Here I go making up lore for characters again. I couldn't help it. Enjoy the non-cannon backstory for Dr. Amari
Chapter 7: We Are The Vulnerable Ones
Two coursers dragged their quarry by his arms through the Institute's atrium. His bound legs flopped uselessly as his bare feet skimmed across the tile floor. The boy's mop of blond hair hung around his face and his blond tips were tinged a rusty red from his own blood.
Father looked at the spectacle from the observation area in his room with disgust and disappointment. The boy was tied up to a metal post that was erected in the middle of the courtyard. Soon he would await his judgement and receive his punishment. His hands were fastened above his head by metal manacles and his bound feet were chained to the pole's base. Other synths and scientists refused to look at him. The young man seemed to be invisible to the world.
"Father, your examination is done." Doctor Volkert said from behind him.
"And what's the verdict?" He asked without turning around.
"It's terminal, sir. During the MRI, we found a mass attached to your frontal lobe. It's a form of aggressive Astrocytoma. The tumor is malign but it's inoperable, it's spread through too much of your brain. Performing a partial lobotomy would leave you in a vegetative state."
Father didn't seem phased by the news. His level blue eyes barely twitched in surprise. "What's my prognosis?"
"Six months, maybe. A year at most. If you were any other person here, sir, I'd tell them to start getting their affairs in order. But I'm thinking that you want to fight it?"
"No. You thought wrong." Father watched as the boy struggled against his bonds; his gagged mouth prevented him from calling out for help. "It makes no sense to prolong the inevitable. I trust your diagnosis, if the news is quite grim."
"Father, please." the doctor replied. "There's some experimental drugs that we can try. We can get you a course of chemo started right away. There are other options."
Father finally turned to the elderly man in the doctor's uniform. Although the doctor was five years older than Shaun, he still looked healthy and physically strong. Such is the tragedy of illness, Father thought gloomily.
Then he said, "We've already exhausted all of the options that wouldn't render me comatose or put the Institute and our work at an unnecessary risk. I am no fool to fight my mortality. I knew this day would come, I just didn't think it would come so soon."
"We have the technology -"
"No." Father stated firmly. "I appreciate your insistence Doctor, but I've made my decision."
As he made his way towards the staircase that led to the living area, Father could hear the boy's pained cries as he was savagely beaten with a shock baton. His eyes narrowed imperceptibly. Public lashings were always nasty business but he saw no other alternative to scare his people into obedience. The wasteland was a terrifying and dangerous place and its people were savage and inhuman. Liam may have thought he was saving these synths, but in reality he was leading them to their deaths. Thanks to Nora's influence, a boy - a good, intelligent boy - had been led astray by the ludicrous notion of freedom.
"Father." A stony-faced courser said. "The traitor is bound like you asked. Shall I give the order to round up all of the citizens?"
"Yes. Please make the announcement. This will not take long." he replied.
Father walked into the filling atrium with his jaw set and his eyes locked onto Liam's struggling body. Although Nora never spoke much about her husband, he did know that his father once served in the military. He had a job with purpose. Old Pre War records showed that he commanded his own squad of men during some long-forgotten war. In a weird way, Shaun secretly hoped that he was making his father proud. He, too, had a job with purpose. He, too, led a group of people toward a common goal. He, too, would have to make a tough decision, consequences be dammed.
Liam stopped struggling when he saw Father approach. By now, the entire atrium was filled with curious and frightened faces. Those who could not fit on the ground floor observed the scene from the living quarter balconies. Several coursers were stationed around the large room to intimidate and to keep order.
Father cleared his throat. His strong voice boomed through the atrium as though he was speaking through a microphone. "Liam Binet. At 2:14AM on November the fifteenth, you were caught using a Stealth Boy unlawfully to escape the scene of a crime. You not only smuggled out four pieces of highly valuable Institute tech, but you also aided in the escape of an Institute fugitive who was awaiting judgement for manslaughter. Do you deny these charges?"
A courser roughly pulled the white cloth gag from the boy's mouth.
"No." He whispered hoarsely.
Father didn't seem surprised. Instead he turned his back and addressed the crowd. "If you are having similar thoughts as Liam about this silly, ludicrous notion that synths need liberating, I hope you see the path that it will lead you down. Synths do not need liberating. Synths are not people."
"They are too!" Liam countered. His cries were emphatic and his eyes were emblazoned with passion and fear. "They think, eat, breathe, and have hopes and dreams just like all of us. Just because they are manufactured in a lab doesn't remove their humanity. Are we not manufactured cell by cell as we grow inside a womb? You, Father, are their father both in name and through genetics. How can you not see that?"
Father scowled. "I may have created them, but they are not my children. They are nothing more to me than tools - a way to redefine mankind through technology rather than biology."
"Please, sir! See reason!" the boy cried. He spoke quickly but clearly. "When looking at the criteria of sapience in terms of non-human things, self awareness and the ability to think, feel, and reason are paramount. Gen-3 synths are self aware. Gen-3 synths think all the time. They also feel. Eve is a synth and she's been living with my father and I for the past four years. She's become like a second mother to me and I know that she feels pain and even guilt or disappointment for what I've done."
"If she feels that, it's because she was programmed to do it." Father replied coldly. "But that's no matter. I've heard enough. I will not debate matters of Philosophy with you Liam. While I appreciate your honesty in not denying your crimes, I still find you guilty of treason."
Father paused and turned back to the boy. "I regret to issue this order, Liam. You were born here. I watched you grow up."
Liam's eyes grew wide and he struggled even harder against his bounds as Father issued the command. "And now you will die here."
"NO!" A voice yelled from the crowd. People mumbled and stirred nervously at the interruption. Dr. Alan Binet shoved his way through the crowd. His thinning dishwater blond hair was damp with sweat.
"Father, please." He panted. "You can't do this. My son is only seventeen. He didn't think about how his actions would affect others. He never meant to hurt anyone or bring shame upon you. My son is an idealist, he sees the world through one lens, but he would never hurt anyone intentionally." Alan looked at his son with a pained expression.
"Dr. Binet, this is highly irregular." Father replied cooly. "Your son is of age to make his own decisions. Therefore he is of age to live with the consequence of those decisions."
"Please!" Alan begged. Pride be dammed. He got down onto his knees in front of Father and begged for his son. "He's been lost ever since his mother passed. He meant well but he went about it the wrong way."
"Losing one's parent does not excuse bad behavior." Father scolded and then snapped his fingers at a courser who approached Liam with a laser rifle.
"NO." Alan screamed. "Dammit. If you need your pound of flesh then kill me. I was the one who told him that synth's could dream. I was the one who filled his head with silly notions about synth equality. Don't blame the son for the sins of the father."
Liam struggled against the bonds but his gag was fastened tightly against his mouth. His cerulean eyes were tinged with tears. Still he shook his head and let out a muffled 'no.'
"You make a compelling argument Dr. Binet." Father said coldly. "Get up. Stop groveling. You're embarrassing yourself."
Dr. Binet rose unsteadily to his feet. He was panting and snuffling like a scared child.
Father's eyes bore into the crowd. "I am not a tyrant. I can grant mercy. However, do not take my mercy as acceptance. Anyone else caught working against the Institute will be put to death.
"Dr. Binet return to your lab." He snapped at the scientist
"What about Liam?" Alan whimpered.
Father looked at the blond boy with disinterest. "X6 please ready the relay to transport young Liam off the premises. I don't care where you send him, but he is not to come back."
Then addressed Liam directly. "Liam, you are now an enemy of the Institute. If you try to come back or if you try to work against us in anyway, you will be killed along with the rest of those wasteland heathens."
Liam's eyes widened as he realized what was happening. X6 and another courser roughly unshackled his hands and feet but did not remove the gag. Father walked off the relay platform that was embedded in the center of the atrium. X6 threw the boy down onto the platform and then walked off to the side.
Liam saw his father's blotchy tear-streamed face and dropped his head in shame. When the crackling blue light of the relay swarmed around his body, Liam felt a sensation of complete nothingness and then felt a hard, painful impact as he landed facedown in the dirt.
Ruined skyscrapers and crumbling buildings sat across a dull grey river. He could hear the cracking of bullets and the muffled shouts of angry, savage people. The air smelled pungent and Liam wrinkled his nose against it.
He ripped the cloth gag out of his mouth with his bound hands and then spit onto the ground. His entire body ached from the shock baton and he panted savagely against the pain and betrayal that rose up from his chest.
He would not cry, he decided. He needed to get his wits about him, so he observed his surroundings again and felt nothing but hopeless despair. The wasteland looked worse than he thought. With effort, he removed the duct tape that bound his hands and feet and then stood up brushing the dirt and God-knows-what-else off his white pants.
He looked back at the ruined white building of the CIT behind him. He didn't know what he expected to see, whether it was a portal or a wormhole that he could crawl back through and be with his dad and Eve once again, but the ruined marble pillars seemed like an ill omen. He couldn't go back to them. This was his life now.
He looked around tentatively and made his way towards a broken lift bridge at a fast walk. He had no idea where he was going, nor did he have any weapons or supplies. Who knew what kind of monsters he'd encounter out here. The creepy crawlies that he heard coursers complaining about didn't scare him as much as the stories about the hulking super mutants or the chem-crazed raiders. Bugs and animals were one thing, but humans often proved to be more nefarious and dangerous than any other species - mutated or not.
He could see the faint glow of bright floodlights off in the distance and set off towards it. If he could at least find some people who were friendly, perhaps they'd be able to help him get his bearings. Or so he hoped.
"So how do you feel?" Amari asked when Nora emerged from the bathroom dressed in some clean, warm clothes.
"Much better now actually." Nora replied and tentatively perched on a plastic chair. It was actually the truth. The bath was warm and Nora felt reasonably safe to fully disrobe and let the heat soothe her sore muscles and aching neck.
When she was in the bath, she tentatively ran her fingers along the fading bruises on her thighs willing herself to feel her own touch. She didn't fully explore her body despite the heat that pooled in her stomach. She merely explored the areas like a scientist would and just took note of what felt tender or painful and what felt good. Of course, the exploration didn't leave her any more physically satisfied but it calmed her mentally and reminded herself that she was in control of her own body.
Even though the Institute had first-rate indoor plumbing, Nora preferred lying there and just listening to the ambient sounds rather than the whirl of a sterile filtration system. She could hear Irma humming some sultry song that was probably one of Magnolia's originals at one point. She heard the old triumphant theme to the Silver Shroud radio broadcast, and she could hear the gentle tip tapping of a keyboard as Amari worked on God knows what.
Of course, she knew she would have to face the music sometime and so she forced herself to sit down across from Amari for her therapy session. She braced herself for the worst including the onslaught of cliche but non-threatening questions, but instead, Amari passed Nora a Nuka Cola and grabbed one for herself. The bottle felt cool to the touch like it had been sitting outside in the November air
Nora twisted the bottle cap off the top and looked at the red and white embossed logo on the piece of metal before slipping it into her pocket. In a world where bottle caps were the currency, she wondered if going over to a bar for a soda was akin to finding a penny on the ground.
The bottle itself felt heavy in her hands. The glass was thick and the Nuka Cola logo was molded into the bottle's side. Even when so much had changed in 200 years, there were some small comforts in seeing something so familiar. She smiled at the memory which made Amari smile too.
"Is there a private joke that I'm missing?" Amari asked gently.
"No, not really." She replied. "It's just that my father use to collect Nuka Cola merchandise. He'd be the first one to buy the new flavors and try them. He had a refrigerator in his garage and we'd share a soda as he worked on his vintage fusion car. He even took me to Nuka World when I was a little kid. It was just a father-daughter trip, but I think he had more fun there than I did."
Nora rarely let her thoughts turn to her own parents. After losing Nate and Shaun, Nora couldn't bare to think about any family or extended family who undoubtably met their end when the bombs fell. She shook her head vigorously as though she was trying to shake the memories away.
"It's okay to let yourself feel pain, Nora." Amari replied gently. "There's no shame in it."
She frowned. "So are we beginning the therapy session? Is this where I tell you about my parents or about my childhood?"
"No," Amari replied with a small secretive smile. "This is where I tell you about mine."
Nora sat back in the chair and shot the woman a skeptical expression. Amari picked up on that and replied, "Don't worry. I will try to make it a short story. You say your father collected Nuka Cola, well back when I was a young girl, collecting Sarsaparilla Star bottle caps was all the rage."
Nora vaguely remembered that name. "Sarsaparilla? Like Sunset Sarsaparilla? Wasn't that out on the west coast?" She remembered that her Aunt Vicky from San Diego came East to visit one christmas and brought Nora a six pack of the stuff. She didn't like it very much but was too polite to say so.
"Indeed." Amari said and took a small sip from the head of the heavy glass bottle. "I grew up in a small community on the outskirts of New Vegas."
"You mean Las Vegas." Nora interrupted.
"It hasn't been called that in a long time. Locals call the Las Vegas ruins New Vegas and they call the surrounding desert the Mojave Wasteland." She replied patiently.
"If you're from there, then why are you here? No offense." Nora added hastily.
"None taken." Amari replied. "But before I tell you why I came to Boston, I first would like to know if you have ever heard of The Followers of the Apocalypse?"
Nora shook her head then took a drink of the heavy, cool bottle. The 200 year old soda still tasted as she remembered it. While the carbonation wasn't as crisp as it once was, the sugary sweet syrup taste reminded her of picnic lunches and baseball games.
"The Followers of the Apocalypse started a while back." Amari began, "After the bombs fell, a group of survivors decided to band together to help their fellow human instead of kill them. The Followers made it their mission to collect as much Pre-War knowledge as they could so they could use that knowledge to help others. My parents were members, as were my grandparents, and we grew up in the community and were taught the Old World knowledge of history, medicine, technology, and science."
Then how did you make it to Boston?" Nora asked. "Walking coast-to-coast would take forever."
"Indeed." Amari agreed. "But we're getting ahead of ourselves. First, I want to share with you the reason why I left the Followers."
"I started suspecting something wasn't quite right with my family around the age of nine." She continued, "Both of my parents had fiery red hair and blue eyes. My brother Mikah looked just like them. However, I did not. When I asked my parents about it, they were evasive and assured me that I was their daughter. I wasn't satisfied. My peers would often tease me and call me a courier's child because I was the figurative and literal black sheep in the family. I tried to let the matter die but I couldn't."
Nora could already guess where this story was going but she politely let Amari finish.
"Although the Followers have access to one of the largest intact libraries in the west, they also keep detailed records of lineage, some dating all the way back to Pre War times. When I looked up my family in the database, I discovered that my name was not listed anywhere. Mikah was registered to a Mr and Mrs Joseph and Teri Amari as their son, but I was not there. When I confronted my parents, they finally broke down and confessed that I was their adoptive daughter."
Amari took another drink of soda and then cleared her throat. "It took two more years of begging and pleading with my parents to reveal who my birth parents were. On my thirteenth birthday, my father gave me one gift. It was a note tucked inside a small, coarsely woven blanket. The note had just one name: William Calhoun."
Nora frowned and shook her head. "Is that name suppose to mean anything to me?"
"No, of course not." Amari replied. "Unless you have a knowledge of Followers history or a fascination with recent current events in the Mojave Desert, the name means nothing to you. But thanks to my biological father and the efforts of a few others, the Mojave Desert will be forever plagued with the worst type of people imaginable."
Dr. Amari rose from her seat and grabbed a thick book from the top of a filing cabinet. The book had no title but she pulled a black and white photograph from its pages. The photo depicted three men. The man on the far left had the same dark hair, thin eyes, and upturned lips as Dr. Amari. His dark eyes betrayed a look of unease. The man in the middle with startling blond-white hair had a cocky, overconfident smile but his face looked cruel. The man on the far right was the most jovial of the three. He was wearing a wide-brimmed cowboy hat and his short brown hair poked out like weeds growing in the cracks of concrete. The man had a bible in his right hand and a high caliber pistol in the other.
"Who are the other two men?" Nora asked.
"The man in the middle is Edward Sallow but now he only goes by the name of Caesar." Amari replied. "The man on the right is Joshua Graham. According to my father's journal, he was a missionary for a group called the Mormons and he was in Arizona trying to convert people to his religion."
Nora's eyes didn't leave the man in the middle. She knew she was projecting but the white hair and the striking blue eyes reminded her too much of Father.
"Why did he go by the name of Caesar?" Nora asked. "Wasn't Caesar a Roman general or something?"
"According to the history books, he was a politician, general, and dictator." Amari confirmed. "With his power, he ended the Roman Republic and brought about the beginning of the Roman Empire. According to my father's journal, Edward took the name of Caesar after he led the Blackfoot tribe to victory against their enemies. He had a dream of one day creating the same empire that Caesar had, but this time his empire would spread throughout the western United States. The man on the right, the missionary, became Caesar's Malpais Legate However, rumors have said that Joshua somehow displeased during an important battle Caesar and was executed. My father was offered a high-ranking position as one of Caesar's military strategists but he turned it down."
"That was a brave thing for your father to do." Nora replied.
"Brave, yes. But not without consequences." Amari responded. "He refused. Not out of altruism but out of spite for Edward. A year into their journey east, the three men and the Followers who went with them were kidnapped by the Blackfoot tribe. Edward taught the Blackfoot people warfare while Joshua taught them about his God. My father's skills were less applicable. He was a scholar and a historian. He went to record the Blackfoot tribe's stories and legends. As a result, he assimilated into their culture. He took a wife who became pregnant with me. But Edward never thought of the Blackfoot people as equals. To him, they were savages. He enslaved the tribe, but my father did nothing to stop him. When Edward discovered that my mother had given birth to 'a half-blood bastard,' he had my mother crucified. He then gave my father a choice. He could leave with me at the expense of the rest of the Followers' lives, or he could give me up to be thrown into a gorge and retain his position as his third-in-command."
"Obviously your father choice to keep you," Nora replied, "but what happened to the Followers that your father consequently dammed?"
"They were covered in pitch and set on fire." Amari whispered hauntingly. Her dark eyes seemed vacant as she grasped the journal in her hands. "My father writes that he could hear their cries for miles and he could smell their bodies for miles after that."
"That's awful!" Nora exclaimed. "And you found all of this out when you were thirteen?"
Amari nodded. "My parents tried to shelter me from the truth but in the end they decided that discovering the truth - even in all of it's terrible honesty - was better than creating a nice lie."
"What happened to your birth father when he brought you to the Followers?" Nora asked.
"I don't know. I don't think I'll ever know. He left me on the steps of the Los Angeles Public Library wrapped in a blanket and with this journal laying beneath me. I've read through this book so many times that I can recite passages of it by heart, but I will never know why he left. I can only speculate that my existence reminded him of his past sins."
"So is that why you came East? To escape Caesar?" Nora asked.
"Not just to escape Caesar, but to escape my father's tarnished legacy." She replied. "It took me nearly five years to get to Boston. I nearly died several times along the way, and a couple of times I considered letting the wasteland take me. The journey was incredibly treacherous, but I felt like I owed it to myself somehow; if my mother could survive in the wilds of Arizona then maybe I could survive the next day and then the next no matter how bad life got for me."
Nora sighed and drained the rest of the Nuka Cola from the bottle. She could see what Amari was trying to do. By telling Nora about her own life, she could make parallels to what Nora was experiencing and humanize her experiences with the Institute. Except the Father was nothing like this Caesar. Her son may be a dictator, he may be selfish, he may only care about the Institute's progress, but he wasn't a murderer."
"Dr. Amari, I appreciate you telling me this story, but I don't see how this will help me. You fought for your life and you fought to make it here to Boston. I was frozen in a Vault and my megalomaniacal son just happened to let me out one day when he was feeling bored. I only made it to the Institute through sheer accident, and I only made it out because I had help."
The doctor shook her head. "Nora, what stopped you from killing yourself when you were in the Institute?"
Nora responded automatically. She tried and failed to clear away the lump forming in her throat. "Seeing Nick and Hancock again."
"And what stopped you from killing yourself outside of Vault 111?"
"Nate's memory and his faith in me that I am better than my flaws." Now the tears flowed freely and Nora didn't bother to wipe them away.
"And what stopped you from jumping off that overpass?"
"Shaun." Nora swallowed thickly. Her face burned at the memory. "My baby."
"No, Nora." Dr. Amari replied. "I disagree with you on all three of those accounts. You survived thanks to yourself. You made the choice in all three instances. There may have been other motivators, yes, but you decided to live. For whatever reasons you had, you decided to go on living another day. Despite the pain. Despite your problems. Nobody can take that away from you, Nora."
She looked at Dr. Amari and clenched her teeth against the lies that threatened to break from her throat. Deep down she knew that Amari was right but her demons wouldn't give up without a fight.
"You're wrong." She choked out. "The night I was rescued from the Institute, I tried to overdose on Buffout."
"I know Nora. I was there."
"And Hancock saved me." Nora whispered and sat down heavily in the chair. "And I didn't deserve it."
Amari knelt next to her and took Nora's hands into hers. "Why? Why do you think that? What could possibly make you so unworthy of life?"
Nora thought about her question. In a world where murder and other horrible atrocities were common place, did she really think that raiders, that Dr. Ayo, or even that Caesar deserved life more than she did?
"Nora. Do you want to live?" Amari asked.
"Yes." She replied quietly. It was the truth. Nora was pleased that it was the truth.
"And why? Why do you want to live?" Amari asked.
"For Nick and Hancock." She replied automatically but she then she added, "And to somehow stop my son from destroying his last shreds of humanity."
"Great! Then focus on that." Amari patted her arm consolingly.
Nora cocked an eyebrow at her. "And here I thought you were going to tell me to live for me. To live because that's what I should want."
"I think you'll get there." Amari replied with a small smile. "For now though, just focus on the next destination. Focus on your next goal. Even if it takes you months or years, know that healing isn't a quick process. Don't give up on yourself Nora. None of us are giving up on you."
Nora shifted uncomfortably. "Okay." She replied quietly. "Am I done here?"
"Yes. But know you are always welcome back here. I promise that we'll talk less about me next time." The doctor rose to her feet and put the thick leather journal back onto the filing cabinet.
Nora rose from the chair and rubbed her back. Dr. Amari said no more to her and turned her focus back to her computer terminal.
"Go on." She replied without looking at Nora. "John is waiting for you."
Nora felt awkward climbing the wooden stairs. As she slowly ascended, she could hear another radio broadcast echo out from behind a closed door. Irma, the Memory Den proprietor was nowhere to be found, but she saw Hancock sitting on a vacant chaise smoking a cigarette and leafing through what looked to be a half-burnt vintage burlesque magazine from the early 1940s. He dropped the article as though it had burned him when he heard Nora's footsteps come up the stairs and rose to his feet when he saw Nora.
"Hey sunshine. How was your talk with -"
Nora crossed the room quickly and pulled him into a tight hug. She held tightly onto his warm body and snaked her hands underneath his long jacket. His body felt rough and solid beneath hers and it felt like she was hugging a piece of coarse rock. She buried her face into his chest and just sat there for a moment.
"Hey now, sunshine. You okay?" Hancock asked and tried to gently pull away.
Her response came out as a kiss. Although brief, her kiss was searing and hot. Her lips seemed to tingle against his and he enjoyed the sweet aftertaste of Nuka Cola.
She broke away gently but didn't let go of him. Her cheeks were blotchy but her green eyes were captivating in the dim light.
"I ain't complainin' but to what do I owe the pleasure?" He rumbled.
"I just wanted to say thank you." She replied. "For not giving up on me."
He rumbled deep in his chest and it sounded like a noise only a yao gui could make. Nora found the sound strangely comforting.
"I could never give up on ya, sunshine." He replied and placed his lips gently against her forehead. Nora tilted her head up and brushed her lips against his again.
Hancock tasted her again and let his hands gently run along the length of her body before stopping at her hips. He wanted to go farther, God did he ever, but he also didn't want to scare Nora away.
"I think we should take this elsewhere." He growled into her neck. His heart was beating almost too loudly to hear himself think. "Irma ain't too fond of PDA when she can't be apart of it."
"Back to your room then?" Nora whispered cautiously. But there was hope and heat in her eyes that made Hancock's blood pulse in his veins.
"Not just yet, sunshine." He whispered. "There ain't no rush. I'm takin' you on a proper date and all that shit."
Nora smirked. "Really? I'd say Nick is being a bad influence on you."
"I'd say you were right, sunshine." He chuckled. "C'mon now. Give me a little credit. I've been spendin' all morning on this."
"Really?" She asked.
"What?" Hancock frowned slightly.
"You never struck me as the wine and roses type of guy." Nora replied.
"Who said anything about wine and roses?" He chuckled and gently pulled Nora to the door. "This is gonna be so much better than that. Just have an open mind, okay?"
"I'll do my best." Nora chuckled and let Hancock lead her out into the cool midmorning air. His rough hand felt warm against hers and she couldn't wait for whatever Hancock had planned.
Virgil heaved his sweaty, exhausted, and blood-stained body up the earthen hill outside of a small homestead. The owner there called the place Aberford? No that wasn't right. No, Virgil remembered, it was Abernathy, and out of all the places he passed by, these few men and women were by far the most amiable.
Although they still treated him with distrust, the farm's proprietor Blake showed him some small mercy.
"Hoh boy there," he said upon observing the bloodstained bandage around his eye and the torn clothes that barely preserved any modesty, "you don't look too good, pal. Why don't ya sit down a spell. My wife will getcha some water."
"T-thank you." Virgil croaked. His chapped lips cracked painfully just forming those two words and his throat felt inflamed. "D-do you have a doctor's bag? I could r-r-really use some antibiotics."
Blake looked at the man nervously. Sickness was a serious deal out in the Commonwealth. Not only could germs spread quickly, but most people couldn't afford to get laid up by the case of the flu or a bad head cold, at least not when their survival and livelihood depended on being able to work so they could eat.
"You just stay right there. I'll see what we have, but it's probably not much." Virgil nodded and sat down on a large rock. The day was quite chilly despite the sun hanging directly overhead and his tattered clothes did little to protect his skin from the cold.
Despite the dangerous and long trek out of The Glowing Sea, Virgil still stopped once in a while to jot down notes on his condition. He managed to make it out of the worst of the radiation without even succumbing to radiation sickness. He immediately wanted to draw blood so he could test it but realized that the scientific equipment that he smuggled out of the Institute got destroyed in whatever fight his Super Mutant self got mixed up in.
Still, it wasn't until he reached a derelict old farming co-op that the cold started to creep into his skin. Even before that, he felt remarkably well considering he was missing an eye, had broken some ribs, and had his entire back cut to pieces by the broken glass from his chemistry station.
He had several hypothesis forming about how the FEV's effects augmented his own genome even after the appropriate vaccine was administered, but all required further testing with equipment that he simply did not have. Still, he kept the small, white ammo box close to him at all times. The two syringes full of his serum held the most important work that he has ever done.
Blake cleared his throat which broke Virgil from his thoughts, "My wife Connie said we have some extra purified water and some tatos that we can spare. I also found some of my old clothes. They're just as threadbare as your rags, but at least these will prevent you from freezing your balls off."
He tossed Virgil some dark trousers and a long, wool button up overshirt. He was right about the material being threadbare, but at least it was marginally warmer than his current clothes.
Blake dug around in the front pocket of his thick coveralls and then said, "Unfortunately, we're all outta antibiotics but we got some herbal anti-antimi-" he struggled over the pronunciation awkwardly.
"Antimicrobial?" Virgil finished for him.
"Yeah! That's the stuff." he replied. "We got it from a trader when he passed through from Goodneighbor. I mean, if it comes from Goodneighbor you can be sure it's some good shit."
Virgil accepted the small tin politely but had no intention of using the home-brewed salve. He knew that the throbbing pain in his head and his flushed skin was the results of the FEV fighting to leave his body, and the hot itching pain that he felt over his injuries was the possibility of a bacterial infection setting in. No, he needed proper medical care sooner rather than later.
"D'you know of a doctor around here? I've been badly injured and I think infection is setting in."
Blake frowned. The man in front of him certainly looked like he had clawed his way out of Hell just to get there. "The closest one I know of is in Diamond City but that's about a half-a-day's walk from the direction you came. If you stick to the road you'll be relatively safe but, and forgive me for sayin' this, it might be easier on you in the long run to just put a bullet in your own head. If the mongrel dogs don't get you, the raiders sure as hell will."
Virgil struggled to his feet and hoisted his bag onto his shoulder. His lips cracked again when he spoke and so he spoke slowly and stilted. "In case I don't choose suicide as an option, do you know of a place I can go?"
Blake shrugged. "There's a place over the hill. Just up past that ol' gas station. It's called Sanctuary Hills and they're doin' a mighty fine job settin' up a settlement. There's only a handful of them, but maybe they can help you or at least give you a place to rest up before you decide what your next move is gonna be."
The scientist nodded and grunted in thanks. As Blake walked back down the hill towards his farm, Virgil stripped quickly and pulled on the new set of clothes. He left his shredded Institute suit in a pile of rags and buried it in a shallow hole. It made no sense to walk around wearing the last remnants of his old life. No, if Virgil managed to survive in this new, God-forsaken world then he'd bury his past with the Institute for good.
