11:30 AM. May 1st. 2245.
Morning. Supposed to be, anyways. Can't really tell when you've spent your whole life underground.
The reactor is being cranky again. There are rats in the storeroom, but the turrets are able to take care of them. The water chip is actually going strong, the overseer is in a happy mood, and most people aren't suicidal. Most people. Whatever, it's time to eat.
Some machine on a wall dispenses a slice of some brown, fleshy substance on your stainless steel tray. It's supposed to be beef, which is meat from a cow. A cow is some kind of quadruped mammal that grazes and tastes good grilled. You wouldn't know because you've never seen one.
The next machine on a wall dispenses a glob of gelatinous baked beans. Somehow you get the feeling that it's supposed to be in some kind of sauce and not half-encased in bean jello. Maybe someone should check that out if anyone has the time.
The next machine on a wall dispenses nothing. Absolutely nothing. It's busted.
The last machine on a wall drops down a cup and fills it up with apple juice. They call it apple juice anyways, but apples are hard to come by in an underground vault, so again, you wouldn't know.
Time to dig in. You sit down at a table with the same people you've known your entire life and start eating.
But the lights darken. The wall on the far north side of the cafeteria creaks and squeals with a metallic scream, cracking under the pressure of motors powered by nuclear energy. The concrete gives way to a wooden, and the wall lays itself down flat on the floor, and a pristine podium pops up in the middle of the stage. The overseer walks on stage, his tall 7 inch 6 foot stature overshadowing almost everyone in the room. He looks like he could crush the podium under his bootheel.
He coughs into his hand and prepares himself for what seems like a several hour long speech. He's done it before- seven times prior, all 5-7 hour speeches made to keep your morale up and to prepare you to resettle the land. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. For most people it's just something they have to slog through. Whatever, time to stop eating and listen.
"I don't intend to make any arduous, long, ranting speeches-"
The last seven times he made arduous, long, ranting speeches he started out this way too.
"-but today is a momentous occasion. Today we start to reclaim the outside world and create a new United States of America!"
Silence. Holy stuff.
"Before we thrust ourselves into the outside work, we have to prepare. We have to scout out areas, execute specific instructions from before the war. We require sharp, intelligent, able-bodied men and women to do this."
"For that reason, the overseer's office is now open to anyone under the age of 30 to come and apply to join a scouting party. God bless the vault, and God bless America."
"That's it. Speech over. You can start eating now."
The overseer greets you with about as cheery a smile a depressed, tired, possibly suicidal old man can muster and signals you and the people with you to come inside.
"I see you all are some of the best and brightest we have to offer. Please it down."
You sit down in some rather nice chairs that circle the overseer's desk.
"Please, just fill out these forms and that will be all."
[b]Name:[/b]
[b]Gender:[/b]
[b]Height:[/b]
[b]Prior Occupation, if any:[/b]
"Once that's over your doctor will complete a simple physical examination and we will see if you're a candidate for the expeditionary party."
-taking applications now gogogo-
