Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to Bethesda.
Project Wanderer
Chapter Thirty Five: It Started All Over Again
A small crowd gathered at the basketball court of their town chanted in unison, "Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! THREE! TWO! ONE!"
Bursts of cheers erupted at the stroke of midnight.
"Happy New Year!"
Among the group, a young man cheered with the rest of his big, dysfunctional family. Even though these people were not his blood relatives, they were his family - the family of his choice. These were the people who knew him best, the brothers he spent his waking hours with.
They were the University Point Deathclaws. And, at the wise old age of seventeen, the young man known as Red was one of the best Claws.
Of course, Red was not his real name. Like the rest of the Deathclaws, Red had picked his own name when he'd joined the family. Although some might assume the name was a reference to his hair - a shade of dark copper, the truth was it's a short version of the codename of his choice: Red Rum.
Although not the tallest among his brothers, Red's lithe build and long limbs made him seem taller than he was. With short hair that curled every which way, his cheekbones high and his jawline chiseled, the young man was quite a looker. But the most striking features were his deep set eyes in a shade of cold steel blue. Those eyes that could see right through a person.
Or so he would claim.
Obviously, he didn't have the superpower of mind reading. The young man was simply exceptionally observant and had a phenomenally good memory. But most importantly, he was the best liar in the entire freaking Commonwealth. He could lie as easily as he breathed.
"Happy New Year, you jackass!" yelled one of his brothers to Red. A masculine young man who was almost twice the size of skinny Claw. "Put some meat on your bones this year!"
"Fuck you, you brahmin!" Red yelled back with a wide grin. "Hope you get laid this yea-"
A pair of icy hands on his face pulled Red down, interrupting the rest of his witty comeback. Before he could react, a young woman had sealed her frozen lips on his and forced his mouth open with her tongue. All he could register was the taste of alcohol and cigarette.
No. This was not what he wanted…
Red pushed her away.
Undaunted, the young woman clung onto his arm like she had done the day before, and the day before that. This was the longest 'relationship' the 17-year-old had ever had - it'd lasted for grand total of twenty days. Frankly, he was tired of it, tired of her. And… he was tired of everything.
This was the beginning of a new year, where everything was supposed to start all over again. Yet, Red didn't feel any difference than a minute ago. All he could feel was a sense of weariness that did not match his age, and an undercurrent of restlessness.
The leader of the UP Deathclaws stepped on a wooden crate and spoke, "Happy fucking new year, Claws!"
Red used this as a perfect excuse to shrug away his clingy girlfriend and stepped closer to the man on the crate. Dark hair, sharp eyes, the leader named Raven was a charismatic man a few years older than Red.
"Another new year!" said Raven. "A new start! What do we want this year?"
"Chems!" "Booze!" "CAPS!"
"All of the above!" someone yelled.
"Right! All of the above!" said Raven. "But, what we want most is to protect our town! Protect our town from what, you say?"
"Synths!" the crowd answered in unison.
"That's right! Synths!" said the leader of the Claws. "Synths! Those motherfuckers are sneaky as hell, and they're here to destroy all of us! To take our homes, take our caps, take our loots! And what do we say to that?"
"HELL NO!"
"Hell to the NO!" Raven yelled from the top of his lungs. "They fuck up our lives, and we'll fuck up theirs! That'll show those fuckers not to fuck with us! We'll find all the synths, and destroy them. Each and every one of them! You can run but you can't hide, you fake humans! We are the Deathclaws and we will fuck your shit up! We'll take your loots, take your home, and take your creepy, robotic life! Death to all synths!"
The rest of the gang echoed, "Death to all synths!"
"Death to all synths!" Red chanted along.
If he were given a moment to quiet down and think, to really think, he might be able to hear a tiny voice inside his head screaming a string of questions: Why? What did the synth really do to any of them? Has anyone even seen a synth - a confirmed one?
The roaring crowd drowned every question in the young man's mind. This was his family, and these were his brothers...
"Death to all synths!" said his leader.
"Death to all synths!" said his brothers.
And so, the 17-year-old echoed, "Death to all synths!"
"2262!" the leader of the Deathclaws concluded his speech. "Ready or not, you mother-fuckers, here we come!"
"Is the accommodation in Diamond City adequate?" Shaun asked as they slowly walked to the center courtyard.
Most of the lights within the Institute had been dimmed down as it was past ten at night.
"Very comfortable," said Nora. "Thank you, Shaun. It's very thoughtful of you."
"It is not where I would choose to live, but I understand your… connection to the world above. I want you to keep in mind that the Institute will always be your home, Mother. Return anytime you want."
This was her son's unique way to show his caring side, Nora knew. Smiling, she put one hand on his arm, and Nora was glad he didn't pull away. Perhaps one of these days, the mother could finally give her son a much needed hug, a hug that was sixty years overdue.
Baby steps, Bennett. Baby steps.
"Sir." Alana Secord approached with a holotape. "Here is a copy of meeting with Maxson on the Prydwen. As you instructed, the whole thing…"
"Thank you, Alana." Shaun handed the tape to Nora. "You can use your Pip-Boy to play the tape to anyone who needs to know. It's voice only, but I think those disgusting words speak for the gravity of the situation. Should you need more copies, we can provide."
Nora looked at the holotape in her hand. She needed to get this to Deacon.
"There is one thing I need to tell you," Shaun continued. "The tape contains the voice of our infiltration unit. You might find it familiar... because it is."
"What do you mean?" Nora asked.
Familiar? Did they send X6-88 to the Brotherhood? But she had seen the courser as recently as only two hours ago…
Shaun didn't immediately reply. His gaze turned to the elevator in front of them. The glass tube of the elevator shaft disappeared into the dark ceiling. From high above, Nora spotted the platform descending. This was her ride to the teleporter.
But, as the platform lowered further, Nora realized the elevator wasn't empty, for within the elevator stood one man in leather armor.
"Our infiltration unit has finished standard decontamination process," said Alana Secord. "We have until tomorrow morning to send him back to the surface."
Seconds later, Nora got a first glimpse of the man's face and took an involuntary step back in shock.
"...Nate?"
"That's N4-73," said Shaun.
Yes. Yes, of course. But… "He's the infiltration unit?"
"Yes."
"But-" That's your father! Nora stopped herself before those words escaped her lips.
No, this wasn't her husband, and this wasn't her son's father. This was a synth copy of Nate Taylor.
"You must understand," Shaun explained, "we were in an urgent need of a suitable candidate for the infiltration assignment. Normally, we would send a courser for such a task, but Ayo had little regard to his coursers' lives. Their numbers have been diminishing, and the SRB is severely understaffed. Since this unit has been pre-programmed with the knowledge and skills of a soldier, and the fact that he had been deactivated and unused for two months, he was our perfect choice."
Her son had a point. Yet, for a moment, Nora didn't know what to think.
The glass door to the elevator opened, and the tall man within stepped out.
This is not Nate. This is not Nate...
"Unit N4-73 reporting," said the synth modeled after the real Nate Taylor. "Mission accomplished, sir. Awaiting for further instructions."
Shaun nodded. "Welcome back, N4-73. Dr. Secord will take you to Robotics. Report to Dr. Binet for a full examination."
"Yes, sir."
The man in leather armor walked away without sparing even one glance at Nora. He didn't remember her; he didn't even know her.
"Nate," Nora called before she could stop herself. What was she hoping for? One last glimpse of the man who looked just like her husband?
The man took two more steps before he stopped and turned to face her. "Surface designation is Nathaniel Taylor, ma'am," he told her, his tone was as flat as X6-88's. "Not Nate."
Nate hated to be called Nathaniel.
Shaun interjected, "Perhaps it's a good idea to respond to both Nate and Nathan as well. Humans prefer shorter names to show familiarity."
"Acknowledged," said the man who was called Nathaniel. His emotionless face had the exact same features as his namesake, but this man lacked the soul of Nate Taylor.
Wordlessly, Nora watched as the copy of her late husband walked away. A chapter of her life had been closed and forever sealed.
"This is most unprecedented," her son's voice brought her out of her reverie. "An attack on everything we have worked for our whole lives. Decades of researches were distilled into our finest achievements, and now… the Brotherhood is threatening to take everything away. Desperate times call for desperate measures, Mother. We have to use every asset we have at our disposal, however unconventional it might be. I'm sure you'll understand."
Forcing herself to focus on the matter at hand, Nora nodded.
Every synth and everyone involved with the synths were all at risk, whether they were aboveground or under. The Institute or the Railroad.
"As I have said before," Shaun continued, "use this holotape as you see fit. You have my full authorization to do whatever you need aboveground. The synth detective might not want to cooperate with us or even help us, I understand that. But with his own existence being threatened, I hope he will see the light and help you on the surface."
"Nick is a reasonable man, Shaun," said Nora. "The Commonwealth is his home. Promise me you won't take him back."
"We have no intention of recalling him, Mother. We have known about his business in Diamond City for many years. To be quite honest, I'm pleasantly surprised by his success. I admit I would like to examine his memories and programming for my own scientific curiosity, but... I respect his tenacity. He has more than earned his new life, and it shall remain that way. You have my word."
Diamond City. The settlement with only one entrance, unless one knew how to fly over the walls of the Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth.
A Diamond City guard returned from his nighttime patrol on the outer perimeter. He dragged his tired feet through the gate and nodded at an older guard who had just began his own graveyard shift.
"All is quiet," said the returning guard to his colleague.
"Ain't got an incident for a while," said the guard behind the old ticket station. "Seen any Brotherhood asshats?"
"No tin cans around."
"Better keep it that way. Heard they're nothing but trouble." The older guard stretched and yawned, then muttered a complaint about shifting his sleeping hours. He didn't bother to look at the patrol's face.
They never did, not at this hour.
The guard headed back inside the settlement. Bounce returned to his tired steps as he descended from the long staircase into what used to be the baseball field. It was dark, but the man could see as clear as though it was midday. His steel blue eyes, for once, were not covered by a customary pair of sunglasses.
A guard wearing sunglasses at night shift? That would turn certainly more than a few heads. A big no-no for someone whose job was to blend in. Although he was without his sunglasses, the man's face was hardly visible. His helmet covered most of his face, and the darkness covered the rest.
The man took a detour route to avoid the marketplace, to avoid being seen. He weaved through the dark alleys and arrived at a particular building with pink neon sign outside. The guard took off his helmet and donned his sunglasses, then headed into Valentine Detective Agency.
The synth detective spared one quick glance at his late night visitor. "If you're here looking for the lass, she's not here."
"I've no idea what you're talking about, Mr. Valentine," said the liar.
"Try her house. You know where she lives."
"I'm not looking for her. I'm looking for you."
"And to what do I owe this pleasure?"
"I got something. The Brotherhood."
That got the detective's attention.
Deacon sat down across his old ally. "I checked out their outpost in Cambridge. Someone played the Good Samaritan and helped the Brotherhood recon team. The thing is… that man looked just like our pre-war friend's dead husband."
Valentine's yellow eyes shone. "Bennett's husband?"
"I know. The man is dead and frozen. I saw his body, Nick."
"Yes, I remember you told me."
"So this new guy is either a dead man walking," said Deacon, "or one freakish coincidence with someone who looked just like a dead man, or…"
Almost immediately, the detective made the connection, "A synth."
Deacon nodded.
"What's the Institute up to?" Valentine mumbled to himself out loud.
"There's one way to find out," said Deacon.
"...You mean our pre-war friend? Ah. So you are looking for her."
Was he? No, not really.
Well, maybe. Unconsciously.
A soft knock interrupted their discussion. The door opened before the elusive spy could make a quick exit through the rooftop hatch.
"Nick," said a feminine voice that caused Deacon to bolt up from the chair. "I need to talk to you- Deacon?"
The man in sunglasses quickly turned around and saw a woman in long dark hair at the doorway of the cramped office.
"Well, speak of the devil," the synth detective mumbled. "Come on in."
A genuine grin found its way to the liar's face. "Long time no see, Miss Manette."
Almost forty-eight hours. That counted as a long time, right?
This time, he failed to bring a smile on her face. What's wrong?
It was Valentine who voiced Deacon's silent question, "Something wrong?"
"You're in danger, Nick," said Nora. "You and every synth in the Commonwealth."
The news wiped away Deacon's grin. "What do you mean?"
"The Brotherhood of Steel," his former partner announced, "they are here to destroy all the synths."
"Initial diagnostic is completed," said Dr. Alan Binet. "The unit is running at optimal level."
"Thank you, Alan," Dr. Shaun Taylor sat down in front of a terminal.
Here in the lab of Robotics, the former head of the department felt like he was back at old home.
Sitting opposite of him was a man with cables attached to his bare chest and the base of his skull. His features were similar to the old man's, but younger. The man's eyes were closed and remained perfectly still.
"Entering debugging mode…" said Dr. Binet, monitoring at a station nearby. "All vitals are within normal ranges. Ready when you are."
"Bring yourself online," the old man ordered.
The man with jet black hair opened his warm brown eyes.
"Enter infiltration mode."
A confident smile surfaced on the man's face. "Hey there. The name is Taylor. Nathaniel Taylor."
"Tell me about your family."
The confident smile morphed into a gentle one as the man began, "My wife, Jackie… She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. She was kind and patient. Oh so patient. We had a baby. A boy…"
"Jackie?" asked Alana Secord quietly at the back of the lab.
"Short of Jacqueline," Binet replied. "Mrs. Taylor's middle name."
Paying no mind to the his colleagues, Shaun asked the unit, "What happened to them?"
The smile was all but disappeared. The man's brows furrowed, his lips pressed thin. For the longest moment, the black-haired man struggled. "I… I don't want to talk about it..."
"You can tell me," said the old man.
"...One day, when I was out…" The man's voice started to break. "...a man came to our house. He took everything we had, then killed my wife and our son. ...I...I couldn't save them!" The man took a shaky breath then repeated in a whisper, "...I couldn't save them…"
"Pretty damn convincing," said Secord. "Good job, Alan."
"We didn't have enough time to write a brand new narrative for him," said the head of Robotics. "So, we had to improvise and only made some changes to his existing narrative. I wish we had more time to work on him before we sent him out. We still have to iron out the wrinkles each time he reports back. And, hopefully, he doesn't glitch when he's on assignment."
Satisfied, Shaun took some notes before he moved on to the next stage. "Enter diagnostic mode."
Any expression on Nathaniel's face was gone in an instant.
"Tell me about the ship, Prydwen."
The synth's friendly tone morphed into an monotonic one when he spoke, "An airborne military base. Weighs forty thousand tons. Four pylons with a single jet engine each, as well as hydrogen, keep the ship aloft."
"Is the ship capable of combat?" asked Shaun.
"Negative."
"Well, that's some good news," said Alan Binet.
"Hydrogen," said Secord, "if we could find a way to place some bombs…"
Although the plan was sound, Shaun could foresee potential obstacles. "We'll need more than one infiltration unit for this solution, and we have only one chance."
Alan Binet paused to think. "It would be rather difficult to teleport on a movable object in the air," he concluded. "One slight miscalculation and the synths could materialize outside solid footing."
Alana Secord frowned. "It'd be easier if that damn ship would just land on the ground."
The old man could feel a headache coming. "Find out everything we can about this Maxson boy, Alana. And I want the record of our escaped synth."
"M7-97? On it," said the head of SRB. "And if you want to know about Maxson, sir, ask Madison."
"...These free-thinking robotic abominations of technology are masquerading as human beings. They are indistinguishable from real, living, breathing human beings like you and me. But, do not forget: They are nothing but machines. And the notion that a machine could be granted free will is not only offensive, but horribly dangerous."
Deacon grimaced at every word.
"I can't believe I'm hearing this," said Nick Valentine with absolute disgust.
The man in the holotape continued, "By creating synthetic humans, the Institute scientists have created a weapon that transcends the destructive nature of the atom bomb. Like the atom, the synths are dangerous technologies that could prove to be the world's undoing for the second time in recent history. We cannot allow the Institute to continue this line of experimentation. Therefore, the Institute and everyone responsible for the creation of the synths are considered enemies of the Brotherhood of Steel, and must be eliminated, at all costs."
"Well said," another voice from the tape agreed.
"I care about them, you know," the man claimed. "The people of the Commonwealth."
"Like hell you do, asshole," Deacon mumbled under his breath.
"Turning your weapons on the very same people that you're trying to save can be a bitter pill to swallow. The Brotherhood is here to prevent a war by starting one of our own. The difference is… our war won't reduce civilization to ashes. This campaign will be costly and many lives will be lost. But in the end, we will be saving humankind from its worst enemy… itself. Ad Victoriam."
Nora ended the holotape on her Pip-Boy.
For a long moment, no one spoke a word.
This had got to be simultaneously the most chilling and the most blood-boiling thing Deacon had heard in many, many years.
Brotherhood of Bigots was truly to its name.
But what froze the man who had seen it all was not just the declaration of war. It was a dreadful sense of deja vu. Deacon had heard speeches like this before, a hell of a long time ago when he was another person with another face, another name.
Horrible memories from the past creeped up on the spy, catching him completely off guard. Once upon a time, he partook at activities that would forever haunt him till his dying day. Once upon his life, he'd been a bigot, a scum. Had his conscience not scream at him at that particular event, would he continue his way and be just like those Brotherhood soldiers?
The man in sunglasses shuddered to even think.
"'No war is just but mine.'" Nick Valentine snorted with a scowl. "Only madmen could justify trying to wipe out an entire people just because they were made, not born."
"You can't let the Brotherhood sees you, Nick," said Nora. "You should stay here in Diamond City."
"Sitting by the wayside is not a luxury we have right now," said the detective. "If they come for me, I'll show those boys what a synth can do."
Shaking his head to drive away all unwanted memories, Deacon forced himself to focus on the matter at hand.
First things first. "How did you get this tape?" Deacon asked.
"Shaun sent an infiltrator to the Brotherhood," Nora told them. "This is the audio recording of the speech. I've seen the video of it. Their leader, Arthur Maxson, he looks younger than I thought, but he's determined."
An infiltrator? So Deacon's guess was right. The man in leather armor was not some random guy who looked just like Nora's dead husband.
Now, the next question was… "Do you have any idea who the infiltrator is?"
Instead of answering, the pre-war relic paused then asked, "...Why do you ask?"
She knew. "Because I saw him," said Deacon.
Her surprise was genuine. "You did? Where?"
"I spotted him outside the Cambridge Police Station. A man in dark hair and leather armor, coming back with a Brotherhood soldier-"
"I know who he is," his former partner admitted.
"You knew about this?" Valentine asked.
"I just found out…" she told them. "Shaun created a synth that modeled after Nate. It's his… gesture to make me feel at home, to have my husband back. But… that's not Nate. No matter how much he looked like Nathan, that's not the same man I married."
Deacon understood this sentiment more than she'd ever know. "We can't replace our spouse…"
"We can't," Nora agreed. "It's all the memories we shared, the bond that we formed. It's the little things that made a relationship special. But Shaun… he doesn't quite understand that. The synth was deactivated after my initial meeting with him-" There was a pause before her eyes landed squarely on Deacon's face. "Wait. How did you know how Nate looked like? I've never shown you his picture."
Oops. "I went to the vault," the liar admitted.
His former partner looked at him with an eyebrow raised, but she didn't seem offended or angry. "You wanted to verify my story."
"Frozen for two centuries?" Deacon shrugged. "It's a wild tale, you've to admit. Nothing personal. A healthy dose of skepticism is essential in my line of business."
Her chest rose and fell with a quiet yet heavy sigh. "...I would have done the same."
A tiny grin of relief found its way to Deacon's face. "I've a feeling you would."
Nora handed him the holotape. "Take this. You guys need to be prepared, too."
This tape would cost a mini nuclear explosion in the HQ.
"What that lunatic's talking about is going to cost lives. In droves," Valentine commented.
"Will you help me, Nick?" Nora asked.
"It depends," said the detective. "Are you here as Henry Bennett's daughter, or the ambassador for the Institute?"
"I want to help the synths and keep civilians from being killed."
She did not directly answer the question, Deacon noticed.
"Look, Nick, I'll be honest," said the former lawyer. "Without teleportation, no one can ever gain access to the Institute. Not even the Brotherhood. And the Brotherhood isn't going to give up. All the damages will be done here in the Commonwealth. Maxson said it himself. He's going to start a war here. Right here. People's lives will be turned upside down, if not completely destroyed. We cannot let this happen."
"I don't know how we're gonna stop a war," said Nick Valentine eventually, "but I sure as hell am gonna try."
"Work with me, Nick," Nora urged. "I need eyes and ears on the ground. In return, I will bring you all the information I can get from Nat- N4-73, the undercover synth."
"I cannot believe I'm helping the Institute…" the old synth grumbled.
"You're not," the pre-war lawyer assured him. "You're helping the synths and the people of the Commonwealth." Her bright blue eyes then focused on Deacon. "Same offer goes to you, too, Deacon. You two are the only people I can trust."
"Remember what I told you about trust?" the spy said.
"'You can't trust everyone,'" his former partner replied. She patted the pocket of her jacket. "I have your note right here."
Somehow, the liar was touched. "In case you forgot, we are on the opposite sides."
Something on her expression changed. It was as if her game face had shifted. The determined look in her eyes was softened considerably. "...How could I forget?" she replied, her voice quiet.
If he leaned forward and reached out, he could touch her.
Deacon pinned himself down onto the chair. "You sure you trust me?"
"If the information that I'm related to the Institute ever gets out, I suspect I'll be killed within hours, if not minutes," the pre-war relic speculated, rightly so. "My life is in your hands, and you don't even have to pull the trigger yourself."
Deacon didn't answer to that. He didn't have to, for they both knew it was true. Instead, the spy pocketed the holotape and said, "I'll check in with you tomorrow."
The smile she gave him was almost worth the risk he was taking. "I'll be waiting."
"Looking over my shoulder won't make me work faster," said the head of Advanced Systems without looking up from her screen. "I will have the device ready for you in a moment."
"I'm here for your advice," said the director.
"Sure, I have one," said Madison Li. "Don't let them win. Or you and I and everyone else will be slaughtered like animals."
Shaun snorted at the obvious. "What can you tell me about this Arthur Maxson?"
"Not much…" Li sighed as she hit her enter key with an air of finality. "Arthur Maxson was about ten when I first met him. The kid was already a squire, trained by a bunch of killers to be one of them. From what I gathered, his father died before he was born. His mother sent him to the Citadel to be fostered by Elder Lyons in Capital Wasteland. Lyons was an oddball in the Brotherhood; he was shunned by the rest of the elders for being compassionate. I guess Lyons' teaching never completely rubbed off on the boy. The kid never had a chance; he'd been indoctrinated by the Brotherhood's beliefs and… what's it called? Oh, the Codex."
"Codex?"
"It's their bible. Written by some scribes - that's their non-combatants, the technical staffs, their brains behind the brawn. The Brotherhood live and die by their Codex. As someone explained to me: If it's in the Codex, they have to abide to it. If it's not in the Codex, it's not important."
Shaun frowned at this archaic concept. "Who decided what to put in this Codex?"
"Who knows?" Li shrugged. "But they treat it like the most sacred text. If the Codex told them to defecate in their bed before they're allowed to sleep, you bet they would do just that."
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it? Never underestimate the power of brainwashing." Li released a heavy sigh. "...I used to think that boy might have a chance to grow a brain of his own. You know, the first time I met him, he was trying to be friends with a robot. Not just any robots like a protectron or a Mr. Handy. The robot he talked to was actually just a dismantled head, and it's the size of the boy himself."
"A head the size of a boy?"
"The robot itself was the size of a building."
Shaun was alarmed. "They possessed the technologies to build that?"
Li considered for a brief second. "There's no point keeping Brotherhood's secret for them any longer. They didn't build the robot from scratch. It's pre-war tech. U.S. Army's secret weapon to fight the Chinese in Anchorage. The Brotherhood found it in the basement of the ruin where they built the Citadel. They tried to salvage it, but they ran into power issue. That's what I helped them with, in exchange for their help with Project Purity."
The old man's blood ran cold. "Do we have to worry about this secret weapon?"
"Thank God, no. It was destroyed by the Enclave. It took an orbital warhead bombardment controlled by a satellite relay station to take down that beast. Blown to pieces."
The machine at Li's workstation beeped.
"Good. It's done." Dr. Li headed to the lab next door, then came back with a small item in her hand. "It's the best I can come up for now. Audio only."
Shaun took the red circular plastic disk in his hand. Six black dots spread at equal distance along the perimeter of the thin object. Etched in the center was one word in black and white: TOPS.
"What's this?" asked Shaun.
"The listening device," said Madison Li as though he had asked the most stupid question.
Suppressing a sigh of irritation, the old man clarified, "I know, but what's this supposed to be?"
"Ah, you've never seen this… It's a casino chip from The Tops Casino in New Vegas. Or, I should say, a perfect duplicate of one based on our database, aged to perfection. This chip is small enough for N4-73 to slip into his uniform pocket."
It sounded ridiculous. "What possible excuse could one have for keeping a useless thing like this?"
"It's called memento. Lucky charm. Don't you have one?"
"I'm not superstitious."
"Well, lucky for you, soldiers are a superstitious bunch. They carry lucky charms with them all the time. Just come up with a cover-up story, in case someone asks him about it."
"Do you have any suggestions?"
"Tell them… his father gave this to him. His old man got it from someone who came from the West. It's the chip that turned his luck around at The Tops casino. Something along that line. I'm sure Binet could come up with a touching story. He's done marvelous works on some of personality meshes. Always so real, so life-like."
"I will give this to Alan."
"Listen, Taylor," said Li after a brief pause, "it's not just our work or our lives on the line, innocent people will die at crossfire. I've seen it. The blood, the screaming…"
And the loss of all synths - the future of a better world.
"You said you came here for my advice," said Madison Li, "here's a real one: Our pride is worthless comparing to the good of the future. Back then, if our team didn't seek the Brotherhood out for help, the Capital Wasteland might not have clean water. There are battles we can't fight on our own. We need allies."
"In case you haven't noticed," said Shaun Taylor, "we've been isolated for two centuries."
"And that's the problem," Li pointed out bluntly. "The world is hell up there, yes, but there are good people. People whose lives that would benefit tremendously with the technologies we have. Even if it's just the most basic necessities - food and water. If we help them, they will help us."
Maybe… maybe she's right…
"The enemies are at our doorstep, we cannot afford to bury our heads in the sand like we have for so many years. It's high time to stop being the selfish pricks. We can break this cycle, Dr. Taylor. I've lived most of my life on the surface, I know how things work. I can help. Think about it."
A/N: "Bring yourself online" is a tribute to Westworld. The Tops Casino chip is based on real life version of the chip in Fallout New Vegas Collector's Edition "Lucky 7 Poker Chips."
A quick reply to Mandor regarding the potential conflicts in the past between Maxson and the Institute. In Arthur's view, did he think the Institute had already fired its first shot at his people between Fallout 3 and 4? Short answer: I have no idea. Longer one: I don't think Maxson has personally encountered synths before. The distance between Boston and Washington DC is about 400-some miles, or 700-some km. Without airplane or train, it'll not be easy to travel that distance. So I'm guessing the Institute has not made it down to DC after they'd lost Zimmer ten years ago.
That's it for now. See you next time. As always, thanks for reading!
Title: "It Started All Over Again" - Frank Sinatra, 1943.
Contact info: gmail - pinoko19. tumblr - pinoko-k.