#10: Descent

Don't react.

"Good afternoon, ma'am. It's an honor to meet you."

Smile and nod. Keep walking.

"Oh, hello. You must be so excited to be here! I'll bet you've been busy."

Laugh. Agree. Don't stop moving.

"So what do you think? Will you be staying here with us?"

Answer with enthusiasm. Lie. Yes. Yes, of course.

"Glad to hear it! Well, I won't take up any more of your time—we'll talk later, I'm sure."

Concur. Be positive. Ask where the restroom is. Walk away.

"Scanning unknown identity…clearance confirmed."

Don't react.

Don't react.

Don't react.

A door slid open with a quiet hiss. Eyes were on her. She stepped inside, keeping her shoulders stiff and her back straight. Threw in a soft smile from over her shoulder.

Like she couldn't be more proud of what she'd found.

Like today was just the greatest day ever.

Like her entire world hadn't just shattered all over again.

The room was white, much like all the others, and smelled faintly of bleach. Clean and bright. It reminded her of a hospital. So much white. Not a speck of dust or a spot of blood to be seen; out of place in a world where everything else was dull and ruined. Once upon a time, such a sight would have been welcomed. Now it was only unnerving.

After the door shut tight behind her, she remained rooted to the spot for a long time. Too long. Staring ahead at nothing, a numbness washing over her and a sickness roiling in her stomach. Her fingers twitched at her sides.

A lie. It has to be a lie.

The aged, gravelly voice still echoed in the back of her mind. "It's me. I am Shaun."

No.

"I am…your son."

No!

Warning bells had played a symphony inside her head. Shock had silenced her. He'd stared back at her with hauntingly familiar eyes and she'd felt cold. Hollow.

Don't react, the voice in her head had ordered. Don't react. Stay calm. Seek answers. "How?" She had managed to ask, professional habit kicking in and keeping her emotions in check. "How is that even possible?"

"Is it really so hard to accept that it was not ten, but sixty years?"

No. No, time wasn't the problem. Sloan had been ready to accept that her son was far older than she'd anticipated. But what she couldn't accept was learning that he was the head of the snake she'd sworn to sever. Their leader. Their Father.

Fuck it all, he wasn't the victim. He was the goddamned villain.

It's a lie. It's a nightmare. Wake up, wake up, wake up!

Sloan's hands gripped the sink so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

Sick. She was going to be sick.

From the moment she'd set foot inside those too-white walls, she had known something was off. She was supposed to have infiltrated the underground facility. To slip in unnoticed, to recite her cover story when questioned. She'd planned it all out the night before, with Deacon's help. They'd gone over several different scenarios, some of which included the possibility of being discovered early on and having to fight her way through the Institute if need be. She'd been prepared to say anything, do anything, to sell her cover and make her way to her son. She had never expected to be…well, expected. She had barely recovered from the relay, only just acclimated to the lighting, was still regaining her equilibrium when a voice had spoken to her over an intercom. His voice. Calling her, luring her toward the bait. The boy. The synth.

Oh, god. The synth. For two whole heartrending, torturous minutes Sloan had believed the child was actually her son. Her heart had stuttered in her chest when she'd walked into the room and saw him sitting behind the glass, unable to resist calling out to him. She'd known that he would most likely not recognize her, that she would have to convince him to escape with her, that he'd probably resist. The Institute had raised him. Of course he'd be averse to leaving the only home he'd ever known.

But all the same, there was no denying the crushing despair she'd felt when the boy began to call for help, for Father.

"He's not your father," she'd tried to tell him. "I'll explain everything, I promise. You're not safe here, Shaun. Please just open the door." It wasn't her best attempt at persuasion, though in retrospect, she wasn't sure that anything she'd said could have worked. Even if he'd been the real Shaun, any child would have been nuts to trust a complete stranger.

There hadn't been any time to convince the boy further, because seconds later, he stilled and his head lolled forward.

"Shaun. S9-23, recall code: Cirrus."

Sloan had been a hair's breadth from launching herself forward and pinning the old man against the armored glass window, not quite registering what she'd just witnessed. Her fists had trembled at her sides as she stalked closer, all venom and ire as she informed him that he had exactly four seconds to explain what he'd just done to Shaun before she decorated him with enough lead to poison a Deathclaw.

"I am Shaun," his voice echoed once more inside her head. "I am your son."

Stop. Stop!

But no matter how her frantic mind tried to rationalize it, there was no denying the facts. He had no reason to lie to her. What could he possibly gain from it? For what other reason would he want her here? She'd not done the Institute any favors above ground. She'd killed Kellogg, destroyed a Courser, aided the Railroad in helping rogue synths escape. By all accounts, the Institute should want her dead. And she probably would be dead, if not for the fact that their leader just happened to be of her own flesh and blood.

Father…Shaun…wanted her to remain with him. To help him, even. To be a part of everything he had built and prided himself on. To have the chance to begin again.

Together. As a family.

Oh, goddamn it all.

Sloan's reflection stared back at her in the pristine, shiny mirror mounted above an equally immaculate sink. She almost didn't recognize herself; hair unkempt and finger-combed, skin scratched and sun kissed, cheeks slightly gaunt after two months of wasteland living.

At least her outfit wasn't too attention-grabbing, thanks to the dusty lab coat that Deacon had managed to pilfer for her.

"If you're going to pose as an Institute egghead, it helps to look the part," she remembered him saying as he'd pressed the white bundle into her hands.

Sloan's mind conjured up the image of her partner just then; his eyes obscured by tinted shades, mirthful smirk on his lips, thumb and forefinger cradling his dimpled chin in mock thought as they'd passed ideas back and forth the night before.

"You could say you're with the maintenance crew. 'Just here to patch up that pesky duct!' Ooh! Or a custodian. Nobody ever questions the janitor, am I right?"

She hadn't expected it, but somehow the memory seemed to have a palliative effect. It was subtle at best, but just enough to break through the white noise of panic and shock, so she held on to it. Found herself trying to recall every joke and flippant remark he'd made during her last moments in Sanctuary, when her stomach had been doing backflips in anticipation.

"Remember," he'd said, "when in doubt, just act like you belong. Always works for me."

Sloan had forced a laugh, her palms clammy as she stood upon the platform and waited for Tom to work his magic. "Well, send me some good vibes, then."

"You won't need them, boss. You got this. Hey, while we're on the subject, think you could bring me back a souvenir? Like a snow globe, or maybe a keychain. I'm a sucker for tacky memorabilia."

In another situation, she might have been a little embarrassed by how much his voice in her head helped to ground her. It made sense, though; it had worked once before. And under her current circumstances, she was willing to grasp at anything that could help.

She closed her eyes, leaning onto the sink, shoulders hunched, breathing deeply.

In and out, in and out.

Focus. Think. Don't feel.

Time was ticking. She'd been thrown for a loop and had no Earthly clue how to deal with this new information, but it didn't change the fact that she had some special tasks to complete; namely making contact with the Railroad's most guarded secret, Patriot, and retrieving the serum from Virgil's FEV lab. People were counting on her, and at the very least, these tasks gave her something else to focus on.

Furthermore, if she remained inside the bathroom for much longer, the inhabitants of the Institute would suspect something was amiss.

The show had to go on.

Sloan let out a long breath. She reached forward to turn on the faucet, cupping her hands beneath a small stream of cold water and then bending over the sink to splash her face. There was much to do. She still had to meet with three more of the Institute's division heads, still had to smile and nod and act interested as they glossed over the atrocities their facility had committed against actual fucking human beings and insisted that they were truly "humanity's best hope for the future."

Mankind—redefined. They all seemed so goddamned proud of that slogan. Of themselves. The whole place was a perfect melting pot of narcissists and psychopaths alike. It made her skin crawl.

But despite her feelings about it, Sloan had nodded along when Shaun asked her to keep an open mind and give him a chance to prove to her that the rumors swirling within the Commonwealth were completely false. That those above ground had nothing to fear from the Institute.

"I've been a part of something amazing here. I've helped to build a life for myself and the people of the Institute…and now, after all these years, you have an opportunity to help with that. Doesn't that intrigue you? Isn't that what you want?"

"Yes, it is," she'd somehow blurted out automatically despite the parched feeling in her throat. A moment later she drove the claim home with, "I'd like to be a part of it, too. I'd…like to be a part of your life."

It had surprised her how easily he'd accepted that answer. Sloan was wary of this, still not convinced that she hadn't walked straight into an elaborate trap. Either Shaun was a harder read than Deacon or he really was naïve enough to blindly trust her solely because of who she was to him.

Regardless, she had found herself in a unique position. Whatever she chose to do from that moment on, it was clear that she couldn't afford to waste that opportunity.

Two days passed since she'd been transported to the Institute. Two days since she'd discovered the truth of what had happened to her infant son all those years ago. Two days since she'd been invited to become a part of the Institute and everything it stood for. Two days since she had agreed to the arrangement.

Two days.

Two long, excruciating days that she had spent feigning interest in the Institute's projects and the scientists who facilitated them, all the while smothering her true feelings in the furthest, darkest corner of her psyche. It was exhausting. Mentally and emotionally fucking exhausting. She felt drained. Numb and overwhelmed all at once. But within these walls, Sloan knew she would find no respite.

Shaun accommodated her with a suite of her own, seeing to it that she had all the necessary comforts of home available to her. It was fully furnished, comprised of a sitting area, a bathroom and a bedroom. The bed was large and clean, boasting an ergonomic mattress that she was told could be adjusted to whatever position and temperature she wished. The first night, she had taken the blanket from it and huddled up on the floor in the furthest corner of the room.

It was too warm. Too clean. Too soft. Not like what she'd grown accustomed to over the past two months. At night—or what her Pip Boy told her was night, seeing as there was no view of the sky down in the Institute—everything fell silent and still. There was no danger of being attacked by feral ghouls or gunned down by a group of raiders. No cold wind that swept through the room from cracks in the walls and chilled her bones while she slept. No sudden 'pop, pop, pop' in the distance to wake her in the middle of the night and force her to abandon camp at a moment's notice.

Frankly, it was unsettling. Sloan had never thought the day would come where she felt so unnerved in a place so heavily protected.

"The safer I'm supposed to feel, the more paranoid I get," Deacon had commented at one point during their travels, and now Sloan understood what he meant in a way that she hadn't before.

After being shown to her new quarters, she managed to sneak away for a moment and upload Tinker Tom's encrypted message onto one of the terminals without alerting any suspicion. Later that night, when most of the Institute was asleep in their plush, too-comfortable beds, Sloan slipped through the shadows of the corridors and met up with a scientist from Advanced Systems named Liam Binet—better known to the Railroad as 'Patriot.' He was a fresh-faced young man who looked like he was barely past his teenage years and, as it turned out, had no real idea of his significance to the Railroad. Liam told her that he'd begun freeing the synths without knowing whether or not they'd be guided to safety by a helping hand on the surface, though he seemed very pleased to discover that he'd been coordinating with the Railroad the entire time. He was also eager to continue doing so, even proposing a strategy to help over a dozen synths to escape the Institute at once.

It was a welcome distraction, really.

The next night, Liam was able to introduce her to Z1-14, and the three of them spent some time discussing the plan in further detail. It boiled down to Liam needing a pre-war username and password from above ground in order to access the security program utilized by the SRB before the plan could progress any further.

Sloan shrugged helplessly. "Where would I find that? Seems like everywhere obvious would've been scavenged a long time ago."

"Unfortunately, that's the problem," Liam replied. "Ask your friends in the Railroad. Hopefully someone there will know something. I need those credentials, otherwise we're stuck."

She nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

They parted ways from there, although rather than return to her quarters for what was sure to be a sleepless night, Sloan opted to search for the FEV lab and acquire the serum for Virgil. Shaun had granted her access to any part of the Institute that she wished to go, so none of the patrolling synths gave her any trouble when it came to exploring certain restricted areas. One locked door was all that stood between Sloan and the abandoned Bioscience lab, as it turned out.

But beyond that door, she found much more than just the cure. What she found was yet another horror that the Institute seemed keen on glossing over. It was like a scene from the sci-fi movies she and Nate used to watch together, and her hand clapped over her mouth as she took in the sight.

Glass, cylindrical tanks in the center of the room held what appeared to be super mutants suspended within them. Experiments, Sloan realized with a wave of horror. Human experiments. The green-tinted liquid within the tanks reflected color onto every nearby surface, casting an eerie glow throughout the room.

Unable to turn away, she'd dug around a little. Read through the terminals. Listened to the holotapes and Virgil's own account of what had been happening. Discovered why he'd participated in such a horrific atrocity and why he had ultimately left the Institute. Virgil, Sloan came to understand in the hours she spent pouring over documents, was not the shady man she'd initially made him out to be in her mind. In the end, he'd made the right choice despite whatever consequences might have befallen him.

But Shaun…?

Shaun.

His role in all of this was undeniable. The proof was right there in front of her. There was no refuting it. She felt her stomach turn and her throat tighten. How? How could her own son have turned out this way? It wasn't right. By allowing—no, encouraging—those experiments, was Shaun just as guilty as the scientists who willingly carried them out?

Deep down, she knew the answer already. But she couldn't think about it. Not now. Not here. Not when there was already so much to consider.

Too much. It was all too much. She wandered back to her quarters in a daze, unsure of exactly how she'd gotten there or how long it had taken her to do so. She stepped into the shower and mechanically shed her clothes, then turned on the water and simply stood beneath the luxurious spray for an indeterminable amount of time, her heart beating to the rhythm of the pounding inside her head.

To occupy her mind, she counted to a thousand. The water never went cold.

Notes: I know, you guys are starting to ask me about sparks and then I go and provide angst instead. Angst for days! Haha. I do need to get her past this point, but we will definitely be seeing some sparks in the near future! And once they start, they don't ever really stop. Fun stuff! But first, I have to fuck Sloan up a little. Bwahaha!