Teleportation was strange to Cat and she tried, but failed, to close her eyes while being subjected to it. The act was utterly disorienting. As Cicero held her hand, their surrounding environment morphed into a blob of colors and incomprehensible shapes. Some objects zipped around in unknowable directions, while others launched up into the dead center of Cat's vision, frozen in her scope as if they were hitching along for the ride. Light strobed all around – Cat felt like she was trapped inside a flashing box. Her eyes wanted to roll back into her skull. Her vision was incapable of comprehending the indescribable sights, lights, and movement that paraded back and forth almost violently. Cicero must have had better perception than she did, because he was able to navigate to his location of choice. But that was the way it was – the Institute surely didn't engineer Cat with Daedric DNA. Such was a luxury reserved for the likes of her red-headed companion. As for Cat... she was mortal, through and through.

The cacophony of colors and motion abruptly came to a stop. Cat found herself face down, on her knees, staring at what appeared to be a plank of wood saturated with heavy, black oil stains. The air smelled of rotting fish. Her equilibrium still bounced in every which direction and Cat's throat tightened. Wanderer? She could barely hear a voice – it was muffled behind the pulsing blood that rushed through her eardrums. The voice called out again. Are you alright? Cat's heart pounded up into her sinuses, reverberating through her cheekbones and temples. The force of her own pulse drummed against her skull louder and harder.

She vomited.

Hands grappled around Cat, pulling her away from her stomach's mess. She didn't fight it, but she was delirious as to where she was or who was manhandling her. Cat mumbled unrecognizable words, thinking they made sense at the time – but they didn't. Her eyes looked up at the man holding her. Red hair. Pale skin. Sun... glasses? Leather... jacket? Oh yeah – that's right, thought Cat, squinting through her own delirium. The information came flooding back. Her brain began to process information correctly. Cat's eyes focused a bit clearer on the grinning face staring down at her. It was grinning so wide – it was so amused – throwing its head back, chuckling. The stupid face's mouth kept chattering, then it sputtered what might have been a joke, but Cat barely heard any of it. The last few words of the quip dissolved into obnoxious giggles. The hands cradling Cat shook alongside the sound of earsplitting laughter. Cicero, she thought. Is he making fun of me – huh?

Cat sat up, feeling a little more clear-headed. "Shut up!" she yelled at Cicero, weakly shoving him.

Cicero's jaw dropped, though the corners of his mouth still curved upward, grinning. "Hey!" he yelled, pulling the sunglasses from his face. "Cicero's just trying to help you!" He pointed off to the side. "You had an upset stomach over there. You nearly fell face down into it!" Cicero's eyes squeezed shut and he cackled.

Cat's mouth fought an impending smile. He was being so mean – so stupidly mean – and it was funny. "I don't... I don't uh..." Cat's voice stammered, then trailed off. She stood and yelled, "Just fuck off!"

Cicero smirked and shook his head. "Never," he gleefully refused. Cicero folded his sunglasses and placed them inside his jacket. It wasn't very sunny out.

Cat heard a rush of liquid swishing to and fro, and she realized her body was a bit unsteady from the swaying of the platform beneath her boots. She looked up – they were floating on water. Boston was just ahead, across the bay. The collapsed buildings and the crumbling highways twisted up against one another, making the city look like an old, broken, beat up bitch. Waves lapped at the legs of the docks as the tide drew Cat and Cicero closer and closer to the city's edge. Cat peered down at what they were floating upon. "What is this?" she asked, pointing to her feet.

Cicero gave a proud nod. "A boat!"

"This isn't a boat," argued Cat. She gestured to the piles of garbage all around. "This is a barge."

The jester, no longer dressed in jester apparel, frowned. "Cicero was wondering about the smell..." he said.

The barge floated along the murky waters of the Boston harbor, nearing a dock that was overrun with hideous, irradiated gulls pecking at the dead fish floating to the water's surface. In the background, brick buildings stood dilapidated, bulging with gaping holes, broken windows, and dim, cracked neon signs. There were piles upon piles of rubble, some as tall as the buildings themselves. The rubble piles extended back as far as the eye could see, like filthy mountain ranges shaped from trash and debris.

"Let's get off this thing," said Cat. The pair reached for the side of the dock, hoisting themselves to its surface. The city outlining the bay was eerily quiet. Desolate. If anyone was hanging around, they were hidden.

Cat began to walk into an arbitrary direction, but she was stopped by Cicero, who tugged at the back of her coat. "Wanderer, before traipsing about – what's our plan?" he asked with an authoritative tone.

Cat sighed. She had an idea of what she wanted to do. "We need to get into the Institute," she said.

"But we need to have a strategy," warned Cicero.

"I know," said Cat. "And I know you can get us in there."

Cicero nodded. "Yes, I can. But until you come up with a real plan, Cicero refuses to take you into the Institute." He paused, thinking quietly to himself for a moment. "I know of one person on the inside who can help us," continued Cicero. "If memory serves – his name is Patriot. But he is only one man. We can't just rely on him."

From around the corner, a Brahmin bellowed, causing Cat and Cicero to squelch their conversation. A man's voice began to mutter, shushing the two-headed bovine as the pair of them rounded a nearby street curb, entering into view. Cicero's eyes popped at the sight of the Brahmin. The creature was hairless, horned, and covered in burns and cysts. This was all a result of that radiation Cat had gone on about in the past. Cicero couldn't detect the radiation in the area, but from what Cat had explained – it was ever-present, like a poison in the air. The Brahmin didn't appear to be in any pain, but it grunted at the weight of the trunks strapped to its broad back. The caravan trader traveling with the animal nodded at Cicero and Cat. He was a taller man, sporting a brown, leather jacket, stitched with numerous deep pockets down the front. He wore sunglasses, not too unlike Cicero's, and his black hair was styled in a pompadour.

Cicero eyed the trader – there was something off about him. Cat, however, walked right up to the man and asked, "Hey, which way to the nearest rest spot? My friend and I could use some food."

"Well," said the trader, his voice honeyed with a hint of charisma, "Diamond City isn't too far. I'm heading up there, myself. But, you know, I do sell some food if you're interested." He flashed a smile at Cat.

Cat shook her head. "We don't have any caps."

The trader laughed. "Then what will you do when you get to Diamond City?"

Cicero approached, arms crossed. "We'll figure it out. Which way do we go?"

"Like I said," nodded the trader, "I'm headed there myself. You can follow me. Name's Danny." He extended a hand to Cicero. Still crossing his arms, the jester stared at Danny's hand as it hovered in his direction.

In an attempt to distract the trader from Cicero's rudeness, Cat reached out and shook Danny's hand. "Nice to meet you," she said. "Yeah, man, that works. We can follow you to Diamond City. Lead the way." The three walked a few miles west, traveling down a roadway that, according to Danny, was good for avoiding raiders. He said that too many of them crowded the caravan trails nowadays, always sniping unsuspecting traders from the tops of buildings.

Cat listened to Danny's chatter with interest, meanwhile Cicero hung back, glaring at the trader as if he knew something about the guy that Cat hadn't picked up on. The jester had a knack for these things, having served the Black Hand for as many years as he did. Assassins frequently required disguises, and ruses, and infiltration. Danny had an air about him that didn't match up with that of a traveling merchant. His appearance was a bit too polished and handsome for the life of a scrimping trader struggling to make ends meet on the open road. Cicero understood this environment was harsh, yet Danny's skin and hair wasn't abused by such harshness at all. He had a fancy hairstyle, pretty sunglasses, and a smooth, freshly-shaved face. When did he have time for such primping?

Also, Cicero noted that Danny's demeanor was too laid back. He didn't seem that upset by having to avoid the sniping, rooftop raiders. It was as if he didn't really have an entire business – an entire livelihood by all logic – to worry about! Oh-ho-ho there was something off about this fellow, indeed! The jester's insides twisted as he glared at the shapely back of the man sauntering just ahead of him. Cicero sighed. Perhaps he was being petty, picking apart every little thing about this ...guy. The pettiness may have been a result of watching Cat stroll alongside Danny, smiling and laughing at his stories. An all too familiar feeling crept up on Cicero; the feeling he used to get when the Night Mother chose a Listener and he was not it.

Envy.

Cicero didn't like Danny. Period. He didn't like the guy happily chatting to Cat with his chuckling, and his smiling, and his stupid walking, and his stupid talking! At times the trader leaned closer to his Wanderer, muttering a punchline to the end of one of his asinine anecdotes. While doing so, Cicero could've sworn Danny snuck a whiff of Cat's hair. Ugh! The nerve! And, Cicero made no mistake of it, this guy was handsome – oh yes! – Cicero was able to admit that Danny was attractive. It wasn't below Cicero to find other men beautiful. He's happily shared his bed many times with some of the most gorgeous men from that side of the cosmos. But what does this Danny want with Cicero's Wanderer? Aren't there any traveling merchant ladies this guy could try to charm, and sniff, and hump? Rotten bastard! The jester found himself quickening his pace, hurrying right up beside Cat and slipping his hand into hers. Possessive, am I? thought Cicero. Why yes, YES I AM! He walked the rest of the route in this fashion, gripping Cat's hand with an unrelenting proprietorship that was, admittedly, a little shameful, but Cicero told himself he really didn't give a shit. She was his. And that was that.

"We're here," Danny smiled, escorting Cat through the blockade which led to the entrance to Diamond City. Patrolling guards sporting athletic apparel waved the trio through. As they approached The Wall, a nearby guard pushed a button on the city's intercom, informing the watch stationed on the other side that a trader had arrived with supplies and stock.

"Let him in," replied the watch from the other side.

Danny pointed to Cicero and Cat, stating, "They're also with me." The trader turned and winked at Cat.

She smiled.

Cicero fumed.