The trio arrived to the alleyway that led to Doc Crocker's house. As they approached his doorstep, Crocker's medical partner, Dr. Sun, was discovered knocking on his colleague's front door.

"Morning," nodded Nick.

"Valentine." Dr. Sun returned the nod. "You're looking for Crocker too?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," replied Nick. "He's not in, eh?"

Sun shook his head. "Haven't seen him at the clinic in a few weeks. I thought I saw him going in and out of his house a day or so ago. I've been trying to track him down."

"A few weeks, hm?" Valentine crossed his arms, contemplating. "Strange."

Deacon pulled Nick aside and asked, "Wasn't Earl's surgery receipt from a week ago?"

Valentine nodded.

Cicero paced. His face grew furious and he rushed Crocker's front door, loudly pounding away at it. Deacon pulled the jester back, shaking his head. Consequently, there was no answer to Cicero's pounding.

Valentine asked Dr. Sun, "You didn't happen to see ol' Earl Sterling enter or leave the surgery center not long ago, did you?"

Dr. Sun shook his head.

Nick flashed Deacon a concerned look. "I'm gonna need to get inside Crocker's place." The synth detective gestured to the door's lock.

"Say no more." The Railroad agent withdrew a few bobby pins from his pocket. Deacon knelt down and inserted two pins into the door's handle and delicately maneuvered them in a circle. He popped the lock open with ease. As he stood, the door swung wide open and the three invited themselves inside.

"We'll let you know what we find out," Nick said to Dr. Sun over his shoulder. With a nod, the doctor understood and continued on his way to the clinic.

Crocker's home wasn't too extraordinary. There was an upper level to the home – it had a bed and little else. Some of Crocker's medical supplies were stashed not far from his sleeping area, but that wasn't too surprising for a physician. On the first level, he had some lounge chairs and a sofa. There was a coffee table in the center of the den. Backed to the wall just left of the front door was a filing cabinet and a desk. On top of the desk was a terminal. Cicero recognized the terminal from his visit to the Institute. He approached it, tapping at a button, hoping the thing would wake up and reveal vital information. Nothing.

"It's locked," said Deacon, noticing the jester fiddling with the computer.

"I can hack it," offered Nick, "but I wonder about privacy concerns – it is a doctor's terminal." The detective sighed. "Neverthless, we're tracking a murderer." Valentine approached the terminal and his fingers swiftly clacked away at the keyboard. The screen switched to a view that listed the names of Crocker's patients. "Abbot, Ann Codman..." Nick's face scrunched. "Ellie? She's my assistant. Why in the world would she want cosmetic surgery?" He grumbled. "See? I'm already reading private details about the people I know. Ellie wouldn't be happy about this." Valentine scanned the information under each name. There was nothing much of consequence, although Crocker mentioned wanting to further consult Ellie over drinks. Nick shook his head. Then, he noticed an entry with no name – just a date. Yesterday's date. "Crocker must've been here recently – just as Sun suspected. Strange that he hasn't been to the clinic in a while." Valentine tapped a button, opening the entry.

Cicero muscled himself in front of the detective, leaning closely to read the words displayed across the terminal's screen.

I noticed a lovely couple visiting Diamond City this afternoon. The lady is particularly striking. She looks rough around the edges, but has a delicate frame about her. Her smooth skin, her black hair, and those sparkling eyes! Those features coupled with her strong – dare I say masculine?– gait, and the way she wears that duster. Oh my! There's no added color to her lips or eyes... she's unconventionally beautiful. Too bad she's involved with someone else. He's comely too, with that long red hair and those cheekbones, but I'd like to get a closer look at her. She might be the perfect candidate for my project down in the basement. Earl was sufficient, but I've done all I can with him. After just a few short days, he lost his luster. Some might say that's my fault, but that can't be true. Earl was a mistake by nature. He's nothing like this young lady. She's fresh... and I can keep her fresher. I can improve her. I'll need to be quick and quiet about getting her into my surgical room down below.

Cicero pressed his lips together and grit his teeth. "He has her..." growled the jester. "It's him." Valentine and Deacon said nothing; both had managed to read the terminal alongside Cicero. All three reached the same conclusion, however the princeling was the only one to state the obvious. Cicero wanted to soar out of there and immediately find his Wanderer. In the heat of the moment, he almost went for his dagger, but stopped. The jester didn't want Valentine to identify the weapon he'd used on the homeless man. "Take me to this surgical basement," Cicero demanded in a steady, even tone. His voice sounded so collected that it was unsettling.

Nick and Deacon agreeably turned for the front door and headed toward the exit, knowing that the surgery center's basement was their next stop – and likely their final stop. The Railroad agent warned, "I can't promise I can get us in. We might need some welding tools if Crocker has that cellar locked up tight."

Eyeing Deacon, Nick pointed to Cicero. "Deacon, how about you take the boyfriend with you? See what's what with that basement hatch. And, eh, keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn't blow his lid. I'll head back to the office and grab some tools that'll open the hatch right up if bobby pins can't do the trick."

"No problem," replied Deacon. "I'll give it a shot." He motioned for Cicero to follow him, and so the princeling did.

As the two of them walked down the alleyway, Cicero had a look on his face that was entirely too stoic; he was pondering Crocker's terminal entry about his Wanderer. Cicero understood Crocker's thought process – he understood that urge to locate the perfect target to capture, torture, and kill. The princeling shuddered at the reality of it all. Crocker was likely mapping out a plan to kill the Wanderer in the most satisfying way possible. Slowly, thought Cicero. The best way always takes its precious time. Such was a deed the jester had repeatedly performed in the past, especially during his stay in New Sheoth. The citizens of Dementia were all too familiar with the killer in the night – the stalking prince. Cicero penetrated plenty of victims with his blade, gutting and bleeding them slowly. He choked the life from others on different occasions, watching their breath gradually heave to a stop beneath the firm grip of his dark gloves. Crocker was thinking of something along similar lines – the jester knew it. What the doctor wanted was something a cold blooded killer desired; something driven by madness. Cicero hadn't yet seen Crocker with his own eyes, but from what he could gather... it was like looking into a mirror.

Upon reaching the clinic, Deacon hustled ahead of Cicero and approached the mega surgery basement hatch. He knelt and attempted to pick the lock. Cicero hurried over and crossed his arms, watching the Railroad agent with skepticism.

"Is this the entrance?" asked Cicero.

"Yes," replied Deacon, fiddling with a bobby pin. It snapped. "Shit!"

Cicero tilted his head inquisitively. "Cicero wonders how far down the cellar descends."

Deacon pulled out a second set of pins and inserted them into the door. "Not sure," he said. "Maybe 3 meters?" Again, one of the pins snapped. "Christ!" said Deacon. "Nick better hurry up with those tools." He shook his head, attempting a third try.

Cicero uncrossed his arms and closed his eyes, concentrating on the space below the concrete where he stood. His mind visualized the cellar below, pinpointing the perfect spot upon which to teleport. The princeling did as his father had shown him. With little strain, the magic eased from Cicero's fingertips and swelled around him. At this point, Deacon stared up at the jester with his jaw open – his bobby pins had all dropped to the ground. In a split second, Cicero disappeared from the Railroad agent's sight. Down below, the princeling landed to the dirty, blood stained floor in a genuflecting pose. Shaking off a wave of mild dizziness, he stood and scanned the basement for any sign of his Wanderer.

The cellar extended deeper than he'd imagined, but it didn't take long for Cicero's ears to detect the sound of soft moaning. It's her, he realized. Cicero walked around a corner, spying Cat strapped to a metal table. She had cuts all along her arms – just her arms. They were deep, but just enough that she hadn't quite bled to death. Not yet. Her blood slowly trickled from her upper extremities, pooling into buckets arranged below the table. Not all of the blood made it into the buckets. There was quite a lot of it spilled to the floor, unable to dry to a fully brown shade as more blood trickled down from above. Cat shivered from the cold of the cellar and the slowing of her circulation. That much was evident. Her lips were a light shade of blue; her body twitched and writhed weakly against her restraints as she whimpered and moaned softly against the cool air. As Cicero approached her, he discovered she was missing an eye. He remained calm. Make no mistake that something dark manifested inside of him, but he pushed it down deep, setting such darkness aside for what was to come next. Cicero reached for his Wanderer's tear-stained cheek, gently stroking her pasty skin with the back of his hand. Cat snapped from her delirium and yelled curses – the jester touched her in a way all too similar to the doctor. She was no longer aware of who stood beside her. After her brief lapse of feeble anger, Cat's eyes, even the mechanical one, fluttered closed. The cursing drained what little strength she had left. It was strange that what one killer found to be beautiful – another found to be abhorrent. To the doctor, Cat was beautiful this way. To Cicero, the very sight of her conjured something malignant – something so dark that it was unfathomable.

Cicero backed away from the metal table, knowing Crocker was likely somewhere within the basement, perhaps around a corner. He stealthily retreated to a shadowy corner and waited like a snake waits for a mouse.

Valentine arrived to the surgery center with a blowtorch and plasma cutter. He found Deacon, alone, pacing back and forth, nervously smoking a cigarette. The Railroad agent ran his hands through his hair.

"Where's the boyfriend?" asked Nick.

"He fucking vanished!" Deacon shouted.

"Keep your voice down," Nick said in a hushed tone. He kneeled and got to work on the hatch. As he torched and cut through the metal, the detective asked, "Now – what happened?"

Deacon plucked his cigarette from his mouth and tossed it to the ground. Stepping out the cherry red light of its tip, he repeated, "The asshole vanished."

"He took off?"

Deacon shook his head. "No. He disappeared like god damn Houdini." Deacon made a gesture with his hands and said poof!

Nick wasn't sure what to make of the Railroad agent's story about the red headed weirdo. Knowing Deacon had a knack for making up stories, and stretching, bending, and damn near breaking the truth – the detective quietly continued cracking open the hatch entrance. "Almost there," he said.

"Did you hear me?" asked Deacon.

The metal on the hatch loosened and Nick used his mechanical strength to snap the rest of the entryway clean from its frame. Setting it aside, he glanced at Deacon and said, "Yeah, I heard you. Now... let's get down there."

Irritated, Deacon threw his hands in the air, then reluctantly followed Valentine into the cellar. As they descended a set of rickety, wooden stairs, the two heard the sound of screaming from around a corner near the back of the basement. Nick drew his gun, pointing it defensively as he glanced back over his shoulder, signaling for Deacon to do the same. In accordance with Valentine's suggestion, Deacon pulled out his weapon and the two slowly stalked around the corner.

As they approached from around the bend, their eyes met with a horrifying sight. There Cicero stood, holding Cat in his arms, her motionless body was swaddled in his jacket. On the ground in front of the red head, Doc Crocker was sprawled on his back with every surgical tool – and then some – driven deep into his neck and face. He looked like a human pin cushion. Nick spotted a set of goggles with a torn strap just beside the doctor. Then he noticed two scalpels were jammed right through the doctor's eyes. Crocker howled and jerked along the floor, still alive – still painfully aware. It didn't take Valentine's detective skills to surmise what had happened. Nick had a feeling the red head was unstable.

Cicero approached Deacon and Valentine, his face was all too serious – all too out of character. "She needs healing," he said. His eyes grew dark. "Now!" Cicero's assertive voice echoed dauntingly against the cellar walls.