"Well I'll be damned, it's the one and only Robert Joseph MacCready!" the Mr. Handy exclaimed, voice dripping with exaggerated awe and astonishment. "Hold on for just one minute, man. I'll bring out the two hundred year whiskey to celebrate!"

MacCready rolled his eyes as he grabbed the drink that the robot passed his way.

"I'm glad to see you're just as annoying as ever, Charlie." MacCready muttered.

"You're lucky I didn't fill that cup with Brahmin piss." The robot contested hotly. "You've got some nerve, coming back here."

"Aw come on!" MacCready exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration. "I called your drinks cheap. One time. How was I supposed to know you'd be such a princess about it?"

"That's IT!" Charlie exclaimed, furiously cleaning a mug. "Next time a caravan stops by, I'm stocking up on Brahmin piss. Just for you."

"Hey, come on now Charlie." a man chided, sliding onto the seat beside the frustrated mercenary. "How about you get me a bottle of your best whiskey?"

Whitechapel Charlie's eye stared suspiciously at the newcomer's tinted sunglasses. The Robot-Human staring contest was interrupted by the clinking of bottlecaps, and MacCready let out a low whistle as a pouch of bottlecaps dropped on the counter.

"That's quite the purchase you made there." MacCready noted, as Charlie scooped up the caps and disappeared into the back room.

"I've half a mind to take it out of your cut." The man in sunglasses whispered.

MacCready rolled his eyes.

"You wouldn't dare. Besides, I actually kind of like Charlie's beer. Been drinking it for ages now."

The man beside him shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting around behind the glasses.

"What's the tip?" he demanded, frustrated with the foreplay. MacCready was quick with his gun, but he had a nasty habit of toying with people when he knew he had the upper hand.

"I haven't even had the chance to drink yet." MacCready complained, as Charlie returned with a dusty bottle of alcohol. MacCready eyed it suspiciously, but Charlie didn't even look his way.

"How would you like it, sir?" He asked, addressing the man in sunglasses.

"Just hand him the bottle and be done with it." Was the quick reply. The drink was supposed to be a toast, a bonding drink that the two of them could share while he coaxed more information out of the mercenary. Instead, it was starting to look like MacCready might down the entire bottle before he began talking.

"Ho wow this is some good stuff!" MacCready exclaimed, dropping the empty glass on the table. "Now I'm ready to spill the beans on anything!"

"Wonderful, let's get to business."

"Business? Don't you want to know my secrets?" MacCready cooed, putting on a drunken act that fooled no one. "My secret crush? My hopes and dreams?"

"No?" the man replied, or rather, pleaded. MacCready sighed heavily, draining his second glass.

"This is going to change everything." MacCready whispered. "The Railroad, the Diamond City whackos, even the Minutemen will come after her." For a moment, just a moment, his voice wavered. The man in glasses hastily poured another drink for the mercenary, and nearly cried out in relief when he accepted it without question. He was practically trembling with excitement.

"You know Curie? That robot she's always walking around with?" MacCready asked, after draining his third glass.

"Yeah, I've heard of her. She runs the medical department at the Castle right?"

"That's it. It's a goddamn robot." MacCready mumbled. "And it went missing during the last training operation."

"Goddamn it, MacCready." The man cursed, his heart sinking. "You can't take a decent piss this side of the Commonwealth without a Minuteman showing up asking about that robot." This tip wasn't even worth the price of the drink, much less the exorbitant fee they were paying him.

MacCready smiled while the man vented, carefully dropping ice into his glass so he didn't waste a drop of the precious liquid.

"They won't find her." He said simply. The man paused.

"So she's dead?" he asked, hesitantly. While that still wasn't worth the price MacCready was demanding, it was atleast on par for the three hundred caps he'd dropped on the whiskey. It was information they could use; every Minuteman out on a wild robot chase was one less Minuteman hunting for Tourists and Synths.

"No." MacCready answered, taking pleasure in drawing out the suspense for as long as possible. "They won't find it, because they're looking for the wrong thing."

A wide grin appeared on the mercenary's face as he savored the moment of truth.

"Jennifer turned that robot into a synth."

If Deacon hadn't already been sitting down, surely his legs would have collapsed beneath him, sending him straight to the ground in a tangle of limbs and sunglasses. Even seated, the sentence felt like a punch to the gut. This. This is something we can use. A familiar fire burned in his stomach, the fire of revenge that he though had been extinguished long ago. Glory, Desdamona, Drummer Boy, Tinker Tom. For once, there was a real chance to avenge their fallen.

"Tell me more."

"It happened right here, in Goodneighbor. That Doctor at the Memory Den hooked her up to a machine, uploaded her memories, and there you go! The robot's brain in a hu-synth body."

"How did you find out?" Deacon asked, his mind still reeling from the revelation.

"The good Doctor told me all this, when I asked her." MacCready replied. Deacon snorted in disbelief.

"She just told you all this?" he asked.

"Not exactly. I didn't give her much choice." Despite the six glasses of whiskey in his belly, his eyes grew dark and his expression turned to stone. Deacon fought the urge to lean back, or atleast move a little further away.

"You killed her?"

"Someone did."

"Why?"

MacCready sighed, disappointed. Were all Railroad agents this stupid?

"Up until now, there were four people who knew about the robot. Me, Jennifer, Dr. Amari and Preston Garvey. Garvey's a good man, loyal. He'd never spill the beans on his General, so he wasn't a problem." MacCready's voice was silky smooth as he continued.

"Amari, on the other hand, is-or rather was- a grade-A bitch." He spat. "Too much of a goody-two shoes to leave alive."

"You're admitting to murder?" Deacon asked, more confused than upset.

"Hey man. Goodneighbor's for the people, by the people. You feel me?" MacCready rasped, in his best impression of Hancock. "With how low this dump of a settlement has fallen; I wouldn't be surprised if Hancock came by with a Presidential pardon."

"So now you're the only person in the Commonwealth who'd be willing to describe this new synth body." Deacon surmised. He should have known there would be a catch.

"Don't ever say I'm not a fair person." MacCready said, finishing the last of the drink. "I'll even suspend my payment until you've actually captured the robot. I suppose you'll have a tough time of it, without her description though…" The mercenary shrugged and got up to leave, but Deacon was too quick.

"Listen, the Railroad will pay double, triple what we promised you. Help us find this…synth." Deacon pleaded.

"Can you guys even drop that kind of money nowadays?" MacCready asked, voice thick with suspicion even as he returned to his seat.

"W-We can arrange it." Deacon promised, wondering if he'd let his excitement get the better of him. Dozens of agents, freed synths and tourists had poured their blood, sweat and tears into the caps that he had casually dropped on ridiculously expensive whiskey. There was no full payment waiting for MacCready at the dead drop location: there wasn't a single loose bottlecap left at Railroad HQ.

And it looked like MacCready knew, or atleast suspected, the truth.

"Listen, man. We've known each other for a long time. I've never known you to do me wrong, and it just doesn't feel right, taking advantage of you in your time of need." MacCready said graciously.

Deacon listened with bated breath. There was always a catch.

"But, you'll owe me one. A big one." MacCready added, looking pointedly at Deacon. "And there might be a time when I ask you for a favor. A rather big favor."

Deacon nodded vigorously, thrusting his hand forward for the final handshake. It was a better deal than he could possibly have hoped for. MacCready clasped his hand, before ordering up a second round of drinks.