The fallout universe, the crazed mechanic
1940, when the bombs fell.. literally. In essence the world wanted itself killed, each country hated one other at least and nuclear weapons were the only way to prove it. The world almost became a fireball, main cities were bombed, broken apart and for a large portion, reduced to rubble. Seeing this happening, the various allied forces of the world constructed the "vaults" huge, self sufficient underground complexes, sealed with massive cog doors, which rolled shut. One such vault, number 0 (Named as such as it was a test before the others were put into actual construction) Was deemed safe before the war, built underneath London, the entrance to it coming out into the London underground, to make it more secure. Three hundread years on, the vault now lays abandoned, or at least it looks that way, nothing living appeared to be inside. The tunnel leading to the entrance was half demolished, rubble partially covering the now half opened door to the vault. The whole place was now dusty and unkept, no one had come back to it, a story had spread about an apparant "curse" some sort of ghost that was supposed to live there. Outside were a few remains of bandits, stripped of their weapons and any other goods, some more fresh than others but all quite clearly dead by gunshots. They'd come from an old turret set up, it was destroyed but was only one of many traps left there. Outside, hanging from a rope was a radio, with a messy written note attatched reading, rather oddly. "Pick up the damn thing before you come in.. it's polite!" The occupier of the vault, the only one there was hidden in one of the rooms and would only communicate when people were, as the note said "Polite" Meaning guns away and hands up, he had a turret set up inside, as well as remote control to the main gate, on a sensor he'd have to turn off, as well as a carpet of bombs to stand on, certain ones disarmed, like a horrid stepping stone sytem into the entrance room. That, though a little messy, seemed normal, only one of the three metal doors worked, the others were jammed somehow, and the path way in was one way, only the doors the occupier wanted open, were. They'd eventually lead to the medical wing, where another radio sat, with the same note written.