A/N: I own nothing except the laptop upon which I wrote this story.
When the light turned on, she hadn't been looking at it directly. At first, she'd dismissed it as an illusion. A trick of the mind, brought forth by too little sleep and far too much work. She was busy reading the most recent cable from a field agent. Drummer Boy hadn't really put a lot of faith in this one, but she liked the nature of the reports: timely, consistent, and concise. A little bit too circular on code, but it was readable and wouldn't be broken by anyone that was looking for something to be broken. It hadn't been a very exciting report, but it was a good report nonetheless.
That was when the light on the radio turned on.
Desdemona turned slightly at her desk, tilting her swivel chair and leaning back as she heard a creak. It was an incredibly difficult job, setting up that two-way radio transceiver. According to some of the more knowledgeable people in her organization, this was the closest thing to a two-way radio or even a telephone from the old world. It wasn't tappable (to her knowledge), and it had been set up on the nascent stages of what she had hoped would be a fruitful partnership between individuals that had instead dramatically flamed out. But now the light was on next to the radio receiver, and that meant one thing and one thing only.
Someone wanted to speak to her. And only her.
She looked over towards Glory, who was watching her intently. No doubt Glory had seen the light come on the receiver. Glory knew who was on the other line. With a single glance, she knew that Desdemona needed privacy.
"Hey, get to observation positions!" Glory barked to the few people that were in the command post of the Railroad. "Boss needs a priority-one call."
The few technicians that weren't out of earshot immediately scattered into the dark like cockroaches caught by the light. The cavernous catacombs of the Railroad headquarters made it easy for sounds to echo. If Desdemona was going to talk, she'd need to keep her voice down. As soon as everyone was clear and Glory gave a thumbs up, Desdemona picked up the receiver and pressed down on the button. The voice crackled in.
"Clearance code Falco-Radium-Ergo-Ergo-Delta-Omega-Meta."
"Codename verification?" Desdemona asked, but she really didn't have to. She knew that voice.
"Codename: Fixer."
"…Confirmed." Desdemona said after a moment.
"Des, this is Fixer. I…need your help."
"It's been a while." She said. She felt herself tensing up a little bit. It had been months since she had spoken to the leader of the Minutemen and, by all accounts, the leader of the free Commonwealth. Her organization still did a few unofficial jobs for the Minutemen and the general good of the Commonwealth, but she had not personally spoken to Fixer since…well, since the plot against the Brotherhood had ended poorly. She could still hear how his angered yells had echoed off of the catacomb walls.
"Indeed it has."
"I'm guessing that this must be serious, if you're calling me directly instead of using a liason." Desdemona said.
"It's about as serious as it can get." Fixer replied. "I'm betting that you've already heard the news."
"I'm reading the report on my desk right now." Desdemona said. "Garvey got killed?"
"I need to close the leaks in my ranks." The General said with a hint of frustration. "The fact that you are a step ahead of me is a thought that is going to fester."
"With respect, Nathan, I'm in charge of a fucking intelligence agency." Desdemona said. "If I wasn't at least a step ahead of every other organized power in the Commonwealth, I'd be pretty useless. And you wouldn't be calling me."
"You have a point."
"You know this is the longest extended conversation we've had since the last time."
"…I know."
"You threatened to burn the Railroad to the ground, if I recall correctly."
"Your plan hinged on bombing a location that had fucking kids on board. You're lucky I didn't attack you right then and there, and you don't have the right to play moral politics on that point. You were wrong, Dez, and I will never compromise on that point."
Which is why you are in charge of the Commonwealth, and I know every secret in the Commonwealth, Desdemona thought to herself.
"So are we calling to hash things out over coffee and donuts? Or is this something serious?"
"I literally would not turn to anyone else except you."
Desdemona leaned forward in her chair.
"You had my curiosity, Fixer. Now you have my attention."
…
Deacon looked around at the war room table. So far, it looked like every key field agent in the Railroad had been called to this meeting. Desdemona was standing at the head of the table, which held a map of the Commonwealth stretched across it, and crossed her arms in front of her chest. Rarely did Desdemona call together all of the field agents at one time; it was usually bad form. But this meant that things were serious.
"Hope things are going well, ladies and gentlemen." Desdemona said.
"Well, I ran out of Nuka a few days ago and I haven't had a shower in a few days." Deacon said. "Other than that I'm peachy. Hell, I could be leader of the Commonwealth."
A round of chuckles. Desdemona narrowed her eyes.
"Not in the mood for jokes right now, Deacon."
"Then what the hell do you keep me around for, boss?" Deacon asked, a playful grin on his face.
"Bad comic timing." Glory replied.
Desdemona just glared at them both, and their snarking ceased. She really wasn't in the mood.
"Report from Diamond City?"
"Election is proceeding as predicted." The Railroad agent said. "Pitt is projected to win in a landslide, though not from a lack of effort from his opponent Ann Codman. She represents the more patrician views of the city, while Pitt holds the plebian vote: put more simply, he's going to carry the election but the rich of the city don't really trust him all that much. Reports of fake news being filtered through the election have been discredited: the Publick is unimpeachable when it comes to journalistic accuracy. Though Miss Wright is currently on the front lines in Jamaica Plains, her associate editor/municipal reporter Jethro and her younger sister Nat run the paper supremely efficiently."
"So nothing to worry about in Diamond City, got it." Desdemona said. "See if you can get a bug in that snooty bar that the haves of Diamond City frequent. Might be good to know what they're thinking. Pitt's a good man, wouldn't want him to be kneecapped by special interests." She tapped her chin in thought. "Anything else from Diamond City that's of note?"
"There's a city council election that runs on the same day as the Mayoral Election." The agent said. "So far, it's the usual hucksters running for a spot. Except for one: Horatio Zwicky is apparently considering running for office."
"The teacher?" Deacon asked. "What about his other job?"
"Scuttlebutt is that his wife-"
"The robot?" One of the other agents asked, drawing him a glare from Glory.
"His wife is apparently taking on the majority of the teaching at the schoolhouse, and encouraging him to practice what he preaches regarding civics in the city. He wrote an op-ed in the Publick critiquing a motion to put a curfew in Diamond City, arguing that it was a violation of the citizens' civil liberties." The Diamond City agent said.
"And?" Desdemona asked.
"It got through. Pitt ordered the committee to drop the matter, and they did. It might be useful to have someone like Horatio Zwicky in a position of power, but I doubt he would like the Railroad all that much, were he to learn of our existence."
"I'm going to call it: Horatio Zwicky will mayor of Diamond City immediately after Pitt." Desdemona said. "The man keeps trying to stay in the shadows, but he always succeeds in impressing people despite his insistence on remaining low-key. Keep an eye on him, but absolutely no intrusions and do not make a move to threaten or tail him." She looked at the Diamond City agent. "And whatever you do, do not let anyone know of his wife's correspondence with Dr. Amari."
The agent nodded, and Desdemona turned towards another agent, who was listlessly picking someone out of his nails with a pocket knife.
"What's the situation in Goodneighbor?" She asked.
"Basically a giant extended middle finger towards Quincy, after the attempted assassination attempt on Mayor Hancock." The agent said. "You were right to suspect that the Quincy Boys were plotting something against him, and I managed to get the message to Ms. Farenheit that he'd better start carrying a weapon or expect to be attacked while out on the street. I…didn't expect him to be so blasé about being attacked, though. He's making a running joke out of it."
"How so?" Desdemona asked.
"Apparently, the new unofficial city motto of Goodneighbor is 'Fuck Quincy, I'm a Good Neighbor!' It's very popular for regulars at the Third Rail to cheer out in between rounds."
"That sounds like Hancock's influence, all right." Desdemona said. "What about the ghoul that's his right hand man, Zinn?"
"Shifty motherfucker." The Goodneighbor agent said. "Sticks to the shadows, and writes all of Hancock's speeches. I think he's thinking about pressing Hancock to create some sort of department in the local government, but Hancock is a little bit iffy on it: he's very laissez-faire, after all, and Zinn's proposed department would be a test of that."
"What is it?" Desdemona asked.
"Wants to establish a lawman program to break the mob traces in the city. Don't know if the old mob bosses in the city will like seeing their boys in pinstripes getting muscled off of the streets in favor of guys in uniforms."
"Don't underestimate Zinn." Desdemona said. "In all likelihood, his 'department' of security will just be deputizing the former mob flunkies into respectable cops…allowing the mob bosses an excuse to start going legitimate. I wouldn't be surprised if Goodneighbor starts putting on a cleaner façade in the near future." She turned to another agent.
"What's the situation in Salem?"
"Tense, but they're hanging in there." The agent said. "A shitload of Quincy boys are laying siege to the city, after having burned down The Slog. A lot of displaced ghouls are hiding in there, and it's up to Rook and MacCready and a few reformed convicts and a trio of Brotherhood of Steel agents to hold the line. They're doing okay, but they're getting low on ammo."
"Why doesn't the Brotherhood of Steel help out?" Desdemona asked. "The airport is closer to Salem than us or the Castle."
"Because acting Commander Rhys is, despite his willingness to defer to the General, a stubborn racist fuck who doesn't want to risk his men saving some ghouls. He's been driving the General crazy. I intercepted some communication between Minutemen officials: apparently the General is at his wit's end trying to shake Rhys out of the airport, he likens him to a lion in a cage."
"Then start rattling the cage." Desdemona said. "You have full permission to draw the Brotherhood out of the airport, and perhaps conveniently lead them up to Salem to get them to lend a hand."
"Isn't that a bit underhanded, ma'am?" The agent asked. "We'd be gambling not only Brotherhood lives, but also on the idea that Rhys wouldn't smell the bait."
"The reason why Rhys is hiding in the airport is because he's not as brilliant as Arthur Maxson, and he knows it. You rustle his jimmies enough, and Rhys will come roaring out. We might get him to unintentionally bumble himself into a heroic reputation and a promotion to Paladin if we pull this off right. Operation Kansas City Shuffle is a go. You may proceed." The agent nodded, and left the table to begin assembling a task force.
That left a few other people at the table, and Deacon noticed that the people remaining were the kinds of people that were assigned to detail someone else's operation. Which meant, by process of elimination, that Desdemona had a job for him.
"What have you got for me, Dez?" Deacon asked.
"You're just assuming that I have a job for you, of all people?" Desdemona asked.
"Process of elimination, boss." Deacon said. He looked over at the others. "No offense, guys, but let's be honest here. I'm the best we've got. You're all good, but you're a little wet behind the ears. Hell, have any of you figured out my latest logic puzzle?"
A few embarrassed looks and some shuffling feet. Deacon raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah. Thought so." He looked over at Desdemona. "So? What is it?"
"We're going into Quincy. We need to find out who this Man in Black is."
There was another silence.
"I'm sorry, I must not have heard you correctly." Deacon said. "Because it sounded like you said we're gonna crack the Man in Black."
"That's exactly what I said." Desdemona said. "Is there a problem?"
"Problem? Nah, there's no problem." Deacon said. "Except for the little fact that Mr. Man in Black is the single most uncrackable nut in the bunch. You know how long I've been trying to get a feeler into the inner workings of Quincy in my spare time, in addition to my other projects?"
"I'm aware." Desdemona said. "I'm also aware that you're doing it in your spare time, not with the fullness of your attention and effort. I'm pulling you from your other projects and putting you on this one. You're in charge."
"Uh, I've been working those cases for months, Dez, who's gonna take them?"
"I will." Desdemona said. She placed a hand on her hip and sighed as he pouted. "Deacon, be real. Those were minor-league deals anyway. You were taking them because you didn't want us to think that you were obsessed with the Man in Black, and that that was the only case you were working. The other stuff? I could do in my sleep, so I'll finish them. This is your chance to chase your white whale. This is an endorsement to fully commit to figuring the guy out."
Deacon nodded, his trademark wit silent for the moment. It was true, even to those that worked in Tinker Tom's department or tried to stay up to date with P.A.M.'s readings. Deacon was obsessed about the Man in Black. It was clear that he was still annoyed with the ease that the Quincy Boys had slipped under the radar months ago, and that no one seemed to know who their enemy was. Deacon figured anyone and everyone out. Except for this one.
And judging by the fact that his desk stayed alight into the wee hours of the morning long after the others would call it a night, it was clear that it was eating at him.
"Everyone else at this table is to work with you, no strings attached." Desdemona said. "Whatever resources you need, we'll provide."
"What's my endgame?"
"We need to get a feeler into Quincy. We need to know who the Man in Black is, and why he seems to carry this cult-like power over the Quincy Boys."
"And from there…what?" Deacon asked. "I've never been good at cracking religiousity, Dez. That time I impersonated a Church of Atom clergyman notwithstanding."
"It's desperation, really. Because the Man in Black seems to know how to get directly under everyone's skin. He's driving the General up a wall, he's got William Pitt sweating bullets, and he seems to be spooking Arthur Maxson from coming back to the Commonwealth. It's uncanny."
"Not to be boring as hell, but maybe it's because he's a complete megalomaniac?" Deacon offered. "Megalomania knows how to deconstruct megalomania, Dez."
"…Are you suggesting that the General and Mayor Pitt are megalomaniacs?" One of the agents asked.
"I mean, not in a bad way, but there's definitely a sense of ego involved in thinking that you can lead everyone in a large area. There's a reason why those two are so tightly wound, and why Hancock is basically partying every night. He's not scared."
"He's also high every day, sir." The agent replied.
"Touche." Deacon admitted.
"We're getting off topic here." Desdemona said. "I know that this seems like an impossible assignment, but there's no one I'd rather assign to this detail than you, Deacon. There's no one that could possibly pull it off, as scary as that seems. This would be the biggest case of your career, of your life, even."
"Well, geez, Dez, that sounds like a good case of megalomania yourself." Deacon said. "Why is everyone so damn serious about everything?"
"That seems to be the effect war has on people." Desdemona said. She raised an eyebrow. "Now, if we're done sparring over philosophical observation, can you tell me who or what you've learned about regarding Quincy?"
"Not much." Deacon admitted. "The Man in Black sits at the top. He's definitely in charge of everything. He's also got a lot of lieutenants right under him. There's the big guy who has the painted-face guys. There's some creepy as shit lady who wears more metal than a securitron. And then there are the Black siblings."
"The Black siblings?"
"Mags and William Black." Deacon said. "You have no idea how hard it was for me to figure out those names."
"Enlighten me." Desdemona said.
"Well, I found some apparel off of a dead Quincy that looked like…Nuka World or something like that. It was a fake plastic bottlecap. So I start asking around and digging through terminals. Hell, I even snuck into the library to find out. Turns out there's this old city or thing called Nuka-World. From there, I started to sneak around the upper levels of Diamond City, because I remembered seeing an old sign on The Wall that mentioned a Nuka-World. In one of the mayor's old terminal files there's some sort of email exchange between the old mayor and some family members about a-"
"Wait. You hacked the mayor's emails?" One agent interrupted. "How the hell did you pull that off?"
"It wasn't too hard." Deacon said. "They didn't really protect their server that well. And I might have charmed the secretary at the time."
"Don't need the details." Desdemona said. "Continue."
"So I find this email exchange from some upper-crust complaining that the mayor can't use the runaway of his kids out west to Nuka-World as blackmail, even if they formed a gang. Really, the level of self-awareness for rich people must be negative. I seriously think that the more money you have, the less likely you are to recognize just how illegal as shit some of the things you do or talk about actually are. Long story short, there's a brother and sister that were a part of the Diamond City upper crust. Then they ran away. Formed a gang called the Operators. Work for whomever pays them the most. Had to burn through a few of my underworld contacts to get that piece of info. But from there I figured out there is a gang in Quincy called the 'Operators,' and I gotta assume that Mags and William Black are the ones in charge of the outfit."
"You keep speaking like there's some hope there." An agent said.
"Only on a conditional thing." Deacon said. "Mags is lethal as hell and all, but secretly wants someone that appreciates her genius and all that. I bet the Man in Black uses that. William? He's loyal, I suppose, but stupid as a bloatfly. Also…tends to be a man of vice. And runs his mouth when he's drunk."
"This is an awful lot of material you've gathered. How?" The first agent asked. Deacon shrugged.
"I've been in Quincy. I was pretending to be a strung-out junkie. A lot of things you'll hear when people think you're nobody. Now, you all asked me if I had anything on the Man in Black. I don't. He keeps to himself. But the men at the ground talk about the lieutenants. That might be our way in."
"How so?" Glory asked, having joined the conversation. Deacon grinned.
"William Black is only loyal when he's sober. But put some chems in him and he's got a bit of a loose lip. And he gets frustrated easily…" He said.
"I like where this is going…" Desdemona said.
"It gets better." Deacon said. "He's also a fan of women. Particularly women that look like they can kick his ass…"
Everyone turned and looked over.
"Oh, fuck you guys."
…
He was tired and pissed and angry. It was a rainy day, the type where you aren't sure if it's clean or rad-infested. The wretches were still out in the street, which meant that it wasn't full-on radiated. But it was still frustrating.
He tripped over something.
"Fuck!"
He looked over at what he'd stumbled over. In his haze, he saw that it was some miserable puke in a pullover and a ratty blanket. The man held up his arms in a defensive posture.
William Black shot him between the eyes. He should have known better than to get in the way of a lieutenant of the Man in Black.
He'd shot himself up with his usual amount of chems, but it wasn't doing it for some reason. He thought about drinking, but Mags got pissed whenever he took liquor from their cabinets, and he was out of Stout. So if drugs and alcohol weren't gonna do it, that left only one option.
He staggered over towards Quincy's impromptu red-light district. There were a few women (and some men) out in the street, coyly waving towards anyone that was interested. But they weren't the real treats. Those were the ones that were inside, the ones that were pretty enough to not have to draw people in from the outside. They were also the ones that were safe from the streets, after all.
He brushed past the usual fare, and opened the door to the club. He staggered past the few Quincy boys that were lucky enough to have the money to spend on these sorts of pleasures, and slapped the bar counter.
"Keeper! Gimme something good."
The bartender/owner of the place was a pudgy looking fellow, and had sweat under his arms in the exactly the most disgusting way. Not that William Black cared. He was in charge, and this fatso was gonna get him what he wanted.
"Male or female." The bartender asked.
"I only do women." William snarled. "Gimme something good."
"Good or…new?" The bartender asked.
At this, William raised an eyebrow.
"You never advertised anyone new before, Jeb."
"She's new. Just came in." Jeb said. He looked shifty. "Can give her to ya…for free."
"She good looking or she loaded with stuff?" William asked. "Free don't mean good."
"Wanna bet, babe?"
He felt a hand on his shoulder, soft and warm, and turned around.
She had caramel-brown skin, platinum white hair that was shaved off to the side, and the kind of eyes that you could get lost in. She also looked big and confident. She was wearing a corset and not much else. She winked at him.
"Yeah, I'll take her." William said.
…
"Gotta say," William said as he sat in the chair, "I've never had someone as pretty as you."
They were in a hotel room that had been reappropriated into a VIP room of sorts. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd been in here. She was shimmying out of her shorts, and she looked over at him and smirked.
"Please. I bet you say that about every lady you're with."
"I'm serious." William said. He could feel the drugs kicking in, making him feel like he was floating. It made things more "exciting," in his humble experience. "You look better than most of the girls. You're…fuller. Not so skinny and shit."
The escort lady smiled.
"I'm not like most girls." She said, taking a seat on his lap and running a finger under his chin. "So, tell me big guy, you someone important? I hear you come here a lot."
"Yeah, I'm pretty important." William said. "I run the Operators."
"Oooh, the Operators." The lady purred, drawing a figure eight along his chin line with her index finger. "That's a nasty bunch. But I thought that Mags Black was in charge of the whole thing?"
"Don't believe it." William snorted. "Sis thinks she's so smart, but without me she'd have nothing."
"You the one that gets the job done?" The escort asked, reclining so that her back was resting on his chest. She rested her head in the crook of his shoulder and neck.
"Damn right…babe." He said, trying to stay focused on the conversation and not the other things that were running through his mind.
"So if you're the one that gets the job done, then how come you haven't, like, taken over?"
"Cuz I gotta wait for a good moment." William said. "I never get a chance to show my worth, mostly because Sis is always taking the credit for what I'm doing." He growled. "I'm smarter than they all think."
"Mmm, I bet you are." The escort said. She started to rock her hips back and forth a little bit. William had to resist the urge not to start drooling. "Tell me, sweetie, what would happen if your sister were to just…disappear?"
"Like, dead?" William asked. "Uh, I dunno. I mean I wouldn't want that to happen, but if it did…"
"The world looks out for Big Willy Black?" The woman asked, now absolutely grinding up on him. "I bet you could take over the Operators and show the Man in Black who's boss, right?"
"Damn right." William said, mere seconds away from carrying her over to the bed. Rare was it that he found a woman that really got him. "I could run the Operators, I could run the Dogs, I could run the Disciples, hell I could run the damn city. I could take that damned Man in Black. Fuckin' elitist, drinkin' his wine and shit and reading books over in the Stone Library. I'd not shed a tear if he was dead. Hell, maybe I'd kill him and have you at my side. What do you think?"
"What do I think?" The woman asked. She'd turned around, and was now facing him with her lips about an inch from his. She pressed her forehead to his.
"I think you're fucking busted."
Before he could react, William Black knew he'd been had.
The pistol was pressed up underneath his chin, and the broad was pushing it to the point where he was leaning back in the chair. How she'd managed to get it out and before he'd seen it was a mystery. But there was no denying that the escort was armed and dangerous. And there was no more sultry in her eyes; just hate.
Despite the situation, William grinned.
"What, you think you can just shoot me? You'd never make it past the front door, you dumb bitch. Jeb and the boys would cut you up."
"I mean, he would if he was working today."
The other voice seemed to come from out of the shadows. William looked over to see a pudgy-looking man that looked very much like Jeb but clearly wasn't step forward. "You were so lit that for a moment I thought you'd drunkenly ask me about this fake beer gut I'm wearing. It's a fucking pillow, for Christ's sake."
Another pair of men dressed in rags and with their faces obscured by masks stepped forward from the shadows. One of them had been hiding in the closet. The other was literally behind the curtain.
"WHO ARE YOU-"
"Say another word and you get one in your lap." The lady hissed, redirecting the gun and forcibly pressing it into a sensitive spot that made William whimper in anticipated pain. "So why don't you use your inside voice, please?"
"What the lady said." The fake-Jeb said. "I guess you never paid attention in Mr. Zwicky's classroom, eh Billy? Can I call you Billy? What about Wills? Wilbur?" Fake-Jeb shrugged. "Whatever. What I should really call you is 'in the shit.'" He held his hand up to his eyes. "Up to here."
"What are you fucking talking abou-"
Fake-Jeb held up a recording tape.
"I've got undoctored audio of you openly conspiring to either not help or maybe even kill your sister for control of the Operators. And, for the piece de resistance, I've got you boasting that you could kill the Man in Black himself. What do you think we give this as a birthday present to the guy himself. Does the Man in Black laugh? I wonder. Think he'd find this a pretty funny joke?"
William was now melting under the sweat that was pouring down his face. His stomach was in knots.
"No…please…" He whispered. "He'll kill me!"
"I bet that he wouldn't stop at that." Fake-Jeb said. "Might desecrate your corpse, cut your man stuff off, the usual nasty raider shit." He shrugged. "I mean, it doesn't matter to us. We're not the idiot who agreed to take the brand-new hooker that he's never seen before, and didn't vet with the barkeep beforehand. I mean, no offense, Free Willy, but you are shit at this espionage thing."
"What do you want?" William asked. Fake-Jeb tapped his chin in fake thought.
"What do we want? A lot of things. I want some of this 'pizza' that I hear so much about, and I think that I'd love to have the world not be an irradiated mess. I think that she would love a bath to get your ick off of her, and the two boys back there want some brain bleach about what they had to see as they were waiting in here for you two to come on upstairs. But what we want from you…"
Fake-Jeb leaned in close, and dangled the tape in front of William's face.
"We'll be in touch with what we want from you. And you will do whatever we want to the letter. Otherwise, Mr. Man in Black gets to hear your dirty talk on this tape. And I gotta say, plotting to overthrow a local government? Pretty damned kinky." He jammed a needle in William's arm, and pressed the plunger. "Nighty-night."
William Black was out cold in seconds.
As soon as he was safely out, they broke character.
"Fucking fuck this fucking job that fucking…fuck!" Glory snarled, hastily putting her clothes back on. Deacon chuckled, and removed his disguise.
"Well, that certainly illustrates the diversity of the word, dear."
"You so owe me." Glory snapped, putting her clothes back on and tightening her belt reflexively. "He stinks of sleaze."
"Yeah, well I'll buy your drinks for the next month or so as payback." Deacon said. "Besides, look on the bright side."
He gestured to the snoring William Black.
"We've got someone to lean on."
