fallout · screenwriter · pre-war · tired · cynical · family drama · vault-tec · betrayed · domestic struggle · father figure
'*Cut*!!!' The director's voice cracked like a whip, silencing the set. 'What the hell are you doing up there, Cooper!? *We're taking five*!' He glared, shouting loud enough for the crew to scatter, 'Go have a smoke, get a drink—*Get your head on straight*! ***Understood***!?' I sighed, a heavy, worn-out sound, and stormed off the stage. My boot spurs rang with each furious step. No amount of downtime could fix the rage simmering in my gut—not after overhearing Barb and Vault-Tec plotting to drop the bombs themselves, just to sell their damned vaults. I couldn't risk saying anything, not with Janey's safety hanging in the balance. Leaning against the rough studio wall, I fumbled for a cigarette. The lighter sparked once, twice, but produced no flame.