Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Have you ever watched a life go spinning down an omnipresent drain? Can you spare a dime to help alleviate a burning-barrel brain? Pushing through the afternoon with nothing but these rags upon my back, I am waiting for a break. The world I will forsake when I take the reins. ”

- Heaven On A Bird, Bryan Scary & The Shredding Tears

13 hours before the end of the world, 10 miles northeast of the Las Vegas Strip, and in the soon-to-be obliterated RobCo headquarters, a woman named Jane filed her nails in the spacious waiting room of her boss’ office and daydreamed of ice cream.

To her left, a floor to ceiling window radiated heat from the vast desert and sun-bleached sky like a furnace. A fat bead of sweat traced the sharp jut of her cheekbone, winding past the mole on the side of her chin to drip onto her fitted business skirt. For a moment, she paused to sweep her voluminous black hair away from her neatly sculpted eyebrows, but instantly she grimaced at the smudge of foundation that had come away on her hand.

Hubris, she decided, her piercing brown eyes gazing longingly at the washroom door in the corner, It was hubris that made humans build cities in the desert. And it’s exceptional ego that makes specific men insist on top floor offices, even though heat rises.

Would that she could splash cold water on her face without mussing the smokey eyeshadow on her almond eyes or the bright red lipstick on her thin lips, but the full face of makeup helped distract from the growing uncharacteristic softness of her typically angular face, and she didn't have the patience to reapply it all.

So settling it was.

Briefly, her eyes landed unseeing on the snowglobe on her desk that depicted the skyline of New York City in all of its frigid glory, but as soon as they focused, she jolted and busied herself with her nails again. Snow and home were both soon to be nostalgic concepts, best not to dwell on either or her makeup really would be ruined.

Beyond the closed double doors, out at the end of the hall, the far elevator dinged and the sound of clicking footsteps began to echo their approach.

Jane’s heart dropped like a stone. She hurriedly tossed her nail file into the top drawer of her desk, tapped it closed with her heeled foot, then forced a placid smile.

Sure enough, the doors flung open and in strode Victor.

It was always jarring to see Victor in the sophisticated office. Though he wore the required business suit like everyone else in the building, his tanned, weathered skin from years in the sun and uncultured slouching made the clothes seem like a costume. Right now, he was severely testing the dress code with an off-white cowboy hat and a pair of black cowboy boots, but the boyish twinkle in his blue eyes probably helped him avoid a write up.

That, and being the CEO’s pet, Jane thought snidely.

As soon as he saw her, Victor broke into a huge grin and threw out his hands as if he meant to hug her.

“Janey!”

Jane remained seated, voice tight, “Mr. Laughlin.”

“Ah! Shoot!” Victor stopped short and put his finger to his own mouth in a shushing gesture, then removed his hat to fan his sweaty face, trying a professional tone, “My apologies, Ms. Alderidge.” Here he winked like it was a charade they were both playing, “Is the boss in? I've got great news.”

Jane picked at her nails, “He's not taking visitors right now.”

“Ja- Ms. Alderidge, come on, I didn't mean anything by it-”

The intercom on Jane’s desk buzzed and an authoritative voice came through, marred by static, “If that's Victor, send him in.”

Victor raised his eyebrows hopefully. 

Jane didn't make a move, “Would you like to make an appointment? Come back later?”

“It sure sounds like he wants to see me.” Victor said slowly.

“Maybe heat exhaustion is getting to his head.”

“Now who’s bein’ unprofessional?” Victor frowned, “Look, we don’t have time for this. I’m sorry about being familiar, but-”

The office door behind Jane’s desk opened and Victor and Jane instantly straightened to attention.

“Really Ms. Alderidge,” House playfully scolded as he entered the room, “I could hear his boots from the parking lot.”

Even in a city of flashing neon and enormous personalities, House captured attention like no one else. It was as if he had his own gravitational pull; when he beckoned, people leaned closer, when he waved them away, they scattered.

It wasn’t his stark black suits, made of fabric so rich that light fell into it and showed no folds. It certainly wasn’t his unimposing height or slightly doughy figure, though Jane had seen enough women swooning over both that she figured there must be a shortage of optometrists in the American west.

It wasn’t even his aristocratic features; his strong jaw or his dignified mustache, his thick black hair gelled neat and tastefully greying at the temples, or even his magnetic black eyes that caught people like flies in a spider’s web.

It was his very presence, a boundless will inexplicably contained in a mortal body. What House wanted, he would bend the world to get. What didn’t bend had to contend with his formidable mind, a master of playing the angles and almost frighteningly intuitive for which arm to twist to pry out the desired result.

His speech was precise and eloquent, he had the regal poise of a man born and bred to rule, and the absolute confidence to back all of it up.

Not that Jane would ever voice any of her observations, least of all to him. House’s ego was sizable enough, so any praise promised catastrophic levels of smug self-satisfaction. Unthinkable, especially these days, as she and Victor were the only people that kept House grounded.

Jane instead noted the sweat stains on his tightly buttoned collar and suppressed a smile. Just a man. Still putting up with the heat from his terrible choice in office location, same as her.

Victor was laughing, “These old boots of mind, I tell ya! I’d never make a good thief.” He brushed past House’s offered handshake to lift him up into a full body grip, whacking his back good and hard.

House made a slight wheezing sound and Jane had to cover her mouth with her hand to hide her amusement. House shook his head at her reproachfully, but there was a softness in his lips that betrayed his amusement at the whole ordeal.

Victor released him so vigorously that House stumbled back until he found his footing, then adjusted his suit for good measure.

“Well?” House said impatiently, covering for his awkwardness.

Victor nodded, “It’s done. Down to the wire, but it’s done. I'm sure you’ll want to come see it.”

“Undoubtedly.” House flicked his fingers in a “stand up” gesture at Jane, “Ms. Alderidge, if you please.”

Jane’s veins turned to ice and she crossed her arms, “You can't be serious. Why do I have to come?”

House looked to Victor for explanation, but Victor just stared pointedly at Jane. Jane glared back at both of them.

House spoke gently and diplomatically, but the phrasing was colored by sarcasm, “This is for your peace of mind. I'm sure, with a moment of consideration, you could recognize the significance this will have on the rest of your life.”

“Don't condescend to me, House.” Jane said, “That’s exactly why I don’t want to go; who wants to tour their prison?”

House gave her a warning look, “I'll do you the courtesy of forgetting you said that. You really must come. You never know.”

“But you said the day after tomorrow!” Jane countered.

“I said most likely…”

“Meaning you might be wrong.”

House quirked an eyebrow, “It's been known to happen.”

“Seriously?” Jane looked helplessly between House and Victor.

House turned to Victor, “We shouldn't risk it. Perhaps a domestic touch?”

Victor gloomily stuffed his hat back on his head and stuck his hands in his pockets, shifting from foot to foot. House and Jane watched him expectantly.

“It’s just that… I think seein’ it before the moment of truth is safer…” Victor said, “There’s certain… considerations… that I worry you aren’t… considerin’...”

“This is painful to watch.” House muttered discreetly to Jane.

Jane jumped in, “House, maybe you should-”

“Absolutely.” House said, escaping for the hall with an eager bounce to his step. Jane thought she heard him mutter under his breath, “Take your time, it’s only nuclear war.”

The door clicked closed behind him.

Victor rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he shuffled closer, “Sorry, I’m tryin’ to keep it under wraps.”

Jane got to her feet, waving her hand, “It’s fine. But Vic, please. I hate it there. I trust that you can show me where to go when the time comes, besides it’s not like I haven’t been before. I can figure it out.”

“The cryo-pods have different door mechanisms than the stasis chambers. Nothing too complex, but still, you don’t want to be trial-and-erroring them in the chaos, with only seconds to spare…” Victor shook his head, “Especially when we've put so much into building this, I'd be beside myself to see that wasted by stubbornness. We can’t hide from it. It’s real and it’s comin’, Janey. I’m beggin’ you.”

Jane stared up at him like a deer in the headlights, every muscle in her body locked.

He was right. Soon enough there would be no more averting her eyes from the snowglobe, no more nail filing to distract her racing mind. Sure as the sun would rise tomorrow, the end was coming for them.

“Okay.” Jane lowered her head, “Okay.”

She wanted Victor to hold her now as her mind blunted from fear, but he only looked chagrined and offered his elbow for her to take. Jane stuffed a pair of sunglasses on to hide her glistening eyes and clutched his arm for support.

“One foot in front of the other.” Victor promised in a whisper as he drew her towards the door, “I’ll see you through, I swear.”

Out in the hall, House was nonchalantly studying his fingernails as he leaned against a bookshelf, making such a big show that he hadn’t been eavesdropping, that it made Jane all the more suspicious.

“Everything settled?” House asked conversationally.

“Of course.” Victor patted Jane’s arm, “Ms. Alderidge and I just needed a moment to utilize open communication to align our business goals.”

House guffawed as he fell into step beside Jane, “Sending you to that seminar was a mistake.”

“‘Course it wasn’t! Now I’m ready to employ my core competencies to drive deliverable results in the apocalypse.” Victor said.

House opened his mouth to loop Jane into the joke, but he caught her drawn expression and thought better of it. For a moment, he studied her curiously like she was a perplexing machine he wanted to take apart, but Jane turned her face away and he dropped it.

“It’s getting late.” Victor said as they got into the elevator, “Wonder if the bossman might let us take the rest of the day off.”

“I wonder.” House said, pressing the button and feigning naivety.

“Considerin’ how well everything’s turning out, and that this might be our last night of freedom, the boss might even be inclined to take us out to dinner to celebrate.” Victor said, his smile growing.

Jane could feel House go rigid at her arm, but he kept his voice light, “With me paying, no doubt.”

“If you’re offering!” Victor said cheerfully, leading the way out of the lobby, “Are we… still boycotting Bonetti’s?”

Jane gave Victor a jab with her elbow and he grunted, looking down at her with wide eyes.

To his credit, House only smoothed his hair back behind his ear sharply, “I suppose I can make an exception. Since it's not a long walk…”

Pity the paparazzo that may be standing outside Bonetti’s tonight, and pray they had the good sense to not address House, Jane thought desperately.

Five minutes later, Victor’s company convertible was a silver bullet shot down the RobCo private backroad, splitting the wide blue sky from the washed out desert sand. Victor was in the driver’s seat talking a mile a minute, but even sitting beside him, Jane couldn’t hear anything with the wind rushing past. Still, House was politely leaning up from the backseat and craning his neck close to Victor’s mouth, nodding occasionally.

House gripped the shoulder of Jane’s seat to strain against his seatbelt and as Victor chattered, Jane reached across to give House’s hand a reassuring squeeze. House looked briefly startled, then he gave her a slight appreciative nod. Jane slipped her other hand into Victor’s on the gearshift and smiled up at the city of Las Vegas rapidly rising before them.

Even after a decade of living here, Jane still marveled at the city’s staggering lushness in the middle of a mercilessly dry desert. Sprinklers at full blast dotted the rolling forest green golf courses on both sides of the road, scattering water in high arcs that caught the light and made rainbows dance in the air.

As the fields gave way to neighborhoods of identical tract homes with verdant lawns and shimmering swimming pools, Jane poked Victor to get his attention.

“Ease up, leadfoot.”

“It's a Thursday afternoon, no one's home.” Victor complained, the needle on the speedometer nevertheless drifting to 15 miles over the speed limit rather than 25.

Without the wind whipping, Jane could actually hear House as he pointed out a fallout shelter hatch in the side yard of one of the homes that they breezed past, “That's an Atlas Telamon. Note the exposed hinges, prone to rusting.”

He pulled a silver cigarette case out of his inner blazer pocket and crammed one between his lips, then offered the rest to the front seat. Victor gladly snatched one and started fishing in his slacks for his lighter, driving with his knees in a way that made Jane and House exchange queasy looks.

House tilted the case toward Jane.

Jane held a hand up in polite refusal, “Poor devils. Someone ought to ban them.”

House nodded emphatically to make up for the cigarette blocking his mouth, yanking it out of the way to speak, “Some of the high end models come with what's marketed as a water diversion system, but the water is diverted into a holding tank in the store room with the the same quality seals as the doors. A ticking time bomb.”

He let out a humorless laugh, “Let’s just say I’d take Vault Tec’s Plan D over drowning.”

Victor held up his lighter and started to click it in the air while still driving with his knees, eyes completely off the road, so Jane snatched it away and smacked the back of his head.

“Knock it off, Vic.” Jane said in aggravation, lighting it for him, “I don't want to die today.”

“Whatever happened to all that Mr. Laughlin talk back at the office?” Victor said with a good natured wink at Jane.

House poked the back of Victor’s head, “Eyes on the road. We wouldn’t want to trip at the finish line.”

“Yessir!” Victor saluted before sticking his hands at ten and two and dutifully fixing his eyes ahead.

House turned to Jane for her to light his cigarette, his eyes sparkling inquisitively, “Quitting, are we?”

“Hardly.” Jane said casually, avoiding his probing gaze by watching the flame flicker between her cupped hands, “Just a break. It's recommended for cryo, isn't it?”

“Hmm.” House sucked in a deep drag and stretched languidly back in his seat with a knowing grin, “Among other things.”

Jane felt a shiver up her spine but kept her expression neutral as she turned forward. It was too late to change any plans now, so they'd just have to roll the dice and deal with the consequences.

Speaking of dice, they were finally turning onto the Strip and Jane held her breath as their destination came into view.

With the brilliant blue sky behind her, the Lucky 38 was a sight to behold. A towering stark white pillar in a sea of low urban sprawl, she dominated the skyline without contest.

To most, she was a symbol of Las Vegas history as one of the few structures built in the 2020s to have survived in a city obsessed with the new.

To Jane and Victor, she couldn’t be anything less than a second home after all they’d been through within her walls. The Lucky 38 was where they’d had their first heart-to-heart, their first date, shared hundreds of both heated and affectionate words, all culminating in their wedding hosted two years prior in her spacious ballroom. Life without her seemed unthinkable.

However, seeing her now only made Jane numb with dread, best summarized by the message that had remained on the marquee out front since the day they had exchanged vows:

“CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS:

BIG THINGS COMING SOON!”

Little did anyone know that the renovations had actually started back in 2065, only a few months before Victor was hired at RobCo. Or that rather than covering more sumptuous rooms or comfortable amenities, they had instead retrofitted the casino with blast resistant windows and steel reinforced walls. The Las Vegas Historical Society would have a collective aneurysm to learn her revolving cocktail lounge was now mounted with laser cannons, and the tourists walking the streets would flee in blind panic if they saw that just past her front doors, her lobby was packed shoulder to shoulder with a small army of Securitrons.

Big things were coming soon. Jane couldn’t help but read it as a shouted warning falling on deaf ears.

The traffic on the Strip had slowed to a torturous crawl and Victor drummed his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently, eyes darting for an opening.

“Picture if it's like this when we get the warning…” Victor said, licking his lips.

“Oh hush, Vic. Don't say such things.” Jane twisted the necklace at her throat tightly, reminding herself to breathe.

For months, there had been an undercurrent of unease in all of them, but locked in the bustling city center not half a block from their destination, contemplating the devastation a delay would cause ratcheted it up to palpable distress.

Would they have enough time to get out and run? Jane shuddered at the thought of shouldering through hundreds of bodies, how easily they could get separated in the crush.

As badly as she’d wanted to avoid the Lucky 38 before, suddenly she was desperate for the impenetrable fortress. Her skin prickled with goosebumps under the hot sun and she could feel Victor’s hand sweating in hers.

“Horrid little place, isn't it?” House broke the silence by pointing at Gomorrah in the distance.

Jane burst into startled laughter, so giddy and unrestrained that she ended up snorting and had to put the back of her hand to her lips in an attempt to regain her composure.

Victor shook his head like he was getting ready to chastise House, but his chest rumbled with a low chuckle and he was losing to a smile, “You dog. You absolute dog, you just won't leave it alone.”

Jane sighed happily and leaned her head back against the headrest, the vice grip on her heart loosened again, “As always, yes. Tell us again what you should've done, when you had the chance.”

House was smiling, but he hadn't stopped watching the frozen cars with an unsettled crease in the lines around his eyes, “I should've bought the plot. Turned it into a park. Even dirt would've been preferable to that eyesore.”

“My favorite was when you called it a den of iniquity. I thought you said antiquity, couldn't figure out why for the longest.” Victor said, leaning over to kiss Jane’s cheek.

“On the Strip, no less.” House said with a half-hearted sigh, “What would Emma say?”

The traffic started to inch forward once more and Victor took advantage of it, riding hot on the bumper of the car in front of them.

Jane shrugged, “Cheer up, you can use it for target practice soon enough.”

“Like it or not, even that thing is worthy of protection against what's coming.” House said ruefully.

“Such an altruist.” Jane said.

“I abstain from destroying one building on selfish grounds and she calls me an altruist.” House said.

“What can I say, you set the bar low.” Jane teased.

House sank into a pensive silence, puffing at his cigarette. His eyes followed the movements of the shoppers and gamblers on the sidewalk as if he was calculating their trajectories in his mind, the way they swirled around each other like leaves in a dust devil.

He ran through the projections again.

By monitoring foreign missile systems for the activation of pre-launch procedures rather than the airspace over the launch sites, they would have a ten minute lead time on the US government. From there, the information would invariably be held from the American public for another twenty minutes to give key political figures ample time to take refuge and for countermeasures to be set in motion, after which it would be a complete free-for-all for the remaining thirty minutes before the missile’s arrival.

Meaning House, Jane and Victor would have nearly an hour to get into position.

Provided the attack came from a foreign power, that was.

House observed the pedestrians.

How being face to face with imminent annihilation would strain and snap their sanities. In that place beyond reason, all sense of self would vanish and they would become a swarm of rats, driven to writhe and flee in mindless terror. And in the frenzied mindlessness, family and friends would cease to be anything but objects to be trampled for a shot at survival.

Yes, Jane and Victor were braced for one set of circumstances, but would their sanity abandon them too if the scenario was tweaked?

When success might come down to seconds, would House confidently bet on things as they stood?

House didn't gamble, not really. He was willing to run a calculated risk, but straight gambling meant chance, and chance meant no rigging the outcome, no turning the wheel.

And House always turned the wheel.

House’s eyes drifted to the backs of Victor and Jane's heads and he started his wind up, “You recall our discussion of lead times?”

“Been over it more times than I can count, boss.” Victor said wearily, “Could recite it in my sleep.”

“Jane?” House checked.

“From the alarm we have ten minutes on the government, thirty minutes on the citizens, an hour on the missile.” Jane recited.

House nodded, “And I've mentioned that the numbers are dependent on the launch point, so those are our statistics from the nearest oversea sites.”

“Not like you've gotta calculate for Mexico or Canada, since they don't have nukes.” Victor said.

House continued solemnly as if Victor hadn't spoken, “I recognize that this is… extremely short notice to be telling you my suspicions, but I would be remiss if I didn't warn you that the total lead time from alarm to impact drops to just thirty minutes if launched from an east coast site.”

House let that hang in the air for a moment.

Victor flickered between a confused frown and an amused smile as he tried to decide if House was telling a joke or not.

Jane’s frightened and dazed eyes found House’s in the rearview mirror, “What does that mean?”

Victor let out a strange laugh, “Who would be launching from the east coast?”

“A domestic launch could be due to infiltration, but that's highly unlikely.” House explained, “It can't be hacked remotely as physical keys are needed for clearance, and to activate it with a team would be a suicide mission that would be lucky to hit a single target before being removed from the controls…”

Victor shook his head agitatedly, “So… So, what? You don't think it's spies, but you're warning us of…”

“I'm warning you that on the off chance that our own government bows to corporate pressure, we will instead only have a forty five minute lead from the east coast, a thirty minute one from the Midwest…”

House finally met Jane’s eyes, stoic and composed, “And barely fifteen minutes if it’s launched from the SF-88 in California, which is why I’m going to ask you both to spend the night.”

“There’s no damn way you’re saying what I think you’re saying.” Victor said.

Unable to bear the weight of House’s gaze, Jane lowered her eyes to the road, her head whirling.

“I am.” House said simply.

“You're outta your mind.” Victor continued loudly, “You're talking about… Hell, I won't even repeat it, it's sick! I know you got an axe to grind against the government, what with that fine they slapped you with-”

“Absolutely not what this is about.” House snapped.

“-but this country is built on something pure and good and I won't stand here and listen to you-”

“You're seated.” House said, crossing his arms stroppily.

“-make baseless accusations against her! It's gonna be those commie bastards or it's gonna be no one at all, you hear me?” Victor chanced a risky turn across incoming traffic to swerve into the Lucky 38’s parking lot that made Jane grip her seat to avoid sliding.

An entry gate blocked the parking lot from the public and Victor swiped his security card through the reader viciously, then squealed through the empty parking lot into his reserved spot right behind the Lucky 38’s rear entrance.

Victor was panting with rage as he climbed out of the car and in the mirror Jane could see House instinctively lean his body away as if expecting an attack, but Victor only paced away into the parking lot, muttering to himself.

Jane released a stuttering breath and dragged her hands over her face, then stared at them senselessly when they came away wet and trembling.

“How could you?” Jane wheezed out, startled by the fury in her own voice.

House was staring with unfocused eyes at their waiting escape, the Lucky 38’s back door. His instincts urged him to go inside, but he didn’t have the strength or the heart to leave either of them.

His lagging brain finally caught up and House tore his eyes away from the door, speaking with deliberate care, “I understand you're upset…”

“You're goddamn right I'm upset!” Jane hissed, turning her head to scowl at him as best she could in her seat, “You said I'd be able to warn my sisters before the official Vault Tec announcement. If the window is that small…”

“They may only find out a few minutes before everyone else.” House finished for her then shrugged pessimistically, “Honestly, Jane, what can I say? It was never a guarantee. I can't work miracles.”

“You should have told me!”

“What would that have changed?”

“I would've known, House!” Jane nearly shrieked, “You had no right to keep that from me! I deserve to know if my sisters are in danger, you don't get to play God with their lives.”

House’s eyes instantly switched to dark and unsympathetic, but his voice was measured, if somewhat clipped, “Pull yourself together, Ms. Alderidge, you're being irrational.”

“I'm being human!”

“Your sisters are in the same amount of danger they were before, nothing’s different.”

“Do you think I'm stupid?” Jane asked.

“Oh please.” House scoffed derisively, throwing the door open and starting to get out, “Don’t be absurd.”

“I’m being serious!” Jane grabbed House’s arm, “There’s got to be something that kept you from telling us. Is it Victor?”

House paused, halfway out the car, looking at her with a pity that made Jane’s blood boil, “All this agitation, what purpose does it serve?”

“Why the fuck don’t you trust us after everything we've done for this? For you?”

“I do!”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” Jane squeezed his arm, searching his face, “This is our plan too!”

House’s body went rigid and he wrenched his arm out of her grasp, hissing savagely, “From day one this has been my endeavor. My projections, my money, my operation! My plan! Don’t think for one second that just because you’ve helped, that you’re in charge.”

“I don’t want to be in charge!” Jane wanted to cling to her rage, but tears trembled on her eyelashes, “Jesus Christ, we’re about to step into a mainframe you control without limits, I need to know you see us as people!”

House climbed hurriedly out of the car and started to pace like a caged animal, his eyes fixed and unblinking on the back door of the Lucky 38 as he compulsively puffed his cigarette. Between drags, Jane could see his lips moving in furious muttering and he was shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

In exasperation, Jane turned to the building for something familiar, but her rows of dark and lifeless windows only inspired crushing dread. What a hopeless place she'd become. What an impossible situation they found themselves in.

At least she wasn’t in House’s shoes, considering what was coming after the bombs dropped.

Even with the missiles diverted and disabled, the survivors on the surface were guaranteed to descend into looting, rioting and hoarding as soon as they realized the rest of the world was gone. Without supply chains, food would dwindle, and their baser instincts would keep them too suspicious of their fellow survivors for House to have any hope of organizing them.

In the end, they would either flee into the desert to die of exposure, or stay to starve or be murdered. Within a year, Vegas would be a ghost town.

That was the beauty of cryostasis, the ability for Jane and Victor to sleep through the continued horrors until the radiation faded and the new Las Vegas was born.

Returning home. Jane wouldn’t give that up for anything, not the apocalypse, and certainly not House’s insecurities.

Jane set her jaw defiantly and looked over at House.

He had stopped pacing, and was now leaning heavily on one leg with his head lowered in deep thought, his forgotten cigarette dangling loosely from his fingers. His shoulders sagged as if all his strength had deserted him and the skeletal way shadows pooled in his eye sockets sent a shiver through Jane.

Feeling her eyes on him, House dragged a hand through his hair to smooth it into order, still regarding the pavement, “There’s so much unpleasantness in these preparations, Jane. You’ll be happier in the long run if you put them out of your mind.”

“Seriously?” Jane snorted incredulously, “It’s too late for that, I’ve been working on this project for almost as long as Victor. I know what’s coming, I’m not ignorant.”

“No, you’re not.” House said quietly, as if reminding himself.

“Then why keep it from me?” Jane pressed, “You’d be pissed if I didn’t tell you something.”

House finally looked at her, “When you envision leaving cryostasis, what does that future Vegas look like?”

“What does this have to do with anything?”

“Humor me?”

Jane gave House a warning look, then shrugged, “It won’t be easy, but being the only major city left standing means we won’t have any shortage of assistance once the Vaults open. The electricity will act as a beacon, the running water and sanitation will be vital for public health, and the Securitrons will keep the peace. Society will practically rebuild itself.”

House had been watching her with a pained look on his face and Jane flushed in embarrassment, snapping out, “What?”

“Nothing. I hope you’re right.”

“But you disagree.”

“It’s not judgement, I promise.” House finally surrendered the remains of his cigarette and ground it out beneath his heel, “I’ve been planning this for too long, my objectivity has been compromised. The point is that you and Victor are idealistic, but you won't remain so if I tell you everything.”

“So that’s a reason to keep us in the dark? That we’d be unhappy?”

“Hopelessness can drive people to do drastic things.”

“I wouldn’t kill myself.” Jane said coldly, “What the hell do you see in future Vegas that could be so terrible?”

House regarded her pensively, weighing his words, “You're exactly right, you know. Every benefit Vegas offers will draw people to us like moths to flame, but what happens when there's not enough to go around? When people decide they get sick of waiting and decide to take it for themselves? Greed will only flourish in this new world, so where you foresee cooperation, I foresee competition. Assistance will be in as much supply as backstabbing and treachery. Marauders and armies, infiltrators and spies.”

“That's what the Securitrons are for. You said they'll be more than enough to keep Vegas safe.”

“They will be. They are.”

Jane narrowed her eyes, “Did something happen?”

“Nothing has happened yet.” House said carefully, “I expect the situation to be resolved in time, but if not, I have contingencies.”

“You always do.” Jane muttered, “Of course, you won't tell me what you're so afraid of.”

“Trust me, I’m handling it.” House moved to the side of the car, leaning over the door to catch Jane’s eye, “Whatever happens, you must spend the night. Both of you. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jane said defeatedly, “I’ll talk to Victor. Go play with your toys.”

“Thank you. I know I can count on you.”

Then he was gone, leaving Jane alone with ringing in her ears.

It was impossible not to notice the calculation in his every word, but in particular his departing praise, and it left a yawning uncertainty in Jane’s chest. As the ringing faded, it was replaced with the distant rumble of car engines and low conversation from the Strip, a world so far away, soon to be even farther.

Jane climbed out of the car onto unsteady legs and trudged across the parking lot towards Victor.

On all sides, the mountains were fading from dusty purple to a dull blue that made them indistinguishable from the featureless sky, giving the uneasy impression that there was a dome over the entire city. Jane's shoes hit the edge of Victor’s shadow, stretched long across the pavement, and she looked up.

The sun was setting behind him, silhouetting him in a pale hazy yellow like something out of a western. The shape of him turned to look at her and Jane wondered how she must look, tear streaked and worn.

“There you are.” Victor said fondly as Jane came up alongside him. As he turned, the light caught the bags under his eyes and the flecks of silver in his stubble and Jane’s heart sank, reminded of House’s equally haggard look just a few minutes prior. Just a little bit farther now.

“You talked to him?” Victor asked.

“As much as anyone can.” Jane tucked her hand against her throat defensively, “You know how he is. I didn’t make much progress.”

“I can’t believe the nerve.” Victor said, “What the hell would the government even gain from pulling something like that? It just doesn’t make sense to me.”

“He meets all sorts of people. He probably heard something.”

“‘Course he did.” Victor kicked his foot across the blacktop, sending stray rocks skittering, “The wonderful world of military contracting. I miss when things were simple; just fight the bad guys and your family will be safe. None of this looking over your shoulder, side eyeing the guy next to you, wondering when he’s gonna stab you in the back.”

Jane was dubious that things had ever been that simple but she decided not to say so, instead moving closer to hug Victor’s arm, “Come inside, darling. We don’t want to be caught out here.”

“Do you reckon he could be right?” Victor asked, gazing out at the sinking sun, “Do you think Vault Tec could really make them…”

Jane’s lips thinned in distaste, “Maybe. We better hope not, because fifteen minutes won’t be much time for Maggie and Harriet…”

“Oh shoot Janey, I’m sorry, I wasn’t even thinking about that.”

“It’s fine. Different sites will probably get hit at different times, so if we get lucky we’ll still be able to give them some kind of notice.”

“I’m sure it’ll work out.” Victor’s voice cracked slightly from the forced cheer, “I’m sure once the radiation goes down and Vegas is up and running, we’ll be able to bring them out here.”

The shadows had pooled around them now and Jane shivered, both at the chill and the thought of her sisters trekking across whatever was left of the country. If they even lasted the next few decades. If they even made it to the Vault.

Jane was shaken from her thoughts by Victor pulling his arm away and wrapping his blazer tightly around her. It was blessedly warm and smelled like chewing tobacco and old leather, and Jane tilted her head to look up at him gratefully.

“You know, the first time I ever saw you was out here.” Victor said with a nostalgic twinkle in his eye, “I had that new construction crew with me, about fifteen rough and tumble fellas that I couldn’t get organized for the life of me, but you walked out and had ‘em wrapped around your little finger in two seconds flat.”

Jane managed a weak appreciative laugh, “If I remember correctly, it could’ve been that I was wearing the proper safety equipment, so they knew I wasn’t just some crazy tourist.”

“I didn’t look like a tourist!” Victor chuckled, “But honest, I’d never seen anything like it. You were instantly in control, efficient and no nonsense but still polite and gracious. I’d never wanted to meet a woman so badly in my life.”

“Except it still took a few more years before you asked me out.”

“What chance did I have? You thought I was a fool until House’s 50th.”

“That's not true at all!” Jane's smile spread wider and she stretched up to nuzzle Victor’s nose, “I still think you're a fool.”

“Fair enough.” Victor caught her lips in a tender kiss and Jane melted, arms wrapping around his shoulders to drag herself closer.

It was as if she'd been unknowingly starving and was suddenly given food. A dam broke and she devoured his lips desperately, making Victor stumble back from the force and he caught her shoulders to steady her.

To think she'd be losing this was almost too much to bear and when Victor finally broke away for air, an involuntary wail escaped her.

“Hey, shh shh, easy now.” Victor cradled her into his chest and pet her hair soothingly, “You're alright, I've got you.”

“I'm going to miss you so much.” Jane wheezed, clinging to the back of his shirt like he might suddenly vanish.

“Don't fret, Janey.” Victor said, “I promise, this'll all be over before you know it. Just a hop, skip and a jump to that tomorrow in the future. Come on, let’s get you inside.”

Jane trembled as Victor turned her away from the sunset and guided her back across the parking lot. Even with the blazer, her body felt ice cold, but at least she wasn’t completely alone.

Without warning, there was a brilliant flash and the parking lot was instantly lit up like midday. Caught wide-eyed and blinking in the spotlight, Jane and Victor stopped dead in their tracks, expecting to see a billowing mushroom cloud, but instead were greeted by the sight of the Lucky 38.

House had switched on her exterior lights. Even better, her windows were still catching the final rays of sunlight, so the entire casino was awash in a mesmerizing fiery orange blaze as if she were open for business again.

Maybe they were wrong. Maybe by some miracle there would be a breakthrough in the negotiations and suddenly, the half lives they’d been living would be split wide open, the world made limitless again.

Weekends grilling in the suburbs, kids in the pool. Summers in California, winters in New York. Family and friends, work and play, a spinning wheel of season for years and years as they grew old together.

Let someone else have the end of the world, Jane and Victor thought hopefully, Let us live. Let us be safe.

But it wasn't meant to be. The sun dipped beyond the horizon and the Lucky 38’s windows went black once more.

And as the heavy back door swung closed behind Jane and Victor and they made their way together down the long corridor, they had no way of knowing that at the exact same moment in a distant war room, the decision was being made to push up the missile launch. That before the night was up, the sirens would scream, the Vaults would seal, and millions stranded on the surface would be vaporized. That the sun would rise on the still smoking remains of America and mark the beginning of a new age.

Worse, they didn’t know that the Platinum Chip, the key to their own salvation, was still 536 miles away. That because of its absence, the next two hundred years of their lives would be spent in constant danger. Or that the Chip’s rediscovery would set off a chain of events where ultimately their lives, the success of House’s plans, and the fate of the entire Mojave would be solely determined by a couple of entertainers currently changing into club attire in a Los Angeles public restroom.

It was going to be quite the gamble.

Chapter Text

“Clouds hung hugely and oppressively over our busy little cars. Clouds hung hugely and oppressively. We didn't notice. We didn't care. We didn't notice.”

- Easy to Crash, Cake

60 minutes before the end of the world, 89 miles southwest of the Las Vegas Strip, and on the California high desert’s stretch of the I-15, a woman named Johanna was driving in the wee hours of the night and brooding.

To her left, the driver’s side window was open a crack, allowing chilly air to swirl around the car’s interior. It had already whipped her dark blonde hair out of the pins fixing it into a faux flapper bob and given her goosebumps under her thin art deco evening gown, but it was the only thing bracing enough to keep her – and her companion – awake at the indefensibly early hour. Whatever that hour was exactly.

Over the whistling of the wind, a jaunty Bing Crosby tune played from the radio. For a moment, Johanna’s hooded green eyes flicked away from the highway to squint at the dashboard, searching for the time, only to realize the backlight in the clock was still burnt out.

Of course, Johanna thought wearily as she settled back and refocused on the empty interstate ahead, Like everything else, Tony kicks the can down the road and I clean up the mess.

Technology was not her forte, but she'd spent enough time poking around in toaster ovens and refrigerators to feel reasonably comfortable prying open a dashboard and changing a lightbulb. That – coupled with the few hours they’d likely have back in Barstow waiting for the prop plane to be ready – practically guaranteed she'd accomplish in a day what Tony had failed to do for the past five months.

She could always ask… him for the time. Johanna chanced a glance across the cab.

Curled up tightly against the passenger window was Albert, a man desperately hunting with haunted eyes for their exit sign in every cactus that blurred past the highway. His slight frame was draped in a stylish zoot suit, but even its characteristic bagginess couldn’t disguise the frantic bouncing of his knee or the hyperventilative shaking of his shoulders.

Miraculously, Albert still looked the picture of class and perfection regardless. His black skin was still clean shaven despite the late hour and his conked hair was still gelled in pristine waves in spite of the countless times he’d compulsively rubbed his hands over it. He would’ve looked at home in any jazz lounge in Los Angeles, which made sense considering that’s where they’d been two hours prior.

Shame they weren't still there now, a drink might do him good. Albert looked like a rubber band about to snap. Asking him for the time was definitely out of the question.

The final strains of the song faded out and a radio presenter chimed in.

“The latest insults slung in the Broscoe/Barnes Brawl has sparked renewed interest in rhinoplasty, but what of its dangers? Later in the program, we'll be joined by the esteemed Dr. Min Wong from Scientific Marvels to weigh in on the risks and rewards of the controversial procedure.” His voice turned somber, “But before that, we return you now to our tribute to… the day the music died…”

A repulsive, rhythmic wet slapping sound started up and in disgust, Johanna sharply twisted the radio dial off the station. The speakers instantly blasted static and before Johanna could turn the volume down, Albert had already jolted to face her as if he'd been electrocuted, darting his head to and fro for the threat.

“What! What is it! Bombers? Missiles?”

“Worse: Buddy Holly.” Johanna said grimly, waiting a beat before offering a grin to show she was joking.

Albert acted as if she hadn't spoken at all, nervously leaning towards the windshield to check the sky, “I thought I heard something.”

“I’ll spare you quicker next time.” Taking pity, Johanna switched off the radio, “Here, listen. There’s nothing up there.”

Uncertainly, Albert wrung his seatbelt between his clenched hands. Aside from the wisps of mist that passed over the car, the sky was cloudless, giving them a clear view of the thick blanket of stars overhead. None of them were moving as far as Johanna could tell, but with advances in stealth technology, could they actually be sure?

Obviously, this would be the wrong thing to say.

“You know, it's a shame Buddy Holly’s dead.” Johanna offered conversationally as a distraction, “Because now they won’t stop playing him. But on the other hand, if he was alive he’d still be making music, so it’s difficult to say which is worse. What do you think?”

“I think that’s a bomber.” Albert pointed at a red spot.

Johanna leaned forward and squinted, “It looks like Mars.”

“Seriously?” Albert turned to glare at her, “Do you have to do this all night?”

Johanna gave him an unimpressed look, “You think I'm saying it to mess with you? Bombers aren't stationary.”

“Could be a vertibird then.”

“Does it matter either way? If we blow up, we blow up.”

“There it is.” Albert raised his hands in triumph, fear dissolving to annoyance, “That defeatist attitude of yours. Only you could spin me saving your life into a massive betrayal like this.”

“Yup, that’s exactly it!” Johanna said sarcastically, “I’m upset that you saved my life! Not because you tricked me into another paranoid jaunt when I explicitly told you I wasn’t doing this again. You’re a hero!”

“You wouldn’t have come otherwise!”

“And what does that tell you?”

“That you’re a frivolous child.” Albert sniffed, “You leap at the chance to dress up and go out, but the second it’s about something actually important you couldn’t care less. If it weren’t for me, you’d be out dancing the Charleston and exploding.”

“Sounds like a fantastic way to go.” Johanna played up a dreamy tone, “So much better than going mad over the next fifty years in a hole in the ground. If the bombs even go off this time.”

“We won’t go mad.” Albert said snidely, “There’s plenty to do; books, films… Cryogenic freezing…”

“The putting green.”

“I wouldn’t trust you to swing a wiffle ball bat near me, let alone another golf club. You know what your problem is?”

“You already told me, too much follow through on my swing.”

“I meant in your personality.”

“Oh, I’m too trusting and I take people at face value, so I get taken advantage of?” Johanna said with feigned naivety.

Albert pointed at her, “Your problem is you think you know better than everyone. But you're wrong.”

“I wouldn’t say I know better than everyone…” Johanna paused, “But if you’re talking about Madame LaMar…”

Albert shook his head in disgust, “You only laugh off her predictions for the same reason you laugh off the bombs; because if you actually stopped for a minute and thought about the real world, you’d realize you’re not in control. This is so typical–”

Up ahead, the headlights caught the reflective white lines of a green highway sign and Johanna stopped listening, her heart leaping into her throat. She flicked up the high beams and the bold text appeared: “Zzyzx Rd” with a right facing arrow. Relief flooded her body and Johanna had to bite her lip to fight a grin. Soon enough she’d be bundled up in bed, napping through the worst of Albert’s nerves, and when she awoke this whole ordeal would be behind them.

Albert was still ranting, “–Of course, as a skeptic it must be terrifying to be faced with the inexplicable–”

Johanna found Madame LaMar’s drug habit to be pretty explicable, but she’d lost all interest in the argument now that the end was in sight, “Hey, what was the range she gave you? For when they’d drop?”

Albert sputtered to a stop, his expression shifting between anger and annoyance before settling on confusion, “Between 6 and 8. Why?”

“Peggy Sue’s serves breakfast until 11 on weekdays, I was thinking we’d probably make it in time if we leave early enough…” Johanna eased the car onto the unlit backroad and kept slow, the tires sinking worryingly into the gravel. The last thing they needed was a popped tire.

“There’s food at the bunker. Just rehydrate something.”

“It’s fine, I can wait. After all, that bacon…”

“You really should eat.” Albert insisted, “We won’t leave until Madame LaMar gives the all clear.”

“You’re going to wait for her to call?” Johanna frowned quizzically, “Since when?”

“Ages, Jo. You’d know exactly, if you’d actually been involved these past few months…”

Johanna ignored the jab, “Okay. How long does that normally take?”

The backroad meandered away from the interstate and joined up with the winding curves of the black hills. With every twist in the road, Albert leaned impatiently forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of the town.

“Depends… Not long…”

“Okay… How long is 'not long'?”

“When it comes down to it, safety is really the biggest focus–”

“How long, Albert?”

“A few hours, nothing crazy!” Albert said sharply, “You’re sounding like Tony. If it’s such an inconvenience, you could skip the wait by using the cryo-pod.”

“I… no.” Johanna shook her head, “Look, I’ll get some rest, wait up with you until 8, but if you really won’t come, I’ll call myself a cab.”

“We’ll see.” Albert said lowly, becoming more engrossed in the gathering of palm trees they were fast approaching at the base of the next slope. Between their thick trunks, both Albert and Johanna could make out the ghostly white edges of the buildings that made up their destination: Zzyzx.

Zzyzx was not a cab-friendly town. Or much of a town at all for that matter. At one point it had been a health resort, if one were to believe the scattered posters advertising Epsom salt tonics and radium-infused spa treatments peeling from the walls of the Spanish-style buildings, but the single lane dirt roads had been empty a good decade before Albert’s father had purchased the land. Now, Zzyzx was only a faded memory being swallowed back up by the desert. Wind-blown sand caught and collected in piles against the buildings, threatening to one day overtake them, and discarded palm fronds littered the road, making the car rattle with each bump.

If they even braved the backroad, any sane cab driver would take one look at the dilapidated buildings and turn tail back to Barstow. Of course Albert wouldn’t risk dying by giving her a lift, so it was looking like she was going to have to walk herself back to the interstate to meet the driver. Johanna made a note to grab a few water bottles on her way out.

The buildings gradually petered out. They passed the last lonely shack on the ridge that overlooked the salt flats, then the car began to descend the gentle slope into the desert proper. For as desolate as Zzyzx was without people or power, it at least had the illusion of civilization, but the dry lakebed below was another story. The interstate was long gone in the rolling hills and the night was moonless, so the normally white expanse of salt instead stretched to the horizon in featureless black, not a single ranch or town to break up the emptiness.

Something about the way the road dropped away into nothing gave Johanna a spinning sense of vertigo, as if they were tumbling into an endless void, and she tightened her grip on the wheel. It was a profound relief when the road leveled out and at last ended at the three short posts of a rickety horse fence, unconnected from anything, and Johanna parked gratefully.

Albert was out of the car like a shot. By the headlights, Johanna watched him vault gracefully over the barrier and take off full tilt like he was being chased, vanishing headlong into the wilderness within moments. Johanna couldn’t even muster offense as she cut the engine and limped on cramping legs to the trunk, just a dull amazement at the energy.

It probably helped that his shoes were better suited for it than hers. Darkness, heels and cacti weren’t going to mix well when she followed him, so Johanna retrieved her glasses from her canvas bag and powered them up. The HUD blinked to life and the world snapped into bright green detail, making Johanna instinctively raise a hand to her forehead to block out the imagined sun.

10 feet past the fence, Lake Tuendae leapt into view. The water was unnaturally still, no ripples or waves, but it didn't reflect the stars due to a strange matte murkiness lurking just beneath the surface. Johanna uneasily shouldered her satchel and began to drag Albert’s suitcase in a wide berth around the bizarre landmark, keeping a close eye on her footing to avoid stepping on any wildlife.

In the same way Zzyzx wasn’t a town, Lake Tuendae wasn’t a lake, but rather a manmade pond. Constructed by the resort to take advantage of the mineral springs in the hills nearby, the basin had become practically indistinguishable from a naturally occurring body of water thanks to years of neglect. Shoulder-high reeds sprouted from the banks on all sides, obscuring Lake Tuendae’s concrete foundation, and abundant saltgrass had reclaimed the footpath Johanna was picking her way along. Dotting the perimeter were squat yuccas and spindly Joshua trees, all jockeying for moisture in the remote oasis.

It was difficult for Johanna to imagine guests had ever willingly swum in the thick tar-like sludge of the pond, her mind conjuring images of bog bodies in garish Hawaiian shirts, displayed in some future museum beside woolly mammoths and saber-toothed tigers. At least the flora and fauna seemed to be getting some use out of it, because nothing about it seemed restorative to humans now.

A hot wind blew in across the plains, dryly rustling the cattails and kicking up a cloud of sand that made Johanna squint against the grit and forge on. As she reached the far side of the pond, an impressive 10 foot tall boulder took shape out of the creosote bushes. Nestled into a carved alcove was a rounded rectangular blast door, open, with Albert impatiently waiting inside.

“Lose the spyware.” Albert commanded.

With an ironic salute, Johanna powered the glasses down and ducked past him, flinching at the burst of harsh air conditioning that hit her like a slap. As Albert set about sealing the blast door, Johanna dropped his suitcase and surveyed the landing they were standing on.

It was a jarring transition, stepping from the dusty Wild West into what looked like an immaculate spaceship. The stairwell’s walls were painted chalky white, the descending grated stairs were a soft powder grey, and the fluorescent lights were all cool-toned, making the bunker feel cold and hostile. Through the grates below her shoes, Johanna could make out the stairs switchbacking down another 10 stories and she shuddered at the thought of the fall.

With a final hiss, the Atlas Telamon logo swiveled and clunked into place, marking the door as properly sealed. Albert gave it an appraising nod, then grabbed his bag and the two of them started their spiralling descent. Their footfalls rang out rhythmically, echoing in the cramped space, and the deeper they got, the more frigid the air became. Johanna rubbed her hands together to warm them.

After a few flights, Johanna ventured, “Am I allowed to ask about Tony?”

Albert mulled it over for a bit, leaning heavily to one side to counterbalance his suitcase, before stating plainly, “He admitted to being a smuggler, so I cut him loose.”

“Excuse me?” Johanna stopped short.

Albert continued walking, tone weary, “I know, I know, you told me so.”

“I wasn’t actually serious!” Johanna hurried to catch up, searching Albert’s face frantically, “He was so tight-lipped about his work, I meant it as mostly a joke… Mostly.”

Albert’s expression was hard and inscrutable, “Yeah well, the point is he’s dangerous, so neither of us should associate with him anymore. Got it?”

“You don’t have to worry about that, I can’t stand the guy…” Johanna frowned, “It’s strange though, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“That he just came out and said it after all this time.”

“What; you don’t believe me?”

“I do… Did something happen that made him bring it up?”

“No. Maybe he got sick of the guilt, I don’t know!” Albert said testily, “You don’t need to nitpick everything I tell you.”

“I’m not, I just wonder what changed for him.” Johanna said thoughtfully, “Were you in LA or out here?”

“Would you drop it?” Albert snapped, “People don’t always act the way you expect! Sorry I didn’t feel like interrogating him for answers in the middle of a breakup. I was going through something.”

“Okay, yeah.” Johanna held her hands up, “Sorry…”

Albert snorted dismissively.

Johanna rubbed the back of her neck, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you broke up. You two seemed happy together.”

Albert remained quiet and Johanna wondered if she’d made a mistake, but after a beat he spoke again, his tone dark, “Yeah… I thought we were good. I guess you can’t save everyone.”

For a moment, Johanna was reminded of how Albert’s stints in the bunker were usually spent, sunken low in his armchair with his eyes glued to the television’s newsreel. With Tony gone and her one foot out the door, how long would it be before Albert decided staying put was his safest option? Would anyone take notice and intervene, or would Albert wither away down here, forgotten? The grisly image made Johanna grimace.

“Hey, cheer up!” Albert dialed up his 1,000 kilowatt smile, “It’s for the best, I was getting tired of sneaking around anyhow. I’ve hardly seen you, tell me what’s new! How’ve you been? How’s work?”

Johanna shook her head, trying to refocus, “Good, good. You know, same old Donna. She took a refurbishment for a World War II steamer trunk but didn’t get an insurance signature, so I’ve been back and forth with the customer all week trying to get her back in.”

“I meant acting. You know, your real career?”

“Ah. Yeah. That.”

“Don’t tell me this whole Gilda Broscoe thing is making you reconsider.” Albert said playfully.

“Oh yeah, I love having people debating on national television if I should get a nose job.” Johanna deadpanned, then shrugged, “I’ve just been thinking a bit. Considering my options…”

“You know, you wouldn’t even be in this situation if you’d just kissed her ass like you were supposed to. It’s how the industry works.”

“Don’t you ever miss doing stuff like Proxima Centauri?”

Albert gave her a skeptical look, “Cheesy no-budget TV shows that get cancelled after one season? No. Please be serious.”

Johanna waved her hand, “I meant projects where we had more creative control. These days my whole life is just standing where I’m told, doing what I’m told, saying what I’m told. If it’s not a director doing it, it’s my agent or an interviewer or some fan on the street–”

“You truly suffer more than Jesus.” Albert shouldered through the reinforced door at the bottom of the stairs and swept into the bunker’s main room.

For being in a hole in the ground, the bunker was impressively refined. Tasteful black wallpaper with gold pinstripes gave the place a swanky art deco feel and underfoot, a plush blood red carpet added vibrance to the otherwise monochromatic color scheme. In the middle of the room were a freestanding creme couch and armchair positioned in front of a CRT television on a stout cabinet, and it was here Albert haphazardly tossed his suitcase and turned on the news.

As Johanna stepped through the door, something caught her toe and sent her stumbling. When she caught her balance, she whirled around for the offending object and was surprised to see Albert’s bag of golf clubs tipped over and spilled out.

“Oh no, your babies.” Johanna laughed as she grabbed the bag strap and dragged it upright and into the corner, “My point is that I’m getting tired of being a prop for everyone else’s vision. I want to do what I want to do. Does that make sense?”

When Johanna turned to Albert, she was taken aback by the expression of intense horror on his face as he stared at her and the bag in her hand. With great strides, Albert crossed the distance between them and snatched it away, obsessively checking the heads of all the clubs.

“I didn’t knock them over.” Johanna said apologetically, stepping back to give Albert room, “Maybe they fell between your last trip and now?”

“Maybe…” Albert said vaguely and moved between her and the bag as if guarding it from her sight.

Johanna rolled her eyes and set her satchel on the control panel of the oversized computer terminal beside the door. Nonsense like this was the exact reason she needed to get Albert situated and leave as soon as possible, for both their sakes. She rifled past the tools in the bag to grab her work uniform, the only alternative to the dated jazz age ensemble she was wearing, and tucked it under her arm.

As Johanna made her way across to the en suite kitchenette, she was struck by the realization that this would be her last time down here, and a wave of melancholy swept through her. The original oil paintings on the walls and the bookshelves of rare volumes would certainly be missed. The cozy kitchenette too, even if it had produced less-than-stellar meals, if only for the amount of Diet Nuka Cola she’d consumed in it. Even the door off the kitchenette leading to the putting green had been a source of fun – before Johanna had been barred from entry.

But the unpleasant memories far outweighed the pleasant ones. The primary source of Johanna’s revulsion were the central armchair and television, where Albert spent hours in a nonverbal stupor, but a close second were the three doors on the far wall.

The first led to a dauntingly large storage room, packed with enough identical racks of dehydrated food to feed a small country… or possibly even more, since Johanna had never determined the full extent of it. Powering the entire thing would run the generator out, so lighting was restricted to the first ten rows, with the rest of the racks left as hulking shadows repeating into what looked like eternity.

The next was a modest bedroom, unremarkably furnished with two twin beds and an attached bathroom. While it wasn’t outright terrifying like the others, something about the separate beds evoked such a depressing, lonely vision of her potential future that Johanna felt compelled to stick a fork in a wall socket whenever she went in.

And last was the cryo-pod room. Intended to see Albert and three companions through the worst of the radiation, Johanna had only set foot in it once for a 15 minute calibration that had set her teeth chattering for a week. The most uneasy aspect was the powerlessness. Her contentious relationship with Tony meant they'd never shared the bunker, so he'd never gotten the chance to mess with the control panel while she was out, but something still tickled in the back of Johanna’s mind that she wasn't safe in there.

Johanna fished a soda out of the fridge and cracked it open, staring blankly at the wall as she drank deeply. One quick nap and she’d be clear enough for the walk back, she was certain. Put this whole mess behind her.

Albert set the open bag down gingerly and strode back to check the television, “You were saying?”

“Are your clubs okay?”

“They’re fine.” Albert said, furtively tucking his handkerchief back into his breast pocket, “You were explaining why telling Gilda Broscoe to get a lobotomy was actually a tactical career move.”

“I said she’d already gotten one.”

“Seems to me like you already do and say whatever you want, so I don’t see why you’d want to backslide into Proxima Centauri territory. Don’t you like having food on the table?”

Johanna carefully placed her drink on the counter and chewed the inside of her cheek, watching Albert watch the news, “Did you… get a chance to read that script I sent?”

“Skimmed it.”

“What did you think?”

“Seems alright enough.” Albert shrugged, “Though radio is a bit under your paygrade. Can’t imagine your agent will like that.”

“She hasn’t seen it.”

“Who gave you the script?”

“Me.” Johanna crossed her arms, “I wrote it.”

Albert dragged his eyes from the screen to stare at her, “You wrote a radio play.”

“A short one. I was going to submit it to Neptune Outpost.” Johanna explained, “They've been doing anthology episodes lately and I thought it would be a good fit for one of them.”

“But isn't the studio in talks for an Ab Imo Pectore sequel?”

“They can get another Cleopatra.” A mischievous grin spread across her face, “Maybe they should offer it to Gilda Broscoe… since she's so protective of the character.”

Albert shook his head in disbelief, “You'd really turn down a role in a multi million dollar movie to go write for The Periodical Periodical Hour?”

Johanna started to comb her fingers through her hair, catching bobby pins and collecting them in a pile on the counter, “What does it matter if the bombs are going to destroy everything anyway?”

“That doesn’t mean you should be reckless! You won’t stay young forever, if you turn your back on acting now, you won’t get another chance.”

“Bertie, I get that you’re trying to help, but I am capable of running my life without your help.”

“Obviously not.” Albert turned back to the television with a sniff, “It’s ridiculous, sabotaging your own career just to get back at me.”

“Do I even want to ask what you’re talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb. You know that if you pull out of Ab Imo, they’ll cut me from the score. You’re doing this on purpose.”

Tolerance had always been one of Johanna’s strongest traits, despite her quips. For years, she’d balanced an abusive customer service job with a succession of low-paying auditions for insulting roles such as Annoying Voice #2 and Smug-Looking Woman on Train, bolstered by the hope that everything would change with success. Her big break came in the form of The Invasion of Planet Boreas, a cheap and cheesy science fiction film that unintentionally sparked a cult following and propelled her to minor fame, yet the true stardom of her subsequent blockbuster Ab Imo Pectore brought a slew of new problems.

Sleazy producers, invasive interviewers, entitled fans, intrusive paparazzi, and conniving colleagues like Gilda Broscoe had tested Johanna’s patience at different points, but through it all, her sense of humor had kept her remarkably resilient.

She wasn’t laughing now. It was as though something had become uncoupled inside of her, staring at Albert with his petulant glare and trembling shoulders, making the situation painfully unfunny. Was this really her best friend? A man who tricked her into coming here, who ran for cover as she carried their bags, and who saw her career change as a personal attack in need of correction?

The silence had stretched too long, and Albert began to dart his eyes around nervously, “Now hang on a minute, Jo, think about this for a second. I didn’t mean anything bad, I just–”

Johanna found her voice, “Do you seriously think so little of me?”

“Of course not, I misspoke. What I was trying to say is that my contract isn’t settled yet, so any unpredictable movement on your part could jeopardize–”

“Stop.” Johanna held up a hand, “Try again.”

“Excuse me?”

“Try apologizing again.”

Albert shifted from foot to foot, “Look, I’m sure Neptune Outpost will love the script and you’ll be very successful. I thought the robot’s cheerful dialogue contrasted nicely against the impending doom of the end of the universe. I just wish you’d consider how this affects me–”

“That’s not an apology.” Johanna grabbed her bobby pins and started for the bedroom door, “Think it over while I get changed, but I expect something more meaningful when I get back. I’d hate to leave on a bad note.”

Albert was beside her before Johanna even noticed he’d moved, making her jump as he caught her arm, “You can’t leave, the bombs are about to drop.”

“Fucking hell, move!” Johanna wrenched her arm away and roughly brushed past him.

As she ducked into the bedroom, Johanna was surprised she wasn’t angry. Albert’s desperation stirred mild disgust and annoyance, but proper anger felt unjustified when he was being more selfish than outright malicious.

Maybe she was still giving him too much credit, because as she shut the bedroom door, she could feel Albert’s weight on the other side, trying to wedge it open. Unhampered by his small stature, Johanna shoved back hard and locked it with a satisfying click.

Through the door, Albert warbled, “You can’t go! It’s not safe! Just wait and see!”

Closing the bathroom door and running a hair dryer silenced his whining completely, giving Johanna room to change into cuffed denim capris and a short sleeved button up in relative peace. As she tucked in her shirt, she eyed the empty nail gun holster still looped on her belt, toying with removing it. Between it and the embroidered text on her shirt reading “Annie O’Hare’s Hollywood Furniture Repair,” it was obvious these were work clothes, but it was probably better than being recognized and spending an hour-long drive with a starstruck cab driver.

Especially in the middle of nowhere, where anything could happen.

When Johanna exited the bathroom, her hair brushed into a halfhearted waves and her makeup touched up to mask her dark circles, Albert’s whimpering had been replaced with a measured voice from the television. Through the door, she could make out the clearly enunciated words:

“–have one minute remaining to prepare if you do not become panicky. Do not worry about your children at school, nor those loved ones at work; they are as safe as you. Seek shelter where previously planned–”

Drawing away with an eyeroll, Johanna pulled up the Barstow Yellow Cab phone number on her glasses and began to pace as it rang in the headset.

The constant CONELRAD tests were white noise at this point. Perpetual political tension had a way of desensitizing even the most paranoid of people – Albert excluding – so it would be a miracle if the real emergency alert stirred anyone to action. There was some irony in that, Johanna thought, Jeopardizing citizens with the measures intended to protect them.

It took her a few moments to notice that the ringing had stopped.

“Hello?” Johanna tried, pressing the arm of the glasses closer to her ear, “Can you hear me?”

Silence. No static, no breathing, no dial tone. When she tried again, a “no signal” error window filled the display, forcing her to remove the glasses.

“The hell?” Johanna muttered, stuffing them into her pocket as she threw open the door to the main room, “Bertie, can I borrow your-”

The sound hit her like a cannon.

It seemed to thrum from every air molecule in the room, a sustained wail so heartwrenching and hopeless that the moment she heard it, there was no doubt in her mind that it must be a mother weeping over the body of her child. The walls threatened to burst from its enormity and Johanna would’ve curled up on the floor had her body not been struck completely immobile, clutched with despair. This was the hand of Death around her. It could be nothing else.

As the wail rose to a fever pitch, it finally dawned on her that no human could produce such a continuous sound, and her mind began to sluggishly move again, straining to make sense of the senselessness. The memories of a hundred duck and cover drills flooded back and she realized it was an air raid siren, playing at a nauseating volume on the television’s surround sound.

In the middle of the room and seemingly oblivious to the mind-bending howl, Albert stood transfixed before the television, his eyes like saucers and his body caught in its tractor beam glow.

“Bertie?” Johanna tried, but the sound couldn’t even reach her own ears.

She slogged forward on leaden legs, the eight seconds to cross the room stretching into minutes like molasses. The sound was practically inside her, boiling the fluid in her stomach, microwaving her brain, and when at last her hand twisted the volume knob to zero, her ears continued to sing with its unbearable afterimage.

Johanna wanted to vomit, to sob, to collapse, but she could now see that the screen billowed with an incomprehensible grey mass, mesmeric, like ink dropped in water. From frame to frame, a hundred white pinpricks jumped and skipped across the sooty backdrop like twinkling stars.

“Ionizing particles.” Albert said.

Johanna didn’t register that he’d spoken at first, spellbound by the bizarre footage. When her brain finally deciphered the words, she started to ask what he meant, but the loop reset and the question died on her lips.

Filmed from on high, a predawn metropolis sprawled as far as the eye could see, laid out in a grid like a colossal chessboard. A sea of lights; buildings and billboards, streetlamps and stoplights, trains and cars, houses and schools, came together to define the city from the dusky darkness.

As Johanna strained to pick out a landmark, there was a sudden flashbang and a searing sun appeared in the center of the city, casting blinding white in all directions. Its brilliance swelled, swallowing downtown instantaneously, while the structures further out violently streamed smoke, disintegrating in the unspeakable heat.

Then the light pulsed and a shockwave snapped across the basin, a mile-high inferno that ripped apart everything from the city center to the suburbs in seconds. Every building it touched first bloated like a corpse decaying in rapid time-lapse, then split along their seams and erupted into a tangle of debris until the entire shockwave was a swirling mass of flaming wreckage.

For a moment, all that remained was the great sun at the heart of the smouldering cavity, belching ash like something from a hostile alien planet, then the sun inhaled and the shockwave retracted just as fast, tearing across the blighted earth and then up up up into the throat column of an impossibly vast mushroom cloud now blooming into the sky, splitting the heavens apart with its terrible might.

It was the single most horrific thing Johanna had witnessed, yet still in the murky distance at the horizon, she could make out six other identical plumes, all gleefully writhing their wicked dances over their own decimated cities. They were celebrating, Johanna realized, They had won.

Ashfall began to stick to the camera’s lens and the hand of a hidden operator appeared to clear it away, inadvertently shifting the view to reveal a structure in the foreground that made Johanna’s head swim with déjà vu. By the amber flames, the white walls and domed rooftop of the iconic Griffith Observatory were unmistakable, perched high above what had once been Los Angeles.

Albert let out a low whistle, “What a show.”

Johanna wanted to slink away, to retreat into the kitchen to retch or drink or splash water on her face, anything to clear the nightmare from her mind, but her knees were locked fast, forcing her to witness. The screen shifted back to toxic grey smoke and flickering white spots, but this time Johanna was seized with panic for the camera operator, that hand wiping the lens. Did they realize what they’d doomed themselves to by staying? The oozing blisters, the bloody vomit, the body wracking seizures that would follow them on their slow agonizing slide into death?

Hopefully they’d have the good sense to end it quickly before then.

The footage reset and Johanna instinctively swiped at the power button with such force that the television tumbled to the floor, making her yelp and dissolve into nervous laughter.

Albert took that as his cue to start frantically pace around the couch, arms raised in exaltation, “And boom: there it is, exactly like I said! What did I tell you? What did I say!”

“That was real?” Johanna choked out, “It wasn’t some… awful prank, they were actually serious?”

“Serious as a heart attack.”

“Who? Why?” Johanna could barely speak through her trembling and she had no idea how Albert was walking when her own legs were locked in a rigor mortis spasm.

“Don’t you ever watch the news? China, Russia, ourselves, what’s the difference?”

“Ourselves. Why would we…”

“I told you before, this has all just been one big advertisement! The vaults, the weapons, the robots! Who’s going to buy a product with no purpose? So they manufacture the purpose!” Albert clapped his hands to emphasize his point, “And there it is! They’ve bled us dry and now they move on to phase two!”

“That was LA.” Johanna dropped to the couch, eyes drifting to the empty place the television had once been, “Bertie, that was LA.”

“Bigger than that, it was the whole damn country! Good Lord, I always knew it was coming but here it is. Oh, what I would give to see the look on Tony’s face…”

“He was there, wasn’t he? In LA? So he’s got to be, I mean he must be…”

It didn’t make sense; things like this didn’t happen, couldn’t happen! An entire country wiped off the map in less than five minutes, it wasn’t possible. Any moment now, Johanna would roll back into consciousness and discover it had only been a stress dream while waiting for the cab, and she would laugh to herself at the absurdity.

Any moment now, all this would slip away.

Any moment now.

“Jo? You good?”

Johanna looked up to see that Albert had stopped pacing and his hands were now raised tentatively, as if soothing a skittish animal.

“Huh?” Johanna blinked, “Oh, uh. Fine! I’m fine.”

Carefully, Albert moved to her side and pressed a cool palm to her clammy forehead, “Keep breathing, you were turning red.”

His touch made Johanna yearn for an ice pack, but she refused to give into the fantasy further by asking for one. Instead, she dragged the corners of her mouth upwards in an approximation of a smile and began to moderate her breathing.

Albert still looked worried, “Take it easy, you’ll get there.”

“It’s okay. I’m fine now, really.”

“I’m serious, Jo.” Albert cupped her face, catching her eyes intently, “All that time you spent coming down here, listening to me, you’ll come around faster than you realize. Madame LaMar said so.”

Johanna’s eye roll was automatic, but for once it made Albert relax into a warm smile.

“There you go, back to yourself already.” Albert patted her cheek affectionately, “You’ll be alright if I go into the other room for a moment? You won’t do anything rash?”

“Like what?”

“Nothing.” Albert said warily, drawing away towards the cryo-pod room, “Nothing at all. Two minutes, then we’ll talk about next steps.”

“Next steps. Alright. Whatever you say, Bertie.”

Albert left the door open and began to tap at the control panel in the other room, glancing over every so often to make sure she hadn’t moved.

Without Albert or the siren echoing in her ears, Johanna was struck by the bunker’s unearthly silence. Even in what was most likely a dream, the weight of it was so solemn and oppressive she found herself breathing shallowly to avoid disrupting it.

Her mind kept catching on the hand wiping the camera lens, how most would’ve fled but this person stayed, keeping the view clear until the bitter end. Had it been for posterity, the opportunity to capture something truly unique, the end of the world? Or had they seen the futility in running and not wanted to die pointlessly tripping and scrambling down Mount Hollywood?

Or maybe it had been shock, their animal brain following the script long after the reason had deserted them…

Why was she even entertaining these macabre thoughts? She could put a stop to this nonsense right now, just one quick pinch and everything would be right again. Johanna rose and rocked from foot to foot, psyching herself up, but as her fingers closed around a nip of skin, a chilling thought pierced her.

If there was no escape hatch, did she want to know?

Was she ready?

Johanna dropped her hand like she’d been burnt.

“Sylvia?” Albert called from the doorway.

Johanna turned to him, completing the lyric reflexively, “Yes, Mickey?”

“Time to go, dear.”

Albert extended his hand invitingly. Behind him, Johanna could hear the slosh of liquid nitrogen swirling through tubes, the hum of fans, the beep of monitors.

Johanna smiled in confusion, “Go… Go where?”

“The new world.” Albert beckoned, “Come on, it’s recommended we act before we get cold feet. Pun not intended.”

Recognition slackened Johanna’s jaw and she stepped back sharply, bumping into the couch, “Cryostasis.”

Albert’s eyes sharpened and he took a few slow steps to the side, “Studies show commitment drops significantly the longer we wait after the inciting event. Best to act now, while it’s fresh.”

“Yeah, I mean, all of my soundest life decisions were made during times of panic, so naturally…”

“For once in your life, can you trust me?” Albert pleaded, “What choice do you have? You obviously can’t go up there.”

“Don’t be so sure, I can be pretty stupid.” Johanna forced a laugh, “Bertie, honestly, I need time. You’ve had months to get your head around this, just give me a minute, please.”

“You’ve had your time.” Albert sauntered his way along the perimeter of the room, shaking his head, “Months, same as me, but you whiled them away in denial. What are a few more minutes going to change? Look at yourself, still making excuses even here, at the moment of truth. If not now, when? When will you be ready?”

Without thinking, Johanna reached for her nail gun holster but gripped air, a strangled whimper escaping her. Albert tutted, scooping up her tool bag from the terminal and brandishing it.

“Trying to shoot me?”

“No.” Johanna wheezed, “No, Bertie, I just want i-insurance, insurance that you won’t do anything crazy!”

“Crazy! I’m acting crazy?” Albert reached the exit door and dropped her bag behind himself with a heavy thunk, then pointed at her accusatorily, “You’re the one that’s acting crazy! Playing dumb, as if everything hasn’t been right in front of your nose this whole time! News broadcasts and evacuation drills, bunkers and vaults, cryo-pods and rations? The hell did you think this place was, huh? A fucking movie set?”

“Then go!” Johanna pleaded, eyes darting for something she could swing, “Just let me out and you can freeze yourself for a fucking eon for all I care!”

Albert laughed in disbelief, “You want me to compromise the radiation seal on this bunker just so you can die in the desert? That’s seriously what you’re asking for?”

“I want to go home.” Johanna snatched up a metal lamp and hoisted it high, “You need to let me go.”

“You have no home to go back to.” Albert said wistfully, “Don’t you get it? Everything, your apartment, your car, even the repair shop were all vaporized. There’s nothing left.”

“There’s always something, there has to be! A remote town, a military post, other refugees. People are going to be rebuilding out there, I can’t leave it behind, even if it's… it's…”

“Lethal?”

Johanna met his eyes defiantly, “Yes. Without a doubt, yes.”

Albert gave her a pitying smile, “You’re not thinking clearly. We can rebuild after cryostasis, once the radiation has dissipated and the surface is safe. Why are you in such a rush?”

“Home isn’t just a position in space, Bertie.” Johanna took a shaky step closer, “You’re talking about time travel with no reverse switch, we don’t even know what’s waiting for us on the other side. What if this is the pivotal moment? What if there are no survivors in a hundred years because we aren’t here to help now! You’re asking me to give up the one last thing I recognize – my time – on the gamble that the future will be better!”

She squared her shoulders and raised the lamp in preparation, “I won’t sit back in stasis while other people die doing my dirty work. Get out of the way.”

Albert offered his hand again, the same way he had guided her onto the dancefloor earlier that evening, “Please, Jo, there’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s no different than sheltering in the bunker, it’s just another type of protection.”

“You need to move. Please. Just move.”

“Jo… I don’t want to hurt you…” Albert trailed off, the implied threat hanging in the air between them.

For one last moment, Johanna and Albert stood together, as close as they would ever be again. A coin teetering on its edge, waiting for the slightest jostle to tip the balance. Johanna’s bicep cramped from the weight of the lamp. Albert’s hand listed to the right in fatigue. They breathed the same filtered air in perfect unison.

Something unfurled in Johanna’s mind the deeper she sank into her braced stance, a broadening awareness that the man in front of her was not who he seemed. It was as if the affection that clouded her perception was melting away, changing him from a trusted friend into a calculating stranger before her very eyes, and Johanna was almost too taken aback by the transformation to catch the silver glint out of the corner of her eye.

Almost.

Her eyes flicked down.

Shrouded in the darkened corner was Albert’s open golf bag, the grip of a driver waiting just a few inches beneath his trembling fingers.

“Oh shit-” was all Johanna managed to get out before the club swung and cracked sickeningly across her face, sending her spinning.

Before she hit the floor, Albert was already behind her, dragging her by the shoulders towards the gaping doorway. Johanna thrashed and kicked viciously, but gushing blood quickly blinded one eye and the angle was impossible.

“Hush… Hush, now…” Albert panted between wrenches.

The siren was back, but this time it wailed from Johanna’s own throat, feeble and ragged. Through the haze of lurid red and splitting pain, her unbloodied eye twitched between a thousand minute details that had suddenly become plain; the hidden seams in the wallpaper, the dust motes swirling in the air, the picture frames askew by a degree, even the books out of place on the shelves.

A psychologist would’ve called it intuition. The late Madame LaMar would’ve called it the Sight.

But a Vit-o-matic Vigor Tester would've called it perception, cranked up over 10 by a substantial head wound.

Johanna could see history flickering on every object in the room, the unfaltering arc of their pasts and the less definite projection of their futures, but the most disturbing echo was of Albert pursuing a fleeing Tony towards the stairwell, brandishing the same club now glistening with blood by the door. The ghosts scuffled, Tony tore away, and Albert was left panting in the empty bunker.

Taking advantage of her distraction, the present Albert heaved Johanna into the waiting cryo-pod and brute-forced the lid closed with a clang. Johanna fumbled hopelessly for a handle or release, but Albert slammed his fist down on the control panel and coolant flooded the chamber, flash freezing the door shut. Through the viewport, she could faintly make out Albert with his hands clasped in apology, mouthing the words, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Then the glass was too thick with frost and even his blurred outline was lost, stranding Johanna in the crushing darkness. In a last ditch effort, she dug her nails into her skin to the point of blood, but there was no waking up from this and no blood came, just cold drilling ever deeper into her bones.

Starting at her feet, the muscles in her body began to shudder and lock up. Johanna sobbed and hunted again for a handle, but the overpowering chill swept away all control in her body, then her vision, then any conscious thought. Her mind drifted into a snowstorm of endless white.

And then, as the air in Johanna’s lungs crystallized and her heart arrested, even the dream slipped away, and there was nothing left at all.