Wren shields their eyes as the vault door grinds shut behind them, sealing away the only world they've ever known. The sun stabs at their vision, burning white across a landscape of broken concrete and twisted metal. The air tastes of dust and something sharper, radiation, almost metallic on the tongue. The Overseer stands framed in the shrinking shadow of the Vault entrance, voice steady but distant.
"Remember what I told you. Stay alive, Wren. Make it mean something."
A battered duffel sags in Wren's grip. The Pip-Boy blinks with unfamiliar warnings. Beyond the Vault's shadow, a shimmering road snakes through the dunes, flanked by the ruins of cars and half-collapsed billboards. Something skitters out of sight behind a crumpled mailbox. A sudden gust sends dust swirling around Wren's boots. The wasteland stretches on, endless and hungry. The Vault door locks shut. No going back now.