the home that now seemed more real than the hole she'd been born in. Two boys in overalls knelt over a marbles game on the street, the lopsided chalk circle smudged by their knees. Suzie skipped rope on the sidewalk, keeping perfect time to her sing-song chant. Another familiar face - Timmy Neusbaum, once again six years old and wearing his old ball cap - played catch with his father in the side yard. Mothers clothed in aprons hung laundry over velvety lawns, the lush grass marred only by the hole that Spot was digging for his bone. Somewhere not too far away, a calliope played its tinkling tune and a lovely, distant aroma promised hot dogs, popcorn, and cotton candy to end a perfect day. Here was mid-century Americana, sucked directly out of someone's nostalgic dream. Amari hated the lie but loved the beauty.

"This is the way it was in the beginning." Braun sounded almost wistful as he said this, but there was no genuine regret on his features. "The way we always wished it was before. This is what the nation's leaders told its citizens they were fighting for. It is almost worth dying for, yes?"

It was hard to see the monster when it was squeezed into an innocent shape and harder still when that shape so perfectly fit the setting. He wore a poodle skirt here, colored the usual bubblegum pink that Betsy preferred. Walking beside him, Amari had to slow her steps to keep to a five-year-old's pace. She had somehow managed to keep her true age, more or less, but Tranquility Lane had pulled her back into Mary's body and what Mary knew to be a fashionable swing dress.

"So you got bored," Amari said matter-of-factly. "Without condoning any of… this, I can't say I don't understand. Two hundred years is a long time. I can't imagine how much time you've actually spent here. Anyone would go insane."

"Not I," Braun retorted. "You misunderstand. It was them. Well before the end of that first year - less than a month into the experiment - they began to complain. Life was too easy. The sun was too bright. The dogs never bit and the ants never stung. They had everything they needed to be happy and they rejected it. I offered them the Promised Land and they demanded the desert."

"So, what, you sent a thunderstorm their way and everything else followed from that?" she shot back sarcastically. "It's a long way from a bit of rain to torture." She realized to her horror that every person on the block was crying through frozen smiles, that muscles were straining impotently against the strings that put them through their paces. Her hands itched to grab the fragile neck and squeeze, but she buried her fists in her skirt and willed herself to bide her time. Not yet, she told herself. Wait for the moment. If Suzie is right, he has to drop the safety protocols before he can kill me. That's when I'll kill him.

"You jest, but you are correct. It became too hard to calibrate the exact level of misery needed to optimize human happiness. I found it easier to maximize it, to test the upward limits of human endurance." He paused. "To be perfectly honest, it was also more fun."

Amari found she had a headache despite not having a real head here. Too much time in the simulation, perhaps? She still had no plan for wresting control of the situation from Braun, not when he had complete control of the world around them. Keep him talking, she told herself.

"Why are you showing me all of this?" she asked after a long moment of silence.

"The experiment ends today. An old scientist needed to report his results to someone. With that dispensed of, I can die and all of my subjects with me." Rosebud lips curling into a beatific smile. "You will accompany me and them on the proverbial pyre. As certain among my former colleagues learned to their ruin, I am not above spiteful revenge and you and you father have ended my life. That is my answer to your masters' 'ultimatum.' Will you join me for dinner?"

It took Amari a long moment to realize she'd been offered an invitation and even longer to realize they were back in the diner, a dismal shock after the vibrancy they'd left behind. She took one last look around the room she'd spent eons haunting. Ms. Dithers was still frozen beside their table, waiting patiently for them to order lousy soup or a lousy sandwich.

Amari faced Braun defiantly, muscles tensed to fight barehanded if it came to it. "I'd rather die now than eat here."

He clapped little hands with glee. "Not here. I can do better than this. Prepared to be fêted."

o - o - o - o - o

Braun was as good as his word and more. Amari supposed that places like this one had once existed, but she knew they never would again. Lights, yellow and pure and bright, hung suspended from an impossibly high ceiling, mounted upon elegant complications of gold that draped downwards like tree branches.

Chandeliers, thought Amari doubtfully, stumbling over the never-before-used word. What else could they be?

There were other diners fading into the background, a faceless, well-dressed multitude whose murmurs rose and fell soothingly like a distant ocean. Amari knew them to be as lifeless as the heavy red drapings on the wall. Braun had proven himself capable of creating convincing people, but he obviously hadn't bothered here. She wondered inconsequentially if he had drawn this place from a real memory of his.

Dazzled by her surroundings and too distracted to protest the low-cut black dress she found clinging to her body, Amari studied her plate. If it was to be her last meal... well, at least it was a good one. Fluffy rolls, gravy-soaked potatoes, jam made of tart red berries, and tender white meat. Too tender. Amari frowned inwardly. If only I had more than this dull knife in my hand right now. The instrument was good for spreading butter and little else. Entirely inadequate to the task she'd like to apply it to.

Braun had retained his diminutive shape, but was now dressed for a grand occasion in a red dress of what Amari imagined was silk or velvet or some other material found only in books. His legs didn't reach the ground, but swung freely a full foot and a half above the marble floor. Elbows resting on the table, he dripped gravy on the white tablecloth. His drink was milk while Amari's glass held wine.

Amari sipped this delicately. Awful stuff. Bitter. Not at all what she'd expected from the ruby sparkle of the drink. "You're really committed to this Betsy thing, aren't you?"

Braun waved an airy hand. "I've been hundreds of people, child. I challenge myself to not only look like them, but also to become them. In a very real way, I am Betsy. It amused me to take that shape, though now I grow weary of it. Perhaps it is for the best that this is almost over. One can live only so many lives." He toyed with his napkin, peering at her with an adult's cynical curiosity. "What is your name? 'Mary' cannot be right; it was chosen at random for your role Your father will not yield that information, though he has reluctantly given up other secrets. Your mind is relatively open to me, but the core of who you are is a place I cannot go. Why guard it so fiercely?"

"'Mary' is close enough for government work," she shot back boldly, though her heart skipped a beat at the insinuation that he could see her thoughts. "Speaking of which, how did you earn yourself such a cushy retirement? I know enough about Vault-Tec not to question the insanity of this place, but I want to know how you earned your own personal wonderland. And why you would want to spend eternity in it." Unseen beneath the table, she held her knife, testing its value as a weapon. Although she squeezed the blade as hard as Mary's soft hand would allow, it wouldn't even break the skin of her palm.

"Why?" he echoed incredulously. "Don't you understand what this is? It would have changed everything. Education. Military training. Entertainment. It was not my brainchild, but I had invested a significant share of my resources in its development. By that last fall, there were several prototypes - of which this vault was the most significant - but these were limited in scope and availability. Government installations, mainly."

Seeing that Amari still looked confused, he burst out, "Time, child! Time! A hundred years in a day, a thousand in a week! Time to educate yourself in every subject under the sun. To run scenarios of potential strategies and outcomes. Given enough fine-tuning and computing power, it could be the perfect laboratory to carry out dangerous experiments safely. Anything would have been possible. I myself have spent eons plumbing those depths, gone further than any human being has gone before."

Dawning awareness made her want to laugh. "Time to train soldiers with well-documented military campaigns. Like… oh, let's see… Operation Anchorage. Realistic combat experience without the risk. I've done it," she said with unfeigned pride. "Completed the scenario, I mean. It wasn't as responsive as this one. Less of a sandbox and more of an obstacle course. Let me tell you, it wasn't easy..."

Reading the interest in his eyes, she explained how she came to cheat the puzzle. Meanwhile, she experimented with her fork. The tine, though it tapered to a blunted tip, was just sharp enough to pierce the pad of her thumb if she bore down on it. The pain felt real. There was damage to the skin. She blotted a tiny bead of red surreptitiously on her napkin. Even if I can't kill him, I can hurt him. That's something.

He eyed her with something like respect. "You are not without your hidden depths, Miss Wilder. Yes. Mine was constructed with a far superior engine, but they grew out of the same technological potential. With the right training and a well-honed strength of will and concentration, a pocket universe becomes putty in your hands. Yes, I wanted that. I deserved it. It was my reward for a lifetime of service. My body might have gone on another five years, but-"

"Excuse me," she interrupted. "May I have a steak instead? This, whatever it is, tastes good, but I've always wanted to try beef. It doesn't seem likely I'll have another chance." And I'll need a better knife, please and thank you.

The child scowled at her with irritation. "Very well. If you insist." He snapped his fingers. "Serveuse!"

Their waitress, her gaunt frame now wrapped in a clean costume of black and white, shuffled toward the table, plainly terrified. In her hands was a new dish, this one filled with beef, potatoes, and vegetables Amari didn't recognize. As the trembling woman laid the new setting before her, Amari tried to catch her eye and give her a smile of encouragement. The withered woman shook her head a fraction, and stepped back into a servile attitude.

"Will there be anything else?" She twitched as if stung by a fly, breaking character. "Please, Overseer, I'm tired."

"Then you are dismissed," said Braun, now sounding petulant. "I'm done with you." He snapped his fingers again and there was a column of flame where before there had been a human being. Her screams didn't last long. Nor did the smell of burning meat, hair, and clothing. Frozen in her seat, Amari didn't realize she had missed her opportunity until the fire was gone.

Braun plucked a green bean from his plate and ate it with his fingers. "She was a thorn in my side from the beginning. Batty old hag. She must have been some general's favorite spinster aunt to get on a vault list. How is your food, Mary? I hope the steak is more to your liking. I daresay the cost was higher than you'd expected."

"It is the best I've ever eaten," Amari said dumbly, trying not to look at the heap of fine gray ash on the otherwise spotless floor. "Food like this doesn't exist anymore. Nor a room like this one. Or clothes like we're wearing." Though all of her hunger had vanished, she sawed away at the cursed steak, willing the knife to become sharp rather than serrated. If she could bleed - if the old woman could burn - then perhaps Braun could be hurt. Perhaps he could be killed. "We still live on the scraps of what your lot left behind." It was easier to take him to task for the War than for the murder he'd committed in front of her, and she doubled down on it "They call it the Wasteland, you know. Cannibals, mutants, and ghouls abound."

Braun winced in the manner of a man receiving unpleasant news. "O brave new world that has such… ahem, 'people' in it. Did my G.E.C.K. not find its proper use?" At Amari's annoyed and puzzled look, he changed the subject. "Does it begin to heal, at least? The land? Think what you want of me, but I was not one of the bomb-makers. Quite the contrary."

Amari thought about Megaton, a settlement hammered together from old aircraft, poisoned by a bomb at its heart. About Rivet City, a boat gone aground in waters no one could drink. About the Brotherhood, the remnants of a once-grand military force that was now incapable of dealing with the monsters that the land generated.

"Not that I can tell." She kept her voice calm, but a thrill of excitement and terror spread from her fingertips. The slender metal object in her hand had lengthened slightly, becoming heavier, its edge growing keen rather than jagged. The blade slid all the way through the meat unexpectedly and scratched the china plate below. She spoke quickly to cover the sound. "Maybe it is better, elsewhere. I haven't seen much of the world after all. I lived the first nineteen years of my life in a vault, remember."

"Yes, yes," he said absently. "Your father said. 101. 'We're born in the vault. We die in the vault. Blessed be the the Overseer.' One of the more unimaginative ones. It's a pity you were cloistered there." Looking less like a child than he ever had, Braun leaned back in his chair and stared into space, scratching a chin that should have sprouted scratchy whiskers. "I would have liked to talk to you about what little you have seen, but I can extend this time only so much. Your friends on the outside may act at any moment and I can't let you slip through my fingers. It is time for me to end this on my own terms."

"You could let me go. James as well. We still have bodies to return to, unlike the rest." Revealing the agitation she felt, Amari pushed her chair back and stood. She rested both hands on the table, the improved knife concealed under the messy tangle of her napkin. She could feel the flat of the blade under her wrist and she calculated the movements and the distance required. "There's no need to hurt any of us, really. Clock out yourself and let the rest of us choose." She held her breath and wrapped her fingers around her weapon. She was prepared to act either way - the reproach of the ashes on the floor left her no other choice - but she did want to hear his answer. It might make what she was about to do less of a nightmare.

The grandfatherly smile looked very strange on the childish face. "There is a need, my dear. It gives me pleasure to see your suffering and I have the power - and the right - to pursue what pleases me. That is all the justification I need." He held up his hand imperiously, the thumb and fingers poised for one last snap. "Any last words?"

His callousness and her peril gave her the strength to act decisively for once in her life. Reminding herself that this was not a child, but an inhuman, inhumane monster that didn't deserve mercy, she lunged first for the neck, somehow managing only superficial damage. All delicacy forgotten, she tried again. She stabbed. She cut. It seemed as if she'd forgotten everything she knew about anatomy, but she could hardly help but hit something vital. These panicked flailings had only one goal: to prevent Braun from forcing her to die with him. Amari found that human flesh was much more unyielding than perfectly-cooked meat and the hot blood that drenched her fingers almost made her drop the weapon. It's not murder, she told herself again and again. It's surgery. She didn't realize until it was over that she'd been reciting this litany out loud.

When the deed was done, the weak little arms long past their ineffectual struggle, Amari took stock of what she had done. She gagged at the sigh of the blood (So much blood!) that stained her clothes and arms, at the body that lay sprawled half under the table, the face mercifully hidden from view, the pink dress sodden down the front where she'd unsuccessfully and unnecessarily tried to saw through the windpipe. She prayed that Braun would turn back into the shriveled old man she imagined him to be - one she could hate and kill without aversion - but he didn't. He had died a little girl and a little girl he remained. She forced herself to guard the fallen nightmare for a moment in anticipation of a resurrection that never came.

Overseer Mary, the universe whispered to her. Congratulations on your promotion.

"Thank you," she answered with a calm she certainly didn't feel. She stood up and flung the knife away from her, as hard as she could. It skittered a long way across the slick floor, leaving a streak of red behind. "Please clean up this mess and summon the others for a meeting." She thought for a moment. "Release James Wilder from his pod first and stretch out the next minute for as long as you can. I have business to finish here." And I don't want him to hear.

o - o - o - o - o

The dwellers of Vault 112 looked nothing like the various shapes Braun had crammed them into. Their self-perception had apparently degraded so much that some barely resembled people. Amari realized with an unpleasant shock that there were far more residents here than she'd realized. Just how many pods are there? As expected, Old Lady Dithers was not among those assembled.

"He's dead," Amari announced loudly, speaking as quickly as she could, absently rubbing her arms to get rid of the blood that had already disappeared. Once James had awoken, Cross and Richard would pull her out as well and she had no way of knowing if her request for time would be heeded. Chilly formality borrowed from her father - a tone she had always detested in him - crept into her voice. "Braun is dead. The vault has made me Overseer, a position I do not intend to hold for long. Each of you may choose what happens next. You can choose a quiet, painless death, or…" she trailed off. You're so damn cold, Amari. Give them a minute.

"That's what I want," Mr. Neusbaum said stolidly, his arm around his son.

Timmy, still appearing as a child, though almost transparent in the light of the dining hall, whispered, "Me too."

Others chorused their agreement with words, grunts, and gestures. About half seemed to have lost the ability to form words.

Amari blinked. "...or you can elect a better leader from your number and create a better world for yourselves.

"That's what I want," a familiar voice spoke out of the crowd. "I want to be Overseer. We've… we've talked about it among ourselves already, those of us who can still talk, anyway. We've talked about this for a very long time. I'm the only one who wants to stay."

"Okay," Amari said weakly. "Well, I suppose then… uh… I just killed Braun with a knife. I guess I could-"

Suzie rolled her eyes. "Give me the keys to the kingdom. No, not literal keys. Abdicate and I'll take care of the rest. With all due gratitude and respect, it's not your place."

Amari didn't hesitate. God knew she didn't want the job. Suzie - Overseer Suzie, Amari reminded herself - made short work of the disagreeable task. First, she created a wall. Then she summoned a button, green and round and made of soft rubber. Each of the residents in turn stepped up, accepted whatever privte word or gesture passed between them and Suzie, then chose death. The last two, hunched lumps of flesh with only the suggestion of limbs, she had to carry to the spot.

"Suzie, I don't know if that's ethical," Amari said suddenly. "Surely they can't consent." She wasn't sure why this was where she wanted to draw the line, but she'd witnessed one too many horrors in the last hour not to say something.

The tear-glazed glare the other woman shot her silenced any further admonition. Suzie hugged each of the homunculi tenderly, then lifted what remained of their hands to the button.

"Goodbye. I don't blame you for bringing us here. You only wanted to keep us safe. I'm still alive, aren't I?" A moment and they, too, were gone. Suzie stood, looked blearily around the now-empty room, and walked back to Amari, her back straight and proud.

"You're leaving now?"

Suzie had asked politely, but the question sounded more like a command. Of all of them, she may have been the most human, the most resilient, but Amari thought that wouldn't last in her newly solitary life, though it was clearly solitude she was looking for. Suzie looked at Amari as if Amari were a guest who had overstayed her welcome.

"Right now I need to rest. I need to do something besides lie down and dream." Amari looked over her shoulder, as if expecting an EXIT sign to appear. "However, I do plan to linger in the vault for a few weeks," she continued slowly, having just decided in that moment that she would do exactly that. The potential for self-improvement which Braun had described for him was too tempting an opportunity to pass up. "My formal education was inadequate and I can learn a great deal in a short amount of time here. I ask only for control over a room of my own and permission to come and go as I please. You won't see me if you don't want to."

Suzie sighed and dropped her gaze, letting her shoulders collapse in defeat. "I suppose you've earned that much. Will there be others after you?"

Amari knew the answer as well as Suzie did. "I don't have a say in that. Yes. An organization called the Brotherhood of Steel - allies of mine, sort of - have an interest in Pre-War experiments and technology. They will probably want to interview you at some point. They'll be curious about where you came from, how you came to be here, as much as you can remember."

"They just wanted us to live," Suzie said defensively. Her appearance momentarily flickered into the form of the child she had been. "That's all. Survival at all costs, right? It must seem stupid to you. Well, my parents did their best. I won't let anybody say otherwise. "

Amari was puzzled at the ferocity of this unprovoked non sequitur and defense. "Not at all. My ancestors made the same choice. I'm from a vault myself, you know. A… uh, a normal one." Her face grew hot. "I mean, you know one where people actually lived."

"How interesting," the new Overseer said blandly, her face resolving into a perfectly blank mask. "You must tell me more about that another time. Thank you, Mary. Give your father my best regards. He tried to help as well. Enjoy your life."

Amari found herself wanting to come clean to her former friend and balance the scales between them somehow. "He's not really my-" She didn't get to finish her sentence. A jerk and a flash of light, and she found herself back in the near-darkness of the pod and the heaviness of her real body.

o - o - o - o - o

She was able to sit up without help this time and the anticipated disorientation lasted only a minute. Her body was less stiff than it had been last time. Perhaps the task had taken only an hour or two. She stretched and took advantage of the exercise to study her surroundings out of the corner of her eye. A middle-aged man in a vault suit was sitting on the floor near the stairwell, leaning against the wall while Cross crouched beside him. Knowing she could delay no longer, Amari took a deep breath and made her approach; the weakness in her legs had little to do with her recent bouts of inactivity.

The Wasteland had transformed James into a lean, haggard version of the man she'd known, and he'd swapped the clean-shaven look for an overgrown beard. She would have recognized him and his voice anywhere.

"Who are you? Where's Marilyn?"

Cross looked concerned, but Amari wasn't surprised or even insulted. The last face she'd seen in a mirror had been all Amari and no Amata.

"Marilyn's dead," she said brightly. It felt wonderful, like a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. She said it again, "She died last summer." She'd forgotten something, but remembered in time for courtesy. "Sorry for your loss." She started toward the stairs and Richard moved to flank her.

Amari was already miles away by the time she finished speaking. I wonder if Deacon will still be in Rivet City in three weeks? How far is the Commonwealth, anyway?

"Amata? Is that you?" It seemed as if James hadn't heard what she'd said. His incredulity stopped her short. "What are you doing here? How on earth did you get out? And why?"

If it had only been surprise, she would have let it go. The audible contempt, however, broke a long-held tenet of hers: basic human decency. Something in her went cold and she turned to confront him. "My father gave his men free rein - and guns - to control the chaos… that you left behind. Sir. I made myself his enemy by throwing my lot in with Mari's, much good it did her. I became an exile for no reason."

"No." Ah. Denial and anger were catching up; he was getting closer to the truth. "You're wrong. The radio - the news from Megaton - said that the girl from the vault was looking for her father. Looking for me. You must be mistaken."

"No, Three Dog was misinformed. Moriarty took me for her, and I was too afraid of him to correct his assumption. The lie grew from there. Even Dr. Li thought the same. I'm sorry that you heard the story and believed it. But she's dead, I promise you. I saw the body. She didn't make it past the door."

She should have stopped there. She'd already dealt a terrible blow and didn't need to rub salt in the wound. Pent-up anger boiled over and words of condemnation came out in a rapid stream of words.

"You shouldn't have come to our vault. Not if you were going to leave twenty years later. Yes, our society was crumbling. Yes, the experiment was doomed to failure. Even so, it should have been an internal choice to end it or not. You forced my father to take drastic action. You left your daughter to the mercy of a desperate, frightened, unhinged man. You should have taken her with you. Then we wouldn't be here today. It wasn't just her who died." She steeled herself against what remained of pity and voiced the truth that had been buried in the back of her mind for many months. "I think you killed my mother when you convinced Almodovar to open the door to you. That's why he hated you. The timeline checks out. You deserve the pain you're feeling now."

"Amari," Cross growled, "that's enough. Leave him alone. He knows what he's done."

"I don't think he does," she snapped back. But Amari was done. What was the point? She climbed the stairs and left the stunned man behind, wondering why she'd ever admired him, wanted to be like him. He was no better than Almodovar. More sane, but just as selfish. I've lost two fathers now. Time to grow up.

James' anguish should have overshadowed joy, but the relief that washed over Amari drowned out the sympathy she should have felt. Her quest was over. She'd delivered the message that had burdened her since the day she'd lost everything. Amata - and Marilyn - could rest in peace now. She herself felt empty, but that wasn't a bad thing; emptiness could be filled with experiences and knowledge. Life beckoned her. In the short term, food, water, and sleep were warranted. She'd earned them. Then, onto something more than aimless wandering. She hoped.

Not an hour later, Cross shook her out of a pleasant, dreamless sleep.

"What the hell was that? That was cruel. I had to sedate him in the end; he's very weak and you did your best to finish him off. If I had known you were capable of something like that, I would have gagged you myself."

Sitting up reluctantly, Amari blinked sleepily at the soldier. "What do you mean? I told him the truth. I had nothing to add to it. You're his friend. Go comfort him. I want nothing to do with James Wilder. If I never speak to him again, I'll die happy."

"There's nothing I can say to that man that means anything right now. You told him he killed his own daughter!"

"He did. Given thirty seconds to think, he would have seen it himself. By leaving, he as good as sealed her fate. He should have known what our Overseer was like." Amari stood and backed away warily. Angry Cross was scary. Angry Cross could pull off her head if she wanted to. She knew on some level that the woman had enough self-control not to hurt her, but she still felt safer at a distance.

"Your father killed her," Cross reminded her with exaggerated mock-patience.

The soldier clearly didn't understand how much had changed in the past hour. "No. That was Amata's father. I'm Amari, remember? Amari is stronger. Maybe Amari is cruel," she speculated, considering the idea for the first time. She shrugged. "That remains to be seen."

No longer in the mood for sleep, she turned her back on Cross's bewildered, disappointed stare and beckoned Richard to accompany her to the surface. The Pip-Boy told her disoriented sense of time that it was mid-morning on the last day of February. A walk in the real world would do her good. She was free. She could do anything and be anyone she wanted. Her first life had ended, short, miserable, and unhappy though it was; only now could the next begin.