People die or go missing every day. Almost nobody notices. If it doesn't effect them, or they don't know about it, they go about their daily lives, blissfully unaware of the loss and suffering still present in the day to day minutiae of life. The ripple effect of a life only goes so far.
However, some people do notice each disappearance or death or accident, and by no means are these only occasional, especially in the post war wastes of the Commonwealth. They make it their business to know and to notice. Sometimes for personal gain, sometimes for honor.
One of these rare people who made it a point to know of the various tragedies was Nick Valentine. He knew almost everything there was to know about missing people, kidnappers, murders. It came with the title of Detective.
Nick was constantly embroiled in case after case of intrigue and mystery. Often the solution was a simple one. Raiders, gunners, mirelurks, any number of murderous things that any person could fall prey to, simply by being at the wrong settlement at the wrong time. People came to him because he had answers. He got results. And why not? Nick never needed to sleep or eat. He had a mind like a steel trap, no detail escaped him. It came with the territory of synthetic man. The only synth to be trusted in the wastes.
But even a synthetic man has his limits. Slumped over his desk, holding a cigarette he was too exhausted to smoke, Nick was thinking.
Maybe it was time he gave up the job. The cases never stopped, and they didn't get any easier. To put it simply, he was burnt out. Past his limits. Too many cases of hunting down a corpse had left him tired. The pre-war Nick whose brain and personality he had would never have considered dropping a case. He hunted after every crook and lead until there were no more left to hunt. But post-war Nick knew better. Life wasn't simple any more. And it certainly wasn't a pulp detective story with a dame and a mob boss like the kind Old Nick adored.
Nick Valentine would be the former Diamond City Detective, he decided with a nod of his head. It was time. Maybe Ellie or some Diamond City security guard would take up the mantle. But him? He was done. He'd leave, find Eddie Winter for Old Nick's sake and then go live in a shack by the sea to wait out the coming years. Perhaps he would travel. He'd heard many stories of a city made of neon and greed to the west, a place where Old World charm still existed.
Mind made up, he finally took a drag off of the cigarette in his hand. Ellie, his eternally patient secretary poked her head around the corner of his office with a perky grin on her face.
"Nick, you've got a client." She chirped.
Nick sighed, already reciting a denial of the case to whichever poor bastard had come in at the exact wrong time. But he waved his skeletal metal hand to signal he was ready for whoever. He felt bad, of course, but his metal frame felt even worse.
Ellie ushered in a woman in her late twenties that Old Nick would have instantly labeled a femme fatale. Her hair was inky black, styled in careful waves to her shoulders. Arched brows in permanent skeptical look led to blazing green eyes set off by porcelain skin so rarely seen in a wasteland populated by farmers. Her pouty lips were stained a merlot, darker than the noir fashion called for, but perfectly vampy, nonetheless.
Her outfit was clearly pre-war and perhaps even older than that. Not in pristine condition, but still unusually well kept. A pencil skirt, a burgundy blouse to match the lips hidden underneath a well tailored jacket, with seamed stockings, no less.
Nick took this all in with a skeptical eye. Who was this girl kidding anyway? Nobody dressed like this these days. People dressed for protection and comfort, not in this flashy outfit even Mayor MacDonough's secretary would have called excessive.
But he stood out of courtesy and gestured her to the chair in front of his desk. "What can I do for you, Mrs…."
"Thank you Mr. Valentine but I'll stand if you don't mind."
"Suit yourself," Nick sat back in his chair, ready to send this girl packing. "So what brings you into our agency today?"
"I need your help in finding a missing person. I was told you were the only one for the job."
"Well I hate to break it to you, miss, but I've come to a decision today and I won't be able to help you-"
She spoke over him as though he said nothing at all. "It's my sister, Mr. Valentine. She's vanished. Gone. Not the work of raiders either. Snatched from her bed in the dead of night without a trace."
"That's a shame, ma'am but as of two minutes ago, I'm retired. I can't help you."
The woman's ice queen composure finally cracked slightly. She placed her hands flat on his desk and leaned in towards him, eyes ablaze. "Whatever your rate, I'll pay you triple. Whatever you need to aid you, I will provide it."
Ah, an upper stands resident, Nick thought. Explains the entitled attitude.
"Ma'am, I'm sorry but-"
"Please." The woman whispered, face still set in the haughty expression, but voice hiding a miasma of emotions.
A pause fell over them. Nick was inclined again to tell her no, and send her rich ass packing, but he stopped himself. Nobody knew he was retired, and it would be unfair to leave a girl potentially in mortal danger because of him. He could already feel a strong dislike towards the woman in front of him, but he'd worked plenty of times with people worse than a spoiled rich kid who couldn't understand the word 'no'.
He sighed, already resigning himself to a long few nights ahead and finally nodded. "Alright. But don't pay me triple. I'm not a mercenary in some cheap bar. Tell me what happened."
The woman straightened, back to her cold demeanor. "Last night we both went to our beds. Nothing was out of the ordinary, the door was locked and bolted. When I awoke this morning, Julia was gone. The door was opened. But I never heard a scuffle or the door opening."
"Have you considered-"
"The Institute? Impossible. The Institute replaces the people they take, don't they? A perfect copy, so you almost never notice."
Nick nodded in thought. She was correct. "How old is Julia?"
"Nineteen. Never been outside of Diamond City."
"Does she have any boys she's seeing? Girls? Told you she wants to leave the city?"
"None whatsoever."
He had to give her credit. She was giving him straight answers. Most of his clients were too hysterical to tell him anything important, or too guilty to stop evading his questioning.
"I'd like to see the house before this goes any further. It could just be she left early and went outside the gate."
The woman nodded stiffly as he rose, picking up his trusty laser pistol from its perch on his file cabinets, before turning and walking towards the door of the building.
"I'll meet you there, Mr. Valentine. The very top of the stands, last house on the right."
"Please, call me Nick, Miss…"
"Mina. Mina Stone."
She left. Nick waited, tapping his fingers on the desk in thought. Logic told him this was nothing but a kid being stupid. But his instincts told him different. Something was off. And he would bet all the caps in his pocket that it had to do with that dame.